Faery Queen (21 page)

The king froze, unable to move. The man's eyes met his, stroking a memory as distant as a dream but as real as his own hand. He couldn't breath, couldn't move.

“My blood,” the man said softly, his hand shaking as he reached out toward Ean.

Ean stumbled forward, falling onto the ground next to him. He took the elf's chilled fingers. A tear came to his eye, as he whispered, “My brother.”

Chapter Nine

Lucien tapped his fingernails, deliberate and steady, against the arm of his throne. A great heat came from the center fire pit, illuminating the faces of the demons he'd summonsed to him. They filled his hall, awaiting his command.

Lucien let his eyes roam over them—so many hideous faces and even darker hearts. These were the pure breeds, demons spawned in pacts with evil, torn from their mother's thighs as soulless beasts. There was no hiding what these creatures were, not like half demons or the possessed who could appear like another race only to conceal the truth inside where none could see.

Nay, these demons were pure. Some had gnarled bodies, ravaged by time and hate. Others were like corpses, their rotting flesh peeled off their bones. Then there were the daimon, demons with flesh as red as blood and eyes as black as night. Those were to be truly feared. For the red daimon had the greatest power, the utmost hate, the largest appetite for destruction. They were unstoppable once they set to a course, so long as they had the means to fulfill it. Their only weakness was that they were trapped in the evil fires of his palace. They could not live in the immortal realm for long before being called back and, like Lucien, they could never travel to the mortal world—none of the pure demons could unless they attached themselves to the soul of a mortal. The daimon couldn't attach to a soul, for to touch a soul would be to kill it instantly.

“A new army will be raised,” Lucien said. “A powerful army that will march across all lands raining death and destruction like a torrent from the skies.”

“What kind of army?” a breathy, hairy lycanthrope asked, his fangs bared and dripping red.

“An army of half-breeds,” Lucien said. “An army of your sons and daughters. An army created with your seed.”

The statement got the excited reaction he expected it might.

“How might we do this?” a small, ghostly figure inquired.

Instead of answering, Lucien lifted his hand. He motioned leisurely to the floor, bringing forth a creature from the bowels of his dungeons—a tiny girl with long blonde hair and soulful blue eyes. When she smiled, the color of pale roses came to her cheeks. She was adorable, disgustingly so.

“Mmm, what a tasty treat,” the hairy beast said, drooling.

“This will carry our seed?” A tall, thin ghoul snorted in disbelief.

“She is the soothsayer,” one of his daimons snarled, putting out a hand to stop another from going forward to the child. The daimon bowed. “My lady.”

The soothsayer giggled, the sound of happiness sending chills over the hall. Following the red demon's example, the other demons kneeled to the child, murmuring, “My lady,” in respect.

“Tell them, Anja,” Lucien ordered the child.

Anja smiled and curtseyed, gently lifting the skirt of her burgundy tunic gown. When she again stood, her eyes were filled with fire. Her voice rang innocently over the hall, happy and light, “I see a great ruler taking a dark throne. I see a great army of half-breeds marching through realms, conquering all races.”

“What half-breeds? Elves?” a daimon asked.

“Half demon, half mortal,” Anja answered. A series of grunts and whispers filled the hall.

“Mortals?” the ghoul asked. “How?”

“Magic.” The soothsayer giggled. “Dark magic. Fire magic. Strong magic.” She turned to Lucien, batting her now blue eyes. “And I see a dark prince.”

Lucien froze. She hadn't told him that when they'd spoken before. The demons cheered. His gaze lifted up to the ceiling. Mia was in his bed, chained.

A prince?

“Now, let me go back down,” Anja demanded, like the spoilt girl she was. She stamped her foot. “I want to play with the prisoners. Let me play.”

Lucien motioned his hand, putting her back down into her playground in the lower dungeons. To his demons, he said, “You have heard the prophecy. I have brought you here for you are my most devious warriors. Contact your mortal priests and priestesses. The magic must be summonsed. Tell them to watch for the signs and tell your legions that any who father a half mortal child will rise in my favor. And, needless to say, I expect each of you to father a child of your own.”

A couple temptresses in the corner huffed at the comment.

“Or mother them,” Lucien amended. “My apologies, ladies.”

“Seducing mortals is easy enough.” A temptress bowed her head.

The group of women disappeared in a blink. Fire roared violently in the center pit, sucking the daimons in. A few ran for the door, others disappeared into a puff of smoke. He was left alone in his hall.

A dark prince. Anja saw a dark prince in his future. Lucien sat back on his throne, again tapping his nails in a slow and steady rhythm. Now that he was alone, he called the soothsayer back to him.

Anja appeared, her arms crossed over her thin chest and her lips in a pout. “I knew you would call me again.”

“What do I have to do?” Lucien narrowed his eyes on her.

“You are doing it,” Anja said, giggling. “Queen Tania. She is weak and she cannot find another to take her place. If you finish her, the faeries will join you or die. The faery rings will be left and they can call the mortals through. They will fall unsuspectingly into our world.”

“You said a dark prince,” Lucien clarified, though Anja's words about Queen Tania were enlightening. He would pay her a visit just as soon as he was done with Anja.

The soothsayer laughed as she swayed back and forth, lifting one hand into the air and then the other as she danced. Lucien let music fill the hall. So long as she was happy, Anja would help him.

“You are doing what you need to do,” she said. “All will happen in time.”

 

 

 

Tania felt as if the floor spun beneath her in slow circles. Faces drifted by like a dream, but still she didn't move. Her hands lay above her head and her legs sprawled out over the floor, stiff and straight. She stayed in the main hall, unable to find the energy to leave it.

Faeries came and went, sprinkling flower petals around her like she was already dead. She let them, hoping with each new visitor a worthy successor to her throne would appear. Tania told herself that is why she waited, why she held on to each breath.

One never came.

“My queen,” Lily whispered. “We found the old spell. It will tell us who should take the throne.”

Even though it was what she had to do, she still felt a pang of sorrow at the thought of ending her rule. This is not what she wanted. Worse was her sorrow over losing Hugh. She loved him, desperately, and she wanted him back. But just because that is what she wanted, didn't mean that it would happen. Hugh had to want it too and it was clear he didn't. Not once did he say he wanted her. Well, once, but he'd been under the euphoria of her pheromones.

“Should I cast it?” Lily asked.

Tania moved her eyes, unable to speak.

“All right, my queen, I will cast it. I will do it,” Lily said, nervously. “Roslyn, come, please.”

Roslyn instantly appeared.

“Here, read this,” Lily thrust the piece of parchment at her.

“I…?” Roslyn hesitated, before reciting the ancient words to cast the spell by herself. Lily backed away, not helping her sister.

Tania watched Roslyn's lips, not really hearing what she said. Suddenly a soft glow illuminated the parchment. Roslyn dropped it. The light moved, settling over Tania. She felt the tingling of faery power on her, but was unable to control it. Slowly the glow concentrated on her hips and disappeared.

“There is no one else,” Lily whispered. “The magic picked you, my queen. There is no one to take your place.”

“We are lost,” Roslyn said, stumbling back. “Lost. Queen Tania, what will we do?”

“The magic has nowhere else to go,” Lily continued. “What will happen to us, my queen? Please, what will happen to us? The magic will be lost.”

Tania wanted to scream with frustration. They were right. The magic was in her. She was the last faery queen.

“What will we do?” Lily's cry echoed over the hall. Tania wasn't sure if Lily was screaming at her or the other faeries. A low murmur of panic swept over her court. She couldn't lift a finger to stop it.

“What will we do?” Lily repeated, falling down to rest next to the queen on the floor. Roslyn lay behind her sister, her cheek pressing against Lily's so both faery ladies were staring at her. “Tell us what to do.”

“We need you,” Roslyn whispered. Tears welled within their troubled gazes. “If you do not tell us what to do, who will? We need a queen.”

Tania closed her eyes, unable to look at their pleading faces. She had never realized how dependent they really were on her and her magic. How ironic that the one time she took something for herself was the one time she was failing them. Was it wrong to want happiness? To want Hugh? Why couldn't she have one thing for herself?

A cold chill swept over her and she felt the flower petals blowing. When she opened her eyes, it was to a dark, shadowed hall. Lily and Roslyn were no longer next to her.

“Such changes.” Lucien's voice sounded moments before he appeared to stand above her. His feet were on either side of her hips as he leaned over to study her face. “You look beautiful.”

Tania couldn't answer. It was no wonder the others had left. None of them would want to brave Lucien's presence.

“Ah, poor faery. You do not want to die, do you?”

Tania looked to the side, not seeing any of her faeries, before staring back up into his black eyes. She felt abandoned. Lucien gracefully kneeled over her, straddling her waist with his knees. The chill continued up her body until she shivered uncontrollably.

“Little faery, what did Lord Bellemare do to you?” The Damned King caressed her cheek before moving his hand to rest over her heart. Gasping, he closed his eyes and took several stunted breaths before pulling it away. When he again looked at her, his gaze burned and he was smiling. “Ah, your pain.” He leaned over her, rubbing his cheek next to hers, breathing hard as if aroused. “Such sweet heartbreak.” A tear slid from her eye and he licked the trail, following it with the tip of his tongue. “Such delicious sorrow.” His tongue veered off-course and ran over the part of her lips. All of a sudden, he kissed her hard, stealing her breath before letting go. “Your pain makes me want you, but you are broken. Used. He used you, Tania, did he not? Lord Bellemare used you and now he is gone, leaving you to die.”

More tears slid from her eyes.

“Look how he has left you, poor little faery,” Lucien continued. “Look at what he has done.”

Fire blazed on the tips of his uplifted fingers before forming into a silver mirror. He held it over her. Tania didn't want to see, but she couldn't stop herself from looking. Her hair was black, as were her eyes and lips, even her tears. They contrasted what pale skin she had left. The dark lines had grown over her, a vine attesting to her sorrow. No wonder the faeries cringed away from her. She didn't recognize herself.

“Give yourself to me. Give me your soul and I will give you peace,” Lucien promised. “You know I have that power. I can free you. I can save your faeries if you pledge yourself to me.”

She shook her head in denial. The slight gesture was enough. His face contorted in irritation.

“He has done this and you still love him?” Lucien growled. “He used you, Tania, used you and left you. I promise never to leave you.”

She knew he was lying and regretted the day she'd made her pact with him to bring Hugh to her. Time would have shown Hugh back to her if that is what fate wanted for her. She should have never pushed. But she defied fate and was selfish. This dark punishment was her reward for such greed.

That was all done with. She had a choice to make. Did she save herself and faery magic by agreeing to serve the Damned King, or did she take the consequences of her actions? If she saved the faeries, what would she be saving them for?

“As you wish, my queen,” Lucien said when she did not agree to his terms. He stood and threw the mirror, which puffed into smoke before hitting the ground. “I kept my bargain and now it is time for you to keep yours before you die. I get my night in the mortal realm.”

“Step…” Lily tried to say, her voice weak. Tania couldn't see her, or her sister.

“Step back,” Roslyn added.

“Stay away from her,” said Lily. “Get out of here. She will never agree to your offer. Leave this palace at once!”

Lucien tossed back his head and laughed. “As you wish, little faery.”

Tania moaned as Lucien wrapped them in darkness, knowing he carried her away from the palace, away from her subjects and friends. They had made a blood pact, a foolish bargain which she would be forced to keep. Perhaps that is why she had yet to die. She had a deal to uphold. The balance of all magic demanded it.

 

 

 

“Merrick.” Ladon didn't say much, but he did say his brother's name. Often.

“What did Lucien do to you?” Ean asked, not for the first time. Nearly sixty years had passed since he had seen Ladon, but it didn't matter. He knew him the second their eyes met. His brother was alive.

Ladon looked worn, but being imprisoned for as long as he had been would do that to a man. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse from little use, but he did speak and, though the words were sparse, Ean could understand what he was trying to say.

“Merrick,” Ladon repeated. Ean had told him of Merrick's new kingdom, but had gotten little of Ladon's story from him. It was clear his brother didn't remember all that had happened to him, or much about where he'd been for the last sixty years. All Ladon knew for sure was that he urgently wanted to see Merrick. Ean didn't know why. All these years he thought it Merrick's fault Ladon and Wolfe had died. Now, Ladon was here and Wolfe was possibly kept prisoner in Lucien's hold.