Kingdom of Shadow and Light (Fever), page 30
It also implies that Azar and Ixcythe have been lying through their teeth to me the entire time we negotiated.
Perhaps nothing can be killed here. But I could certainly be slipped a drop of the Elixir of Life. That wasn’t killing me. That was rendering me immortal.
But, assuming they’d actually found it before I did, why would they try to make me fully immortal? What would it gain them? It didn’t make any sense.
Locking gazes with Ixcythe, I tip my goblet sharply to the side and pour the contents to the ground.
She explodes to her feet, screaming, “Stop! Don’t waste it! I’ll drink it, by D’Anu, just give it to me! Give it to me!”
The moment the liquid hits the ground, the grass blackens, thick, noxious smoke rises, and Barrons and I leap from our chairs a split second before the grass bursts into crimson flames.
Ixcythe stares at the ground for a long, frozen moment, then her gaze whips to Azar, her eyes narrowing with fury, face tightening to inhuman proportions, skin on jagged, sharp bones. “Severina tried to poison me! If I’d drunk it while we were still at her castle—I will flay that bitch alive!” she snarls with incandescent rage.
Barrons manages to collect my father’s body before I even notice he’s moved.
I grab his hand and we sift out.
37
I get knocked down
MAC
We put my father in the same room at Chester’s where he and my mom once stayed, during that dangerous chapter of my life in which the corporeal Sinsar Dubh stalked me, trying to mow down those I loved.
Now the Fae are doing it again. The onslaught is personal and never ending.
On the second floor of Chester’s, down a honeycomb of glass-and-chrome corridors that sport reflective surfaces and create a carnival hall-of-mirrors effect, in a suite of rooms with transparent walls set to opaque, we tuck my father gently into bed. I can’t smooth his hair. I can’t touch him at all. He looks like he did back in Winter, bloodless, pale, and cold. The spell Barrons wove around him creates an unseen barrier between my hand and his body that hovers several inches above his skin. The only difference is the bone in his arm no longer protrudes through skin. Whatever Barrons did is slowly healing his physical injuries.
I’m grateful for the protection. I hate it.
We stopped, first, before returning to Chester’s, amid heated arguing, at the Winter kingdom. Kindness and cruelty, I’d argued. This is my kindness, I’d told Barrons. Besides, I can’t let them suffer. It’s not who I am.
I nearly drained myself restoring Ixcythe’s court, leaving enough power to get us safely back to Chester’s but little more. I suspended her subjects, unharmed, frozen in battle. I altered each being in the labyrinth, freed them from whatever hellish torment Ixcythe had frozen them in the midst of, then suspended them before they could finish thanking me and realize I wasn’t exactly setting them free. Yet.
I would, one day, return and retrieve the many humans, then release the many prisoners from her frozen river, as well.
Now I slump wearily into a chair next to my father’s bed and stare up at Barrons.
“What was the point of trying to give me a drop of the Elixir?”
“Ah, you figured that out. With Fae, it’s games within games. Severina must have convinced Ixcythe and Azar that she’d found it, and there was a single drop left, thinking perhaps they’d war with each other for it. Rather than take it themselves, leaving one of them to live longer yet eventually die insane and alone, they unwittingly foiled her plan and chose to slip it to you in hopes of scorching your soul and emotion, turning you into the queen they want you to be so you would somehow procure them a full flask of the Elixir and restore them all.”
I murmur, “It might have worked. Had it been the true Elixir.”
“You had no intention of drinking it. I could see that.”
“I had a…premonition…while sequestered. It was as if I saw that precise sequence of events unfolding and the horrific future that followed.”
“What future did you see?” he asks quietly.
“I destroyed humanity and trapped the Nine in a hellish limbo. Except you. You were the Unseelie king. You despised me yet offered to take me back somehow. You wanted to give me a reset.”
He’s silent a moment then says, “You didn’t drink. And it wasn’t the Elixir. Which means it’s still out there somewhere.”
“Still not an option for my father.” I turn my gaze back to Jack Lane, musing that I really need to tidy his room. Dad’s accustomed to the meticulous tidiness of my mother, who cleans and dusts and sweeps whenever she’s feeling emotional, which is pretty much all the time. There are cobwebs even on the posters of his bed. When I wipe absently at one of them, it greedily attaches to my fingers and clings, sticky and distastefully moist. I scrub it from my skin on the side of the upholstered armchair and say, “When I find it, I’ll offer it to him. But I know him, Barrons. He won’t take it. And if he considers it, I’ll talk him out of it.” I lapse into silence then say bitterly, “So, Ixcythe was lying about everything. Even her claim that there might be an antidote to the poison she gave him?”
“Most likely,” Barrons concurs grimly. “They’d have spun any lie to get you to drink the glass of wine. I was more concerned they might insist you eat that infernal pink cake they’d sliced.”
I glance at him, lips twitching despite the currently miserable state of my existence.
Then he’s tugging me up from my chair, slanting his mouth hard, hot, and hungry over mine. I melt into the strength of his body, meeting his hunger with ravenous, desperate need. I have no idea how long we kiss. I gratefully succumb to the heat and lust of the moment. When, at last, we part, I feel restored enough to face what I know I must.
“Have Fade and Kasteo bring my mother to Chester’s. Ryodan needs to figure out how to ward this room securely. If he needs more blood, he can have mine. If nothing else, I’ll slap crimson runes all over the place.”
“They might work. Fae harbor intense revulsion for them, and they did succeed in confining Cruce and Christian.”
“It’s possible,” I concede. “I suspect I’d have to cover the entire room and doubt I could summon that many at the moment. I’m also not certain what havoc they might wreak on the club.” There was a door and threshold I’d once sealed with those same runes, when I’d stayed at Darroc’s penthouse, determined to get the Sinsar Dubh and use it to achieve my own vengeance. I’d passed that building since. It had morphed into a terrifying ramshackle hulk of cavernous, shadowy rooms with pulsing red walls; a true haunted house if ever I’d seen one. “If Ryodan can’t secure the room, we may have to try it.” I glance back at my father and murmur, “When you release the spell, how quickly will he die?”
“I have no way of knowing. His heart had just begun to stiffen when I placed it.”
“Speculate,” I say woodenly.
“We have no idea how rapidly the poison progresses. But, applying logic, if such a thing can be applied to these Fae: Ixcythe knew you’d need time to find the Elixir. The question is how much time was she willing to allow you. She’d have to hedge her bets. She wouldn’t want him to die before you found it; you’d no longer be motivated. I have no doubt they searched all of Faery for it, but were unable to locate it, which means she knows that either you have it and will require time to be persuaded—and what better persuasion than watching your father slowly and painfully die—or you need time to search more thoroughly than they did. If I were Ixcythe, I’d allow you at least a week or two mortal time, possibly as long as a month. But, Mac, that’s assuming she’s rational. I’m not convinced she or Azar are.”
Valid points, and exactly what I’d concluded. Still, I’d been hoping I missed something or he had one of those brilliant, miraculous answers of his to offer. “Mom’s going to insist you remove the spell so she can talk to him. Can you suspend him again after?”
“I can.”
I turn away and head for the door. We have a great deal to do before my mother gets here and my world devolves into the waking nightmare of me telling her Dad is dying, and it’s because of me.
* * *
“We need Lyryka,” I tell Christian when he sifts into Chester’s in response to my text.
Barrons and I are ensconced in a plush seating cozy in the redecorated version of the Sinatra Club, which is now the Jimmy Durante Club and affords the only subdued atmosphere in the sordid, fascinating place, as well as the best platter of Guinness-battered fish-and-chips I’ve tasted since I’ve been in Dublin.
In the far corner, a chanteuse croons that she’ll be seeing us in all the old, familiar places, while at the bar, half a dozen humans sit, tossing back shots, staring fixedly at us. They nearly topple from their stools with excitement when Christian sifts in.
They’d been loudly expressing their displeasure at the closing of the Fae nightclub, Elyreum, when Barrons and I arrived.
Now four men and two women stare hungrily, gazes moving from me to Christian to Barrons and back again, and I know it’s only a matter of time before they work up the nerve to approach.
“It never changes, does it?” I murmur. “They know the Fae prey on humans; still, they flock like sheep to the slaughter.”
“They think they’re in love with death. They like to stand next to it, flirt with it,” Christian says in a low voice. “Then they realize they’re actually facing it, and suddenly Death is the frightening entity it’s been all along. But, until that moment, they feel more alive than they ever have. It isn’t death that attracts them, it’s the rush of cheating it. Problem is, once you gain Death’s attention, he rarely looks away. Until he gets what he came for.”
I glance at him. His words were delivered without an ounce of bitterness, and with a tinge of regret. He says levelly, “I am what I am, Mac. I’ve made peace with what I’ve done. I control it now. I won’t kill again unless there’s a necessity, meaning an obvious enemy for whom there’s no other acceptable fate.” He jerks his head toward the bar. “And I will never entertain the attention of such fools.”
I realize, a bit miffed, that as queen, I don’t have nearly the effect on the patrons at the bar that Christian does. They’re far more enamored of his towering darkness and inky wings than my wingless, ethereal Fae countenance. Why didn’t I get wings? They’re also, I realize, far more enamored with Barrons. What is it with humans and tall, dark, dominant men?
I arch a brow with a wry smile. I can answer that. I’m drawn to them, too. Once, long ago, I found Christian to-die-for attractive. Barrons is to die for.
“Where do you want me to bring Lyryka? Surely not here. Those idiots are about to head over to us at any moment.”
“Ryodan’s out,” Barrons says. “Mac’s going to finish eating. We’ll meet you in his office.”
The humans on the stools have finally fortified their nerve after not nearly enough intelligent discussion and too many shots. Puffed up with alcohol-induced courage, they slide from their stools and begin sauntering toward us.
Rolling my eyes, dipping into my greatly diminished reserves of energy, I sift Barrons, myself, plus my platter of fish-and-chips to Ryodan’s office.
* * *
“What can you tell me about poisons?” I ask without preamble when Christian sifts in with Lyryka.
Her brows climb her forehead. “Is there someone you wish to poison?”
“The Seelie poisoned my father. I seek an antidote. Do you have any other form you can wear besides mine or Dani’s? It’s disconcerting to look at myself while talking to you.”
She frowns. “I’m trying not to draw my father’s attention at the moment. Adopting a different form might. Do you know the name of the poison?”
“Ixcythe wouldn’t tell me.”
“Oh, Ixcythe,” Lyryka exclaims, visibly distressed. “She’s an unsavory sort, featured in many Light Court tales. A bitter and cruel woman, she’s been trying to wrest control of the kingdom of Winter for eons.”
“She has it now.”
“That’s dreadful! She hates humans and most all Fae, too. She was once the lover of Azar, from the Autumn Court. He chose advancement over her, consorting with one of the Summer Court Fae…what was her name…” She trails off, frowning, “Seraphina?”
“Severina,” I correct grimly.
“That’s it! The two of them set Ixcythe up, let her take the fall with the queen for their treachery, although I have no idea what they did. She was sentenced to five hundred years, sealed inside a mountain. Not long enough to kill her, but more than enough to make her stark raving mad. When the queen finally released her, Ixcythe spent another hundred years or so, addled, easy prey for any sadistic Fae at court. Eventually, she regained her sanity but was permanently damaged. She never forgave any of them. They say she has a list of enemies and has been sealing them, one by one, into monstrous frozen sculptures in a labyrinth as she grows in power. It was all-out war between the three of them until finally the queen wearied of it and forced them to drink from the Cauldron so she might have some peace.”
Good grief, no wonder there was such animosity between them. Ancient love, ancient feuds, all recalled at once. “How do you know this? I heard the Fae aren’t big on writing things down.”
“The queens always have multiple scribes, some human, some Fae. They keep detailed records of events, perhaps in case a traitor manages to force a cup from the Cauldron on them.” She wrinkles her nose. “Which is silly because once they forget, they’ll forget they ever made such records. I vastly prefer the human accounts, but if you want the closest to the truth of things, you have to take the stories with a grain of salt, as both sides embellish liberally, offering skewed perspectives.”
“Okay, let’s get back to Ixcythe and the poison.”
“She will never tell you what it is,” Lyryka says. “Eternal grudges and permanent punishments are Ixcythe’s theme and motif in virtually every story penned about her.”
I change the subject. “Hunters. What can you tell me about them?”
“What do you wish to know? And can I just say, I’m so grateful you’ve decided to let me help you,” she adds brightly. “I think you’ll find me quite an asset, and I’m positively thrilled to be part of the team. I was deeply concerned you wouldn’t release me again. Cruce may be my father, but…” She trails off and looks away. After a moment, she goes on, “You were right. He has no love for me. He locked me away from the world, and used me while he went on living. He built himself a new court. He made himself a new daughter.” Her features harden. “A wiser man would never have released me and allowed me to discover the true nature of reality.”
I was just convincingly lied to by two of the Fae and have a difficult time believing Lyryka is any different. I glance at Christian.
“Truth.” He looks at Lyryka. “How do you feel about your father?”
Her hands ball into fists. “I despise him.”
“Truth. What would you like to see happen to him?”
“I’d like to put him in a bottle for a million years,” she says in a low voice. “But I wouldn’t because I know how awful it is. So, I guess I want to see him in a position where he can never harm anyone again.” She’s silent a moment then says, “I’m afraid that’s only possible if he’s dead.”
“Truth,” Christian says vehemently.
“Hunters,” I steer Lyryka back to the topic. “Two of my people are being held in cages in the vacuum of space by Hunters. Hunters can survive in space. Humans and Fae can’t. How do we get to them?”
Lyryka’s eyes get a far-away, glazed look for several moments. “I can’t simply spout everything in the Library, nor do I know if the things I read are true or somewhat embellished. Authors frequently lie to lend their story a more appealing and dramatic flair and, oh, narrators, don’t get me started on them! Such sneaky bastards. Not even the king himself can hold all the information in the Library, which is why he created it. Often, when my father asked me to find something, it took weeks of searching. I had the place organized to make my quests as expeditious as possible but,” she cuts Christian a scathing look, “Death completely disheveled my filing system! Now part of the Library is in Scotland while part is still, I assume, within the White Mansion.”
“We have no way of getting to the White Mansion at the moment,” I tell her. “Cruce shattered the Silvers.”
Lyryka continues, “The king used to ride the most powerful and ancient of Hunters. One known as K’Vruck, whose fiery breath is said to deliver death unto all beings. He’s the end of all things, the Omega. Whatever the king is, he can survive in space. The environment doesn’t affect him. But he liked to take his consort into the heavens so he could show off his creations. They say K’Vruck had some way of keeping her alive, so she didn’t suffocate, freeze, and balloon as humans do.”
To Barrons, I say, “We need to find K’Vruck. He could protect both Dani and Shazam in their original forms.” His phone was in his hand, and he was already texting Ryodan.
I frown, eying the librarian. There’s a thing that’s been nagging at me for a while. Not as pressing as other matters, but I sure would like to know. “When the king abdicates power and chooses a successor, does that successor become like the king?”
“I’m not sure what you’re asking.”
“Will his successor become enormous and…weird and…half-mad…and well, you know, like large enough that existence is surreal in his presence and planets roll around in his wings and he’s so huge he has to split himself into many humans in order to communicate with us?”
