Queen of the Shadow Menagerie, page 17
The corners of Holfast’s eyes pinched. “I’m doing my job, which is the best I can do. As I have always done. You may disagree now, but once peace has settled across our newly acquired lands, you’ll realize that it was the correct decision.”
“And what of Marai?”
“We have poured far too many resources into finding her and Lord Keshel, and while I regret the loss of them both, we must move forward and admit that they are probably dead—”
Ruenen clenched his fists so tight at his sides that his knuckles cracked. He bit his lip so hard he drew blood. He’d never once resorted to violence, and he certainly wasn’t going to start pummeling an aging man in front of a courtyard of guards and servants, but what Holfast had said was more painful than Rayghast’s sword gouging a hole in Ruenen’s side.
“I will never give up on her,” Ruenen said as tears stung his eyes.
Holfast’s face softened a fraction at the pain he heard in Ruenen’s voice. “It’s time to let her go.”
Ruenen’s knees nearly gave out. He wanted to damn everything and throw his crown at Holfast’s feet. To grab a horse from the stable and ride out of the city. But Holfast’s words were more potent than Ruenen had thought, because suddenly, the hope he’d been cradling for weeks ripped from his body, leaving a gaping, bleeding hole.
The truth Ruenen had tried to ignore was now as excruciating as a thousand swords plunging into his soul.
She would have come back by now if she was still alive.
Feet skidded on cobblestones behind him.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Your Grace,” came Raife’s voice from the portcullis.
Ruenen schooled his features back to neutrality, shielding his broken heart, then faced Marai’s adoptive brother.
Raife was out of breath, sweaty, with his helmet tucked under his arm.
“Do you have news?” Ruenen asked, closing the distance between them. Hope, like a candle, once again lit up inside him.
Raife’s emerald eyes twinkled in the sunlight as he said, “Twenty-two fae are standing outside the city gate.”
Ruenen approached slowly, as if they were skittish deer in a quiet wood.
The grouping of faeries stood at the other end of the bridge spanning the Nydian River, out of range of the archers standing along Kellesar’s wall walk. They huddled together protectively, reminding Ruenen of when Marai brought her own people to Kellesar. Most wore cloaks and hoods to disguise themselves, hiding their pointed ears, despite the warm weather. Heavy, bulky bags were strapped over their shoulders and dangled from their fists.
But Ruenen blanched when he spotted colorful wings.
Full-blooded fae. Ten of them.
Marai had once told him that all full-blooded fae were killed in the massacres. Ruenen had never seen one before, and the sight was truly magnificent. Their wings reminded him of a butterfly’s; a mosaic of bright colors and patterns, indicating a family line or clan, perhaps. A subtle light, a glint of magic, radiated from each wing. It would be impossible to hide those wings, to blend in with humans, but somehow, like Marai’s people, this group had managed to survive against all odds.
A baby wailed in its mother’s arms, and three other small, fae children peered out from behind the adults. Ruenen had never seen fae children before, either. One little boy’s prominent, pointed ears protruded from beneath his shaggy brown hair, and he stared at Ruenen in wide-eyed innocence. His eyes, like his wings, glistened in the sunlight, reminding Ruenen of Marai’s electric irises, swirling with magic.
Raife, Aresti, Thora, Tarik, Brass, and Yovel accompanied Ruenen to the bridge as his welcoming committee. Ruenen didn’t think bringing the rest of his human King’s Guard would display the tolerance and unity he was aiming for. He’d instructed Aresti and Raife to keep their helmets off so that the visitors could see they were also of fae blood.
“Friends, welcome to Kellesar,” he called to them with the biggest smile he could muster.
The fae made no sound, no movement forward. They returned Ruenen’s greeting with stoic, suspicious stares. The full-blooded male in the front of the pack, with wings of swirling green and vermillion, must have been their leader. He was the tallest, with a sword at his hip, and a crossbow strapped to his back. His tawny hand sat on the bone hilt of his sword.
“I’m King Ruenen Avsharian. You’re all welcome here.”
Again, none of the fae moved. It was Raife who stepped around Ruenen and began to cross the moonstone bridge. The group took several frightened steps backwards. Raife halted mid-way, hands submissively in the air.
“My friends, we wish you no harm. Magical folk are safe in Kellesar,” he said, face lighting up like the sun. “I’m Raife, part-fae member of the King’s Guard.”
The fae leader’s gaze scanned over Raife’s features. “We’ve traveled a long way, risking our lives in the process. Forgive us if we don’t accept your word without assurances.”
Raife nodded. “I understand how it feels to uproot yourself from safety, but you’re here now, and we’re so happy you are.”
The boy with brown hair stepped out from behind the leader. His small hand tugged on the leader’s tunic.
“Papa, that’s the King, and he has a faerie on his royal guard,” he said. His wings were identical to the leader’s.
“Actually, there are two of us,” Raife said to the boy, then gestured behind him. “Aresti is also part-fae. And that’s my wife, Thora. She’s King Ruenen’s Royal Healer. Tarik, Brass, and Yovel are werewolves and friends.”
Murmurs bounced around the fae pack like a babbling brook. Ruenen saw the anxiety in their bodies loosen. He took another step towards the fae, and this time, they didn’t retreat.
“You must be exhausted. Please, follow us up to the castle and I shall have some food and rooms prepared for you.” Ruenen turned to Sir Elmar, who’d been lingering at the gate, and ordered him to alert the servants in the castle.
The young knight dashed up the cobblestone streets, through the crowd of people gathering, and out of sight.
“We don’t trust so easily. Not even our own kind,” the fae leader said in a gruff tone once Elmar was gone. He corralled his son behind him once again and gave Ruenen a hard stare. “We’d heard rumors that magical folk fought in the battle alongside you. But most importantly, we’d heard from a vampire that a faerie queen was amongst those here. Is that true?”
Ruenen swallowed. He couldn’t get his mouth to form the words.
“Marai—Queen Marai—isn’t here,” Thora stated, after Ruenen hesitated. “But she is indeed Queen Meallán and King Aras’ descendent. She saved this kingdom from Rayghast’s dark magic, and helped pave the way for the acceptance of magical folk and gave us a home here. Human, fae, werewolf, and vampire alike.”
“Where is she, then?” asked the little boy, popping out again.
His father heaved a heavy sigh in response.
Aresti walked over to where Raife stood, mid-way across the bridge. “She was kidnapped. Taken almost two months ago, along with my cousin, Keshel, a fae member of King Ruenen’s Witenagemot.”
Chatter and concern flooded the group of fae. The leader’s face darkened with further suspicion.
“We leave,” he ordered to his people, then turned back to Raife and Aresti. “If anyone tries to attack us, we have no qualms about using whatever means necessary to survive.”
Meaning magic. Fuck.
“Why do you want to leave?” Raife asked, reaching out, desperate to make them stay. “You’ve come all this way—”
“Did you kill the Faerie Queen?” the leader asked, glaring straight at Ruenen, defensively blocking his son and the winged female with the baby behind him. “Did you use her power and leverage against Tacorn, then discard her when she was of no more use to you?”
“What? No.” Anger rushed through Ruenen at the accusation. He hastened to Raife’s side as the fae backed quickly away, well-clear of the bridge. “Marai was taken, kidnapped, by someone, and we don’t know who or why, but we’ve been searching every single day since she and Lord Keshel were taken.”
“We’d be dead if it weren’t for Marai,” came Tarik’s deep voice as he joined Ruenen on the bridge in a show of solidarity. “Not everyone here in Nevandia kisses our boots, that’s true, but they know what Marai did for us. She held off Rayghast’s forces. No one from Nevandia would’ve dared harm her after she freed the country from his dark magic.”
Tarik’s statement didn’t thaw the ice in the fae leader’s face, but some of the others were moved. The redheaded female with the baby whispered something to the leader.
“Queen Marai is my friend. I . . . care for her.” Ruenen took an unsteady breath. “A piece of me dies every day she is gone.”
A hand slid its way into his. Ruenen looked down to see Thora, eyes red and watery. Raife clapped a hand on Ruenen’s shoulder while Aresti and Tarik stepped closer around him. They were one unit. Not royalty, or fae, or werewolf.
The fae leader studied them as the female at his side beamed with delight.
“She exists,” she said. “I believe you. And we will help you find her.” The female nudged the leader in the back, forcing him forward.
The male sighed and came back to the edge of the bridge. “Can you guarantee our safety? That we won’t be shot the instant we step through that gate?”
Aresti snorted the way Marai always did. “Pretty sure we said the same thing when we first arrived. We have a formal, written decree here in Nevandia, signed by the human Witenagemot, King Ruenen, and all of us you see before you. Harm to magical folk is punishable by law.”
“It goes both ways, though. We must also abide by those rules,” Tarik said.
“We came here to meet the Queen of the Fae,” said the leader, expression unreadable, “but my partner is right. If she’s missing, then it’s our prerogative to help you find her. She’s a symbol of hope for us, that the fae may rise again.”
Ruenen’s body sagged in relief. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been sweating. He held out his hand to the leader. “I will gladly accept any aid you’re able to provide in the search for Queen Marai and Lord Keshel.”
The leader eyed Ruenen’s outstretched hand, as if touching a human was the last thing he wanted to do, like he might contract a disease from it.
Ruenen added, “Guests are safe within these walls. You may stay as long as you like.”
At long last, the leader bridged the gap and shook Ruenen’s hand in a firm grip.
“I’m Braesal.”
Up close, Braesal’s eyes were the color of sunsets, and his short brown hair was as curly as Raife’s. His son bounded across the bridge to his father’s side, followed by the pretty redheaded female with the baby.
“This is my partner, River, and our children, Holt and Fina.”
Thora approached River and tickled baby Fina’s chubby arm. “Does anyone in your party need medical assistance?” Fina issued a gurgling giggle that made Thora grin.
“No, we made it here in one piece, thank Lirr.” River’s irises seemed to ripple like water. They matched the shimmering wings at her back, which looked to be composed of every shade of blue imaginable. “Though it took us far longer than expected since we mostly traveled by night. Wings are difficult to hide.”
“Well, you don’t have to hide who you are here,” said Thora.
River grasped Thora’s hand as tears lined her eyes. “This place is like a storybook to us. A dream come true.” She kissed Thora’s cheek. “Don’t mind Braesal. He’s an overprotective father.”
Thora laughed. “Yes, we had one of our own. He’s very much like our beloved Keshel, whom we greatly miss.” Thora’s face fell briefly, but then brightened once again. “Come, I’m sure your baby needs changing.”
“I’m hungry,” young Holt announced.
“Let’s get you inside to remedy that,” Ruenen said.
“And then we can discuss finding our Faerie Queen,” said Braesal pointedly.
He whistled over the rest of the fae, who were far more at ease now. They gave Ruenen smiles, respectful nods, bows, and curtsies, gaping up at the castle walls with re-ignited intrigue.
For the first time in weeks, an ember of a different kind of hope brewed within Ruenen as he led the fae through the cobbled, winding streets of Kellesar, past the colorful shops and houses. He reveled in the feeling that something genuinely good was happening. That Marai and Keshel’s mission to create a safe place for magical folk was truly coming to fruition.
And Ruenen couldn’t shake the sensation that when Marai and Keshel returned, they would be proud of what had been achieved in their absence this day.
That Marai would look at Ruenen in admiration, because even though his heart yearned and ached for her, he still kept trying to make the world a better place.
As she always said he would.
Chapter 13
Marai
Bile surged up Marai’s throat.
Violence against magical folk was bad enough. But exploitation? Degradation? Treating living, sentient beings as if they were nothing more than animals to be ogled at?
The Menagerie was a blight. A cancer. And Marai couldn’t stand for it.
Not as Koda and the Peace Keepers placed Marai and Keshel backstage, in the wings behind the black velvet curtain, forcing them to watch each “performance.”
There was no roof on the amphitheater. It was the first time Marai had seen the sky, inky and clouded, since Bakair. Moonlight, and dozens of flickering sconces illuminated the stage, shrouding everything in cryptic shadows. If Cavar was aiming to set a vibe of mystery and subtle danger, he’d done it well. Rows of ravenous audience members, their faces veiled by darkness, were packed into seats and benches, shoulder to shoulder. Marai could almost hear their erratic pulses racing in anticipation of what they were about to witness.
It was nearly pitch-black in the wings, but Marai’s fae eyesight observed the ropes, counterweights, and pulleys, every tool and possible weapon at the belts of the two stagehands running back and forth behind the crossover. There was only one door backstage, leading into the stairwell with the offices and banquet hall. There were two other doors at the back of the audience. No windows.
Escaping would be difficult, but not impossible. Cavar’s barrier stopped at the amphitheater. Marai studied the smooth, interior stone walls, covered by posters advertising the Menagerie creatures. If she could get free from Koda and the guards, she could climb a rope to the top of the curtain rigging, then scale the walls the rest of the way to the top. From there, though, she didn’t know how to get down on the other side and grab Keshel.
She’d need someone else to help her incapacitate Koda. The Peace Keepers she could handle, but Koda would need to be taken by surprise, paying special attention to his fingers. Marai glanced at Keshel, his thin arms, his drawn face. He wouldn’t be much help. She’d need someone ruthless and brave.
Desislava was hauled onto the stage, wrapped in chains, by two guards dressed in black, their faces covered by white clay masks. Desislava snarled and struggled against her bindings as her captors dragged her center stage. She was incredibly strong, despite her severely weakened and malnourished state; the guards’ boots skid across the wooden planks as they tried to restrain her.
Marai didn’t feel much pity for vampires, but this was gut-wrenchingly painful to witness.
“And now, the most fearsome creature we have in our collection: Desislava, vampire from far off Astye!” Arcturius, the Master of Ceremonies, painted an exotic picture for the audience. Koda translated his Andaran for Marai and Keshel. As one of Cavar’s human employees, Arcturius reveled in the sound of applause. He wore a black and white striped coat with black pantaloons and a black felt hat. His face was painted pure white, with kohl around his eye sockets and lining his lips, making him look like a ghoul.
A drummer and fiddler to the side of the stage, dressed and styled similarly, played an intense melody.
Arcturius and his curly mustache bounded closer to Desislava, dancing just out of her reach. The vampire’s crimson eyes burned as the smell of his human blood flooded her starved senses. The shadows cast across her pale face made her appear all the more vicious and terrifying. Desislava snapped her jaws, revealing those lethal fangs, and the audience gasped and clasped their hearts in fear and fascination.
“Isn’t she marvelous?” Arcturius asked the crowd with glee. “Notice her immense strength. Lethal fangs. The glowing, soulless eyes. She’d drain everyone in this room faster than you can say ‘fiddlesticks’ if she got free.”
Further gasps from the audience. People shifted in their seats. A small child wailed. But no one left the room in fear, disgust, or shock. The audience remained, positioned on the edge of their seats, drinking in the show as Desislava might sip on their blood.
Her starvation was their spectacle, and anger throbbed behind Marai’s eyes.
One day, I hope she does rip out their throats.
Arcturius released a melodic chuckle. “Not to worry, my friends. The Menagerie knows how to handle our beasts. Desislava is only one of many wonders from the Nine Kingdoms.”
The black-attired guards heaved Desislava offstage, their muscles bulging as she continued to thrash in a hunger-induced rage.
“We have yet another creature of the night,” Arcturius said, twiddling his white gloved fingers and swathed his voice in mystery. Marai had to hand it to him—the man knew how to hold an audience’s attention. “He may look human enough, but at the full moon, he becomes a ferocious monster, capable of eating your children and snapping a grown man in two!”
Athelstan shuffled out next, walking without an escort or shackles across the wooden boards of the stage. He, too, wore all black. The music changed to another ominous tune as the audience leaned forward, waiting to see his transformation.
