Crown of Salt, page 3
part #4 of Faerie Lords Series
The door opened again at one point. Valentine felt Percy shake his head minutely though, and Oliver’s footsteps retreated uncomfortably once more.
Eventually, her tears ran dry. Her body shuddered with misery and weariness. The man holding her had the sense of someone very deep in troubled thoughts, but those thoughts stayed hidden carefully beneath the surface.
“Some food may not help,” Percy said finally. “But I doubt very much that it would hurt.” For the first time, Valentine saw no cheer on his face, nor even a wry smile. “Are you all right here for a moment?”
The absurdity of the question — are you all right? — nearly made her shove him away. But she shrugged instead, too weak to bother.
Percy let her go slowly. Somehow, Valentine resisted the urge to keep her hold on him. Her pulse was still a bit too fast, her mind sinking in despair, her body confused with the first pleasure she’d felt in decades.
He must have known on some level what a mess he’d made of her — because he averted his eyes carefully from hers as he stepped out of the room once again.
Percy returned with a somewhat crumpled-looking steak pie. There was a rueful expression on his face as he handed it over.
“I may not eat food anymore,” he observed. “But I suspect this isn’t the most appetizing specimen in the world.”
Valentine had managed to collect herself somewhat, even without the aid of her crucifix. She took a few bites, unfazed by the flavor. “I don’t know if you’ve been outside England in th’ last century,” she said. “But no English food is considered appetizin,’ Percy.” This wasn’t exactly honest of her — more than once, while wandering Arcadia, she’d caught herself thinking wistfully of a proper English breakfast. But she was feeling contrary, and for some reason she wanted to make him frown.
The uncomfortable air between them deepened, though she could tell they were both trying to forget what had just happened. Percy sighed, and ran his fingers through his hair.
“I have to pop down for a bit,” he said. “I have some appointments to keep. I’ve asked Oliver to stay down the hall in case you need something. I would have asked him to keep you company, but I wasn’t sure you’d appreciate it.”
Valentine gave him a flat look. “You guessed right,” she said. “Let th’ boy go home.”
Percy smiled flippantly. “No,” he said. “I’ve already paid him for the trouble.” He picked up the medical bag next to the bed. “I’ll be back when I can.”
Valentine settled back into the bed, considering. Perhaps I won’t be here, she wanted to say, but she didn’t. If she did decide to leave, there was no point in warning him first. She nodded instead, and watched his back as he disappeared back through the door.
Eventually, Valentine did have cause to stumble out of the guest room. She soon went out with the empty glass from her bedside in search of more water — an oversight which she suspected was no accident. The flat was somewhat smaller than she’d expected, closed in on most sides by open-patterned brick walls. There was a bathroom just next to the guest room, followed by what she suspected to be the master bedroom; it was judiciously locked, and so she couldn’t confirm. Past this was a barely-used kitchen with table and chairs. In one of these chairs sat a very bored-looking Oliver, playing a game on his cell phone.
Long before Valentine made it to the kitchen, Oliver glanced in her direction with an uncanny awareness. His yellowed eyes blinked slowly, and she felt him assessing whether she might be in a predatory mood. He must have decided otherwise, because he set down his phone and slid to his feet to pull out a chair for her. “Percy’s downstairs,” he said simply.
“I know,” said Valentine. She passed up the chair to head for the sink, filling up her glass. “He mentioned. You’re supposed to tell him if I try to leave, I take it?”
Oliver shrugged. “I’m supposed to tell him, yeah,” he said. “Not sure if he’d try an’ stop you, but I’m sure he’d like to know.”
Dizziness threatened, and Valentine reluctantly took the offered seat, sipping at her water. “You’re not human,” she judged. “Not a vampire either, given how you fetch things for him durin’ th’ day.”
“I’m not your business either,” Oliver hazarded carefully. Valentine saw a hint of real fear in his eyes, though he masked it well. “I don’t want nothin’ to do wi’ th’ Drowned Lord. Bad enough you might tell him I exist.”
Valentine smiled grimly. “I doubt he’ll take an interest in you,” she said. Once again, her accent drifted back, caught in conversation with someone from home. “He’s goin’ to be far too upset wi’ me for takin’ my time. Percival’s takin’ his life in his hands, though.”
“He does that sometimes,” Oliver grumbled. “Not all the time, mind you. But every once in a while, he gets an idea in his head an’ there’s no shakin’ it, no matter how bad it is.”
Valentine eyed him curiously. “You do his errands often?” she asked.
Oliver shifted in his chair. Slowly, he nodded. “Percy’s not bad for a toff,” he said. “He’s patched me up a time or two. Downright pleasant, even if he is a little bonkers.”
There was a questioning lilt to the way Oliver said the words, though he might not have realized it was there. Valentine rolled her eyes.
“I’m not lookin’ to drag him away to Arcadia,” she said. “If I hadn’t been flat on my back, I wouldn’t ‘ave let him bring me here at all. But I can’t say as th’ Drowned Lord will see it my way. An’ make no mistake, he owns my soul. If my patron gets a mind to hurt Percy, I’m not in a position to stop him. No one is, I expect.”
Oliver didn’t seem consoled by that. Good, Valentine thought. He shouldn’t be.
“…if you want to leave,” Oliver said, very slowly. “I’ll help you go, an’ not tell Percy.”
Valentine smiled grimly. “Smart boy,” she said. “Where’s he put my clothing, now?”
Oliver winced. “Think I saw it,” he said. “Not much to save. Percy had me bring a few things, but I’m not sure if they’ll fit.” He rose to his feet, and headed toward a heavy messenger bag near the door. The dark shirt and trousers he pulled out looked like they’d been sized for a woman, at least, but they were large enough that they would hang off Valentine somewhat. She took them anyway, peeling off her borrowed button-down shirt and pulling them on. Oliver turned his head quickly, going bright pink with embarrassment.
“Please,” Valentine muttered at him. “I’m a married woman, an’ you’re much too young for me.”
“M-married?” Oliver stuttered out. He nearly turned to look at her, but he caught himself just in time. “Warlocks can get married?”
Valentine went silent for a moment. The joke had gotten away from her. “…I was married,” she said finally. “Before I became a warlock. Technically still am, but he might be dead for all I know.”
She found her boots near the door, still perfectly intact. Silence descended again as she tugged them onto her feet.
“…sor… I mean. That’s unfortunate,” Oliver said uncomfortably. “You’ve got my sympathies, ma’am.”
“For bein’ married?” Valentine said. She barked out a harsh laugh. “You’re right to give sympathies.” She tapped him shortly on the shoulder, and he turned to look at her. Now that she was standing next to him side by side, he was much taller than she was, but he still managed to look intimidated.
Oliver dug into the bag one more time, and pulled out a long black trench coat. “My girlfriend’s,” he explained, squirming a little under her gaze. “She’s not comin’ back for it, so I guess you can ‘ave it.”
Valentine tugged the coat around her shoulders. It fit better than it could have, though the edges still trailed the ground. She considered the flat, and the coat around her shoulders, and gave a long, heavy sigh.
I need out of here for everyone’s sake, she thought. The kid’s taking a risk to help me.
“Thank you,” she enunciated at Oliver carefully. His eyes widened, and she held up a warning finger in his direction. “You use that debt wise-like. Maybe never, if you can avoid it.”
Oliver nodded slowly, swallowing hard. “Yes, ma’am,” he said again. The meek look on his face was amusing, given his height and his aggressive manner of dress. I’m getting old and scary, Valentine thought, vaguely bemused.
He turned for the door that led out of the kitchen, and presumably downstairs. “I’ll need to distract people a bit,” he said. “If I cause a ruckus, you’ll know your way home?”
Valentine nodded. “Arcadia’s never that far,” she said grimly.
Oliver opened the door, then took her arm and helped her down the stairs. At the bottom was a door that led further inside the building. “Wait about a minute,” he said. “Once you hear somethin’ start up, you go for th’ door.”
He slipped through the door, behind what looked like a receptionist’s counter. Valentine caught sight of a woman sitting in the waiting room, patiently holding a cat carrier in her lap. Nearby, another man sat with a large, leashed golden retriever.
Valentine blinked very slowly. Percival is a veterinarian, she thought. How novel.
“Appointment for Pumpkin?” said a woman’s voice from behind the counter, just in front of Valentine. The woman with the cat carrier stood up, nodding.
Crimson flashed at the edge of Valentine’s vision. The cat in the carrier hissed loudly, jostling around in its cage. The golden retriever jumped to the edge of its leash, barking wildly. The leash wrapped around its owner’s legs, and an unwieldy crash resulted, followed by prolific cursing.
The woman behind the counter rushed to grab at the large dog’s leash, hauling it back. Valentine ducked quickly past the counter as she left, walking directly for the door at the front of the office.
As she headed out into daylight, she thought she saw a small red fox dart past her feet into the underbrush.
Ah, thought Valentine. I see.
The door closed behind her, and she started walking. Arcadia was never far… but she knew that the Drowned Lord would be expecting her. And every extra second she delayed would carry a price.
Chapter 3
Arcadia was full of ceaseless, beautiful wonders. Every faerie tale, every fleeting mortal dream, germinated somewhere in that endless world. But at the very bottom of Arcadia, where light no longer reached the darkness, there was something very ugly indeed.
Valentine didn’t need to swim through the Deeps. The realm recognized the shard of itself that she carried in her soul; the frigid waters carried her where she needed to go. The darkness failed to inhibit her sight — though perhaps she would have preferred to be kept in ignorance. Many bodies rotted away eternally within the Deeps, tangled in its seaweed — the remains of those foolish enough or hapless enough to have drawn the ire of its lord.
Valentine had dragged some of those bodies down to him herself. The sickness of that thought bothered her anew, in a way that it hadn’t done in a very long time. Her hand stole instinctively to her neck… only to come away empty.
A spike of panic shot through her, far too late.
I left it with Percival. My crucifix.
Valentine had been in such a hurry to leave the vampire’s company that she’d forgotten the sole artifact that had helped her survive her curse with a modicum of her sanity intact.
“Valentine,” a voice rasped from the darkness, cutting through the water with uncanny clarity. The terrible weight of the Drowned Lord’s mantle settled upon her suddenly, bearing down upon her shoulders. His pale, ghastly form faded into view across from her. Solid black eyes stared out at her from beneath a crown of rotting seaweed. Its edges curled down around his neck, strangling the skin there like a noose.
The chill, brackish water that surrounded Valentine suddenly held her fast, and she knew that he was displeased with her.
“You are late,” the Drowned Lord said. The words thudded into her with the same sort of finality that a death sentence might do. The Deeps themselves closed in around her, dark and forbidding.
Valentine stared at him, her body shivering. Her mind felt raw and fearful, unnaturally vulnerable without the shield of her greatest talisman.
“I…” Valentine found her voice unexpectedly difficult to reach. “I was watchin’ the new Lord Blackfrost, as you asked. He’s been out searchin’ for a woman named Elaine Halstead. So far, she’s stayed ahead of him, whoever she is.” She swallowed. “I got distracted on my way back. One of Blackfrost’s hunters caught me unprepared. I should ‘ave died, but bystanders intervened. I got found just in time to save my life.”
The Drowned Lord’s displeasure deepened subtly. The water chilled further, though she hadn’t realized that was possible. “A simple faerie hunter bested my greatest servant?” he whispered. “I find that difficult to believe, Valentine.”
Salt water pressed in upon her, sliding down her throat. Valentine coughed instinctively, though she had no need to breathe. She couldn’t drown — but her body would still react to the invasion in exactly the same manner that a normal person’s body did.
“You allowed him to get the best of you,” the Drowned Lord said. Valentine’s heart sank in her chest. “After so long, you have forgotten the price of rebellion.” The Drowned Lord held out one pallid hand. A small golden wedding band glinted in his palm. “You belong to me twice over, Valentine. And you shall reap the consequences of your choices.”
I did my best! she wanted to scream. But cold saltwater choked her throat, and she knew it was useless in any case. The Drowned Lord held her soul in his icy grip. He would know with certainty that she was lying.
Brackish water flooded her lungs. Her body jerked and coughed, but there was nowhere for it to go. Each time the muscles in her body tensed and gasped, she became more painfully aware that there was no air to be found.
Valentine grasped at the bracelet of ivory charms on her wrist, desperately searching for a place to stow her terror and despair. But none of those charms was well-suited to the task — and none were so powerfully, carefully layered with magic as the crucifix which even now lay stashed away in a bedside table in Hull.
The Drowned Lord turned his black eyes away from her. “I will see you when the sun rises again on the Lower World,” he rasped. “Consider your fealties until then.”
And once again, Valentine learned what it was to drown without dying.
“I don’t understand, Sidney. I thought we were goin’ to London?” Valentine hiked up the skirts of her wedding gown as she followed her husband down toward the waterfront. Curiosity tickled at her mind. He was prone to romantic gestures sometimes, she knew. Was this a surprise?
Sidney turned back toward her, his expression considering. They were late for the carriage that should have taken them on their honeymoon, but his profile was so handsome in the moonlight and his eyes danced so wonderfully that she found she could forgive him nearly anything.
“I came to introduce you to someone,” he said softly. “Though I find myself wondering now if you have already met.”
Valentine blinked in confusion. A strange unease started up, just beneath the surface of her bubbling happiness.
He pulled his hand from his pocket — and scattered a handful of what looked like black salt into the water just past the boardwalk. A moment later, a distant, otherworldly power threatened at the edges of her senses. Valentine sucked in a breath, and grabbed at Sidney’s arm.
“We need to leave, Sidney,” she told him suddenly. “Please. It’s not safe.”
His fingers closed around her arm, holding her fast. Valentine glanced up at him sharply. There was a dark, troubled look to his face. “You are what he says you are,” Sidney said softly. “Aren’t you, Valentine?”
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” she said desperately. “Sidney, we need to leave!”
A pale, ghastly figure rose from that black water, like a devil straight from hell. Brackish water dripped from the rotted seaweed that was his faerie crown. His endless black eyes stared out at Valentine, dead and terrible. She knew him instantly, from the dark faerie tales that her mother had told her at night and never believed.
“Yes,” hissed the Drowned Lord. “It is a witch you hold in your hands, good Christian man. A Capricorn, possessed of dark magics. Look her in the eyes, and see the truth.”
Valentine pried violently at Sidney’s fingers. But his grip was strong, and he shook his head at her. “Voice of an angel,” he murmured. “Or perhaps a siren. You nearly tricked me into an eternity in hell. But your nature is your undoing, Valentine. The devil asks for you, and I shall deliver.”
Cold shock doused the last of her happiness, like water on a candle. “You can’t,” she pleaded. “You don’t want to do this, Sidney. He’s not th’ devil, he’s a faerie, but he’s nearly as bad—”
“Silence,” the Drowned Lord commanded her. His rasping voice somehow crossed the distance between them, wrapping itself around her throat. Valentine choked, coughing on her own voice. “You have sworn yourself into the care of your husband,” said the faerie lord. “And I shall trade him for your life. It shall please you to know how valuable you are to me. I have offered him the prize that so many men seek and so few manage to attain. You shall be life eternal to him, witch.”
Sidney glanced away at that, shame flickering across his face. “Take your creature,” he told the Drowned Lord. “I want nothing more to do with her.”
Valentine choked on a hundred protests — a thousand pleas. But no words slipped free of the Drowned Lord’s iron grip. Already, she felt the bonds of his possession tighten upon her.
Sidney turned away from her, unable to look at her any longer. Cold, brackish water rushed in around her ankles. Seaweed grasped greedily at her body.
