Queen of the Shadow Menagerie, page 38
Marai turned to the male voice standing next to Ruenen, and couldn’t believe her eyes at the sight of his green and ochre wings.
A full-blooded Astyean faerie? Here?
She was more than shocked when two other strange faerie males bowed to her, one of them also with wings. They stared at Marai reverently, as if their entire purpose of traveling with Ruenen was to see her.
“Later,” Ruenen said, not unkindly, to the faeries. He carried Marai towards a second wagon, placing her next to Gunnora and Anja amongst the hay in the back.
“I can ride,” Marai protested, already moving to climb out of the wagon.
“You know I never say no to you about anything, but this one time, I’d like you to listen to me and stay back here,” Ruenen said, his hands lingering on her hips. “We have to ride hard. We’re already going to be much slower now.”
He glanced at Keshel, who was sitting with head in his hands, hay in his hair, against the wagon railings. Marai crawled over and took his hand; distress and confusion vibrated off him.
“I can’t tell if this is a vision or reality,” he said, breathing in short bursts. “Everything is spinning and flashing. The blood and smoke . . . and it’s too loud. I can’t . . . I can’t make sense of anything.”
“Look at me,” Marai demanded, and Keshel timidly lifted his eyes to hers. “It’s real. We’re safe now. The Menagerie is finished.”
“Is Cavar gone? Is the Lord of the Underworld defeated?”
“No.”
Keshel slung his head back and forth. “Then we’re not safe.”
Marai handed him his journal. “Aresti and Ruenen came for us. We’re going home.”
“Home?” Keshel repeated, pupils oscillating between dilating and shrinking. He was still partially lost to a vision, even without the collar around his neck. He clutched the journal to his chest.
“Nevandia, Keshel. We’re going home to see Raife and Thora. To Kadi and Leif.”
Keshel smiled and closed his eyes. His head drooped onto Marai’s shoulder. “Home.”
The caravan lurched to life. Horses neighed and galloped onwards. Marai was only slightly aware of who rode with them in Ruenen’s entourage. Elmar was there, dressed like a sailor. He couldn’t seem to stop staring at the magical folk around him.
The wagon rattled and bumped along beneath Marai, far faster than the rickety old thing should have been going. Marai was surprised to see that almost all of the folk had decided to come along. Eno had been placed in a smaller steamer trunk, filled with water. For the first time, Marai was able to see her face above water, and the scales of her tail gleamed in the moonlight. Wilder and Dante ran alongside Ruenen’s horse, as if they’d already become part of his retinue.
“So that’s your King?” Anja asked, pointing up at Ruenen, sitting stalwart upon his mount at the front of the pack. “The man you love.”
“I had no idea that you had so many attractive friends,” Gunnora said, eyeing Tarik and Yovel, who were riding at the rear of the caravan behind their wagon.
Friends. Her friends had come. They’d traveled leagues and leagues of dangerous sea and road to rescue her and Keshel. Marai was lucky to have such courageous companions, despite barely knowing some of them at all.
The burning Menagerie grew smaller and smaller in the distance, the flames bright against the darkness. The folk stared and stared, until the Menagerie entirely disappeared behind the slope of a hill.
If she had any strength left, or knew anything about the geography of Andara, Marai might have tried to portal them to the dock, but her magic was drained, and she could barely stay awake, despite the jostling of the wagon. Her fingers remained interlaced with Keshel’s. He mumbled incoherently, lost to dreams of his visions.
When the sun broke like a yolk across the sky, it didn’t only signify a brand new day for the folk. It was the dawning of a new life. Their smiles and shining eyes were well worth the pain Marai had suffered. It had been a nightmare, and nothing would ever be the same for her, but Marai took comfort in the fact that, at least, the sun was still rising. The earth was still turning. The days would come and go, and she was now free to live them.
No sign of riders behind or in front of them.
He’s waiting for us in Bakair. Preparing. Cavar had complete control of that city. He could bottleneck and trap them in the streets far easier than he could trying to chase them down on an open road.
Their fight wasn’t over yet.
Chapter 33
Ruenen
Ruenen and his team hadn’t slept in three days. They’d run all the way from Bakair to the Menagerie, battled against at least two dozen guards, and now rode day and night, only stopping twice to rest the horses and allow for brief respite. Ruenen was operating on pure adrenaline. Thank the gods Anja, the pink-skinned faerie, had the sense to scrounge up food from the Menagerie camp, otherwise they’d have nothing to sustain their rigorous pace.
He hadn’t yet been able to have a conversation with Marai. In fact, she’d barely said much of anything since leaving the Menagerie, except to comfort Keshel and the folk. She was so pale, her bones so prominent. As strong as she was, Marai wouldn’t have survived much longer in that place.
Seeing her upon that stage, a beautiful, sorrowful ghost surrounded by candlelight, deeply wounded Ruenen. Cavar had made her his slave, that collar subjecting her to his whims, forcing Marai to humiliate herself in front of a crowd of humans and their epicaricacy. She’d lived a life Ruenen couldn’t begin to comprehend, and when he looked at her now, in the fleeting glances he dared to take, she wasn’t the same person who’d danced with him on coronation night.
I should’ve gotten here sooner.
But he couldn’t walk down that path of blame. Ruenen couldn’t have gotten here any faster. It was by chance that he’d managed to find her and the Menagerie to begin with.
He glanced back over his shoulder at Marai in the wagon. Her eyes were closed, head leaned back against the wood, but her face wasn’t relaxed with sleep. She was awake, every muscle in her body taut and ready to fight, despite the dark circles beneath her eyes. At least she had food in her stomach.
Once we get home, I’ll help her heal. I’ll do whatever it takes to bring her back.
Keshel’s decay was worse than Marai’s. Gone was that stoic, impenetrable facade; the subtle, commanding grace. His tall form shriveled, curling inwards, and he stared at his surroundings with an almost drunken glaze. He spoke in garbled ancient fae, mumbled riddles, metaphors, and prophecies. Ruenen didn’t want to know the awful things Keshel saw.
Aresti spotted Ruenen staring at Marai and Keshel from his horse, barely paying attention to the road in front of him.
“What do you think they did to him?” she whispered, scrubbing at her face, her eyes, as if to wipe away the image of her weakened cousin. “I don’t know that person. That male’s a stranger.”
Cavar had diminished Marai and Keshel to mere whispers of a being. Hands entwined, they’d bound themselves together through the horror they’d faced. Ruenen observed Marai placing her hand on Keshel’s chest often, checking his heartbeat, as if to convince herself that he hadn’t passed in his sleep.
“He’ll regain his strength,” Ruenen assured her. “Once we get Keshel home, he’ll jump right back into working on magical relations.”
Aresti gave him a hard look. “You truly believe that what’s been done to them can be reversed?”
“Yes,” Ruenen said without a moment’s hesitation. He had to believe. “We’ll need to be patient and give them the time they need to heal.”
Aresti frowned, not hiding her skepticism, but Ruenen knew how distraught she was over Keshel’s state. He couldn’t blame her, especially since he was worried about the same thing.
The tattooed woman rode up next to Ruenen on her shaggy horse. She rode like she’d spent years and years racing along the beaches of Yehzig. “We’re close to Bakair. We should stop here and plan our route to the harbor.”
Ruenen halted the caravan. Bakair’s outline, a shadowed mass against the pale blue sky, loomed in the distance; a bell from one of its towers tolled. He dismounted, signaling for his team to congregate around him and Innesh.
“This road funnels into the Central Quarter, and from there, we take the main causeway to the harbor,” Ruenen told her.
“Yes, I know Bakair better than you do, Your Grace,” replied Innesh coolly. “I was Cavar’s personal slave for years, and traveled with him back and forth from Bakair and the Menagerie. While I don’t know much about lower Bakair and the harbor, I do know the general layout of the city.”
“We’d be playing into their hands to have us enter from this main road,” Aresti said. “We should split up into smaller, more manageable groups.”
“Any idea how many Guardians we’ll be up against?” Ruenen asked Innesh.
“It’s the bi-annual Meeting of the Governors. If they’ve all arrived by now, it could be hundreds,” she said. “I bet many of them turned around, tail between their legs, when they felt their amulets warm. They’re a craven bunch. We know Greguric’s there, and he’s a strong fighter, but the one you really need to worry about is Cavar.”
Tarik glanced around at the folk, who were taking the pause in travel to stretch. “Most of them don’t look like they’re up for running half a league. I doubt any know how to fight.”
“Is there a back way to get to the docks?” Ruenen asked Innesh. “Avoiding the main causeway and the Central Quarter?”
“There is.” She pointed a brown finger at the craggy, beachy terrain that sloped downwards to their right. The place Hemming had said was too difficult to traverse. “Those hills go directly down to the docks, but there’s no pathway, and the terrain isn’t easy. We’ll need to leave the horses and wagons behind, and go slowly on foot.”
“Lead the folk to the docks that way, Innesh.”
Marai stood on the outside of their circle. Her arms were crossed, and her face was sharp with calculations. Those strange, exquisite, incandescent wings fluttered once. Ruenen might never get used to seeing them upon her back, and he tried not to stare in fascination at the streaks of lightning cutting through the lavender and cerulean.
Finneagal and Elmar parted to let Marai into the group.
“Take everyone who cannot use magic,” she continued. “These folk are defenseless against the amulets. Those of us who can use magic will enter through the city to keep Cavar and the Guardians’ attention focused on us. If we should perish, at least the folk will stand a chance.”
“As you wish, Your Grace,” Innesh said.
Since when does Marai go by that title? The folk stared at her reverently, spoke to her with passion and respect, as if she truly had become their Queen. Ruenen met Marai’s eyes briefly across the circle, a flash of amethyst fire, and then her gaze slid back to Innesh.
“You still have Acacia’s amulet?” she asked, and Innesh nodded. Marai then looked back at Ruenen. “And you have another?”
“I do, and Nyle also has one onboard The Arcane Wind,” said Ruenen.
If Marai was surprised to hear the name of the boat, she didn’t show it. Her attention was already back on Innesh. “Use the stone, without question, if you encounter any Peace Keepers or Guardians.”
“Who will be making the main assault, Your Graces?” asked Braesal, glancing between Ruenen and Marai.
Ruenen pointed as he went down the circle of faces. “You, Tarik, Yovel, Finneagal, Beck, Aresti—”
“Me.” Marai pulled her long, white-blonde hair back into a low knot at the base of her neck. “And that’s all.”
Ruenen’s stomach leaped. “Why not me? I have an amulet.”
Marai’s eyes narrowed. “Do you know how to use it?”
“I managed to bring down the barrier, didn’t I?” Ruenen challenged her right back. It felt familiar, this back and forth dueling with words. “I’m going with you, whether you like it or not.”
Marai’s jaw ticked, but she said nothing else.
“What about those of us in the King’s Guard?” Elmar asked.
“Go with Innesh and the folk,” said Ruenen.
Elmar stepped closer to him. “Your Grace, we cannot let you go into danger without us. We’re your Guard. We must be at your side.”
“I need you to protect the innocents,” said Ruenen. “I have the amulet, my sword, and five faeries around me. I’ll meet you on the dock.”
Elmar and the other three Guards replied with disgruntled agreements. They were men of honor. Ruenen knew this hurt their pride, but up against dark magic, they had no chance of survival.
Most of the folk were slight, trembling people who’d probably never held a weapon in their life. Ruenen was surprised that Marai didn’t have Anja join them in Bakair, but the faerie female seemed like a gentle soul who’d probably never been to battle.
Suddenly, a high-pitched shriek cleaved the air. It was a chilling sound, one that made Ruenen shiver with a cold sense of dread.
“What in the Unholy Underworld is that?” he hissed, covering his ears.
Marai had gone still, the color draining from her already pale face. “That’s Bellaya.” She and Innesh exchanged a look, silent words passing between them.
Bellaya was a shrouded old woman, whose face Ruenen had not yet seen because she covered herself with the hood of her brown cloak. She stood in the middle of the wagon, hands reaching towards the sky as if the clouds were going to collapse upon her. The folk looked absolutely terrified.
“We should . . . we should get moving,” Marai finally said with a swallow.
Ruenen halted her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. “What’s going on with Bellaya?”
“She’s a banshee.”
“Alright, and why is she screaming like that?”
“It means someone will die today.”
Ruenen quailed. Well, odds are someone is going to die, if not many of us . . .
Bellaya stopped shrieking. People began to move again, but seemed visibly shaken from both the wretched sound of her wailing, and what those wails foretold.
“We’d like to accompany you into the city,” announced one of the horse-men. Centaurs, Ruenen had recently learned. “Wilder and I want to remain close to you, Your Grace.”
Marai gave the dark-haired one a curt nod of understanding.
“We’ll meet you on the ship,” Anja said, briefly grasping Marai’s hand. “Stay safe.”
Ruenen and his team watched the Menagerie folk disappear over the hill with Innesh in the lead. Eno’s water-filled trunk had to be carried by two of the Guard at the back of the pack.
“Go with them,” Ruenen heard Marai ordering someone. He turned to see her addressing Keshel, standing next to the wagon. “You’re in no shape to confront Cavar.”
Keshel glared defiantly down at her, his skin a sickly gray color. He seemed to be gathering up his strength, pushing his shoulders back, although he slurred his words as he said, “I’m fae. I want to be with my people. I can help.”
Marai’s lips drew into a thin, aggrieved line. Ruenen had to agree with her as he watched Keshel’s body sway unsteadily, his forehead pinch in pain, and his eyes cloud over.
“No, go with Innesh.”
Keshel opened his mouth to respond, but Aresti clapped him on the back. “We’ll meet you down there, cousin.” The slight spark of life in him must have pleased her. She gave him a quick, one-armed hug, before she gently shoved Keshel at the hill path.
He glowered at her over his shoulder, but stumbled after the other Menagerie folk.
Marai and Aresti waited until he was out of view before they followed at the back of the team, walking the remaining distance past patchwork fields of crops to Bakair. Weapons were unsheathed. Faces hardened to steel. Tarik cracked his knuckles. Marai stated that Cavar would be standing at the city gates waiting for them.
She wasn’t wrong.
Three rows of Guardians stood blocking the entrance to the Central Quarter like a small, well-dressed army. Ruenen counted roughly forty. Their amulets were already glowing with that eerie blacklight. Ruenen’s responded with its own pulsating light, a thrum echoing in his bones. Although he held it by its bronze chain, Ruenen felt the amulet’s heat. This time, the Guardians were also accompanied by four dozen red-vested Peace Keepers, their blades curved like a scythe, and shorter than the average broadsword. Some of them breathed heavily; fresh cuts adorned their skin, clothes tattered, as if they’d already come from a fight.
Behind them, the city was quiet, practically abandoned. Not a single soul wandered the streets, leaving Ruenen to wonder if Bakair had been evacuated. Doors and shutters were closed, locking any remaining inhabitants safely inside.
One tall, regal man stepped forward, parting the Guardians and guards as if he was some sort of god. He didn’t look physically powerful, or even slightly intimidating. If Marai hadn’t stiffened at the sight of him, Ruenen wouldn’t have given the man a second glance.
But Cavar’s eyes were sharp as knives when he stared at Marai. So much hate in his expression, alongside far too much confidence. Marai’s body was coiled and tense like a mountain lion waiting to pounce.
Cavar’s amulet flashed.
Dark magic sped towards Ruenen and his team in the shape of a hundred flashing daggers. Marai flung up her hand, erecting an invisible barrier around the team. The daggers exploded into smoke on impact, unable to pass through, but Marai wobbled, dropping the barrier immediately after. She couldn’t sustain that kind of magic yet.
Ruenen heard a neigh and galloping hooves from behind. He turned, expecting Dante or Wilder, but there instead was Koda, wincing and hobbling as he leapt from his horse.
Somehow, the bastard had caught up to them.
Fuck.
They hadn’t counted on him and his immobilizing magic. The goal wasn’t to fight against the Guardians in a city they didn’t know. They could never compete against so many amulets at once. Ruenen had instructed his team to run.
So they did.
