Fae King’s Triumph - SAMPLE
Publisher’s Note: Khao’s story is told in two parts, Fae King’s Quest and Fae King’s Triumph. This book picks up after the cliffhanger ending of the last book. Readers are advised to read with caution as there may be SPOILERS.
CHAPTER ONE
KHAO
“You’re not real.”
Victoria’s voice is hoarse and reedy, wrenching my unfocused gaze from the mineral crusted ceiling above our heads to her kneeling form. These are the first words she has spoken in two days?
Three?
Images assail my mind: A dart piercing the tender flesh of her neck. My magic waning. Victoria’s limp form encased in the arms of the vrou guard who had carried her away.
Dorata’s righteous smirk.
My jaw clenches. The memories are a torment worse than the torture the ikkeren has inflicted upon me at every turn of the suns since.
“See me.” The appeal drops from my cracked lips, a raspy croak barely audible through the ball of grit burning a hole in my throat. “I am body and flesh. I am real.”
I speak that last part louder, willing her head to turn in my direction. Whatever relief I had felt at the sound of her voice is short-lived, for her gaze never reaches mine.
Far from it.
She appears lost, unable to see or hear me.
Eyes locked on the ground, she flattens her uninjured hand over the uneven stones, her emotions swinging from confusion to alarm. A broken whimper escapes her and then pain floods the fledgling bond beating between us, leaving me raw.
She doubles over.
My body lurches from the wall. The aching need to protect and shield her from the magic that has gripped her mind since the moment she was captured takes hold. Iron cuffs dig fresh tracks into the weeping wounds at my wrists and ankles, and despite the blood slicking my skin, there is no give. No sliding of my hand through the shackles binding me, no matter how deep they slice.
The only pain I feel is hers. Her anguish. Her desperation.
Her fear.
“Breathe.” I am powerless to do naught but watch her languish, so I force what little strength I have into the bond she will probably reject. Then I brace myself for the bewildering hurt that follows every time the thought takes root.
Her emotions swell before she drags a knuckle through decades of grime, bodily fluids, and blood. The most recent mine.
“Trust your gut,” I say. “Feel the coolness of the stone. The dampness of the air. What does it tell you?”
No answer.
I sag against the wall. Wake, I want to scream. Break free.
“Khao?”
My spine goes taut. “I am here.”
“Khao.” Her voice rings with conviction. With…
Resolve?
A strange weight spreads across my chest, and her delectable scent, a blend of wild flowers and cool water, momentarily blocks the foulness of this place, soothing the beast raging inside me despite the poison suppressing my strength.
A tendril of something new invades my senses. Something not tied to Victoria. Or Hulemork. Something reminiscent of the fortress.
Of Tauriel.
Magic?
But before I can take in another harsh breath, the stench of decay and forbidden magic rises, rushing at me like a fierce wave crashing against the shore, the undertow dragging the fragile scent into depths I cannot reach.
“Khao?”
Our eyes meet, and this time, recognition flares.
Thank Ulda.
“Aye.” My throat constricts. “Can you stand?” I will not have her kneeling in this filth, soiling her flesh.
“Where are we?” Grimacing, she raises a hand to her temple. “I-I don’t...” She frowns. “I can’t seem to—what happened?”
“There is a cot. Sit until you get your bearings.”
Victoria drops her hand from her face. The disorientation clouding her expression slips away, replaced with the familiar stubbornness that sharpens the edges of her mouth and makes my heart skip.
She jumps to her feet, and instead of returning to her bed like I advised, she stumbles forward. The chain anchored to her leg slides across the cell floor, the iron grating against the stone before the length goes taut, jerking her body before she can reach me.
“Come on.” With a grunt, she tugs at the chain with her foot, each kick angrier than the last.
“Stop,” I rasp.
She releases a frustrated groan and then stills, her focus narrowing in on my neck. Her eyes widen at the same time a sharp breath fills the air.
“They torqued you?” Her gaze bounces from the collar, to the iron at my wrists and feet, the inflamed wounds in between, and then settles on the torn skin over my heart where a rune once restrained my magic. Now, the handle of a poisoned dagger protrudes from my flesh.
I do not need the bond to sense her horror. It is written plainly on her face.
The muscles in my throat squeeze tighter. “It looks worse than it is.”
“Don’t, Khao. Don’t make light of this.”
Fates, how I have missed her. “I am fine.”
She snorts. “You’re not fine. You’re as far from fine as I am from New York.” Her gaze warms, alternating between sympathy and another emotion I cannot read as she continues to appraise me. “Why aren’t you healing? Is it the torque? Is it the knife? Do you need blood?”
Remembering her taste and the feel of her essence pumping in my veins makes my mouth water. Hunger strikes, unfurling low in my gut like powerful claws raking my insides.
What I need, what I crave beyond sense and sanity, is also what endangers her most—what shapes her into the perfect pawn to be used against me by a crown I revile.
“Blood is the last thing I want.”
She flinches as if stung.
I feel her hurt—her confusion—and yet I let her think the worst. It will be better this way.
For both of us.
After a beat, she looks away, turning to inspect our surroundings. The bed she slept on is pushed up against the rock wall to our right, the meager blanket they had left her crumpled on the ground. To the left, iron bars run the length of the dungeon.
The figure standing inside the adjacent cell moves to the bars separating our enclosures. A patch of dim light falls from the skaers lining the dungeon’s entrance, illuminating a woman’s form.
Victoria startles.
“You know what he is,” the woman says with a hint of surprise in her thick voice.
Tall and clad in brown leather armor sundered from a recent battle, the warrior stands with authority, arms at her sides, limbs thick with muscle.
“Now tell me, do you know who he is? Do you know why she bleeds him?”
“You’re… human.” Victoria’s shoulders suddenly pull back, her spine straightening. She angles her body in front of me and spreads her arms wide as if to hide me from a predator’s view. “You’re from Clan Vred.”
“I am Thora, daughter of Olvir and Althaea. I am not your enemy.”
Victoria lowers her arms. “That’s debatable.”
“Is it?”
“No. I suppose it isn’t.” Victoria flicks a hand to our surroundings. “We’re here because Charope, your chief, sold us to the wolves instead of delivering on the help she promised. That doesn’t exactly put you in friendly territory, does it?”
“Vrou. Not wolves.” Thora’s eyes, dark like the hair twined into thick braids on the sides of her head, harden. “Although some would argue there is no difference.”
She pauses, head tilting to the side as if assessing a risk. “Charope does not speak for all Vred. Aim your venom where it belongs, human. This is Eimyrja’s doing. She is to blame. But he?” Thora juts her chin in my direction. “He can turn the tides but refuses.”
Victoria glances back at me, brows raised. “Eimyrja?”
My lips curl. “The vrou queen.”
“So, this is Hulemork?”
“Yes.”
Her mouth twists, then she murmurs, “I was afraid you’d say that.”
I wish, as I have for days, that I had defied Tauriel’s orders. I should have left Victoria at the fortress. Being stripped of my command would have been a welcome recompense. But I had wanted more.
I had wanted her.
Had duty come first, Victoria would not be chained inside a foul-smelling prison surrounded by death. She would have been safely tucked behind a magical barrier, protected within the goblin king’s territory. Instead, she is here, injured, fierce in her indignation against a dethroned Vred queen and her unscrupulous clan.
Because of me.
I vow to the gods, I will get her home. She will return to her Earth. No matter the cost. If Thora and her people are casualties in that pursuit, so be it.
“Ignore the Vred,” I say. “She is a distraction we cannot afford. Come, we must speak privately.” Or as privately as one can in a cell slightly wider than my height.
Thora cocks her head. “Casting doubt on all I have imparted will not change the facts or your circumstances, vrou. You are of no use to this human or your High Queen pinned to the wall, strung like a boar.”
“If he’s strung like a boar, it’s because you put him there,” Victoria fires back.
“No. Eimyrja—”
“Yes. You.” Victoria points angrily at Thora. “Your people. You turned us over. You knew who she was. And you knew what she’d do. That makes you an accomplice.”
Thora shakes her head. “I did not order his capture.”
“Maybe not.” Victoria’s breathing grows haggard. “But your clan assisted.”
This discussion is futile and only serves to further exhaust Victoria. I need her strong for what she is soon to endure. And until I can negotiate her release, these conditions—the cold, the errant magic draining her, the lack of food and water—will continue to work against her.
I force more energy into the bond, my limbs shaking with the effort. “Return to bed. Your breath is wasted on this female.”
“My people are not the vrou.” Thora’s voice, though low, vibrates with anger. “Unlike those creatures, we have spent an eternity avoiding the fae and their politics. The only commonality we share is that we both allowed ourselves to be swayed by sweet promises and poisoned hope. But your prince? He refuses to wield the influence he holds over his queen. Influence I do not possess.”
“Eimyrja is not my queen!”
“My prince?” Victoria says, leveling me with a curious glance.
I grind my teeth. “She knows not of what she speaks.”
Thora’s gaze jumps from Victoria to me. “I know enough. I know you reject your legacy instead of embracing it. I know you run from your past.”
The words are daggers piercing my bleeding flesh, setting the guilt I have harbored all these years ablaze.
“Enough.”
Ignoring me, Victoria turns to Thora. “You’re just as bad as Charope, aren’t you? The only difference is she’s out there somewhere and you’re here, behind those bars, blaming someone else for your clan’s mistakes.”
Countenance frigid, Thora grips bars made of black ore. “Convince your vrou to invoke Ahettu. Now. While there is still time. Then perhaps together we might stand a chance against Eimyrja before she comes into her full power and annihilates all of Alfhemir.”
My ire explodes, and I pull against my restraints, my back scraping the rock wall. “I am done with your rhetoric. For three days you have droned on, insistent, impassioned, and bound as I was, I gave you leave. But no more.”
“Ah, there he is,” Thora coos. “Khao D’larin of House D’larin, Prince of Hulemork, third son of Khaorese, the Dark Maiden, Queen of the Vrou and Protector of Hulemork. The last living heir in the vrou royal line.”
The need to suddenly squeeze the bridge of my nose nearly undoes me. “Victoria.”
I wait for her head to turn, for the sweet blue of her eyes to find me. She must see something in my face because she quickly pivots, shuffling away from Thora and comes to a full stop before me, as close as her chain allows.
“Hey,” she whispers. “We’re going to be okay. I promise.” She shoots Thora a furtive glance and then lowers her voice some more. “I’m getting us out of here.”
How this female makes my chest swell. “Victoria.”
“No, listen. I don’t know how long we’ve got, Khao, but I need you to hang in there. Just a little longer. Can you do that?”
I eye her. “You want me to hang here?”
Pink flushes her cheeks. “No! No, not literally. That’s not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant. What are you hiding?”
She shifts so her back is completely to Thora, who makes no attempt to conceal her scrutiny.
“Tauriel,” Victoria mouths. She wiggles the fingers of her uninjured hand. The same hand she dragged across the floor through my blood. “She had a backup plan in case things went south. I’d say this is as south as things can go, right?”
South?
I narrow my eyes. “What did Tauriel...”
And then it hits me. The magic I scented moments ago.
“You cast a spell? How?”
With a slight up-and-down movement of her head, Victoria leans in and taps at her finger where a ring would sit if she were to wear one.
An invisible ring?
Of course. Tauriel would have embedded a locator spell, and as is her wont, did not tell me.
I sigh. This mountain holds magic older than the fae. Magic born of the old gods during a time when they ruled these lands.
Magic that consumes all others.
Tauriel’s alchemy is lost here. She would have known that.
Victoria did not.
“She’s coming, Khao. We’re going to be okay.” Victoria’s smile is bright, a beacon of hope she shines more for my benefit than hers.
It’s a smile that fills me with an achy resolve that quickly multiplies, unfurling beneath my skin like an invasive weed sinking dagger-like thorns into the sickly bond dying in my chest. Only one of us will make it out of this mountain alive.
And because I do not have the heart to crush the hope burning in her eyes, I nod. “Aye, my fierce flower. We will.”
CHAPTER TWO
VICTORIA
“The last living heir in the vrou royal line.”
I lower myself to the tiny, no-mattress bed anchored to the floor. Khao had told me his family was killed during the vrou revolt against the High Queen, but he’d left out how pivotal a role they’d played in the war.
Now I wonder if his so-called adoption by the High Queen and her mate, Waur, was truly an act of kindness or a calculated move. Had Menora—and Tauriel by extension—indoctrinated a young orphan into her political court so they could later use him like a chest piece on some vicious game board?
God, I hate these people.
I hate what they did to him—what they’re still doing to him.
I try not to stare at the knife sticking out of his chest, but I can’t help myself.
If he dies…
My stomach rolls, and I press a hand to my belly. “How bad is it, really?” I gesture to the stream of blood dripping from the gaping wound and then retrieve the threadbare blanket from the ground. “And don’t lie to me, Khao. Not about this.”
“The ikkeren will come for you.” His voice is weak. “But you need not fear her.”
I cover myself with the blanket, tucking the ends behind each shoulder. “I don’t want to talk about Dorata.”
“Do not bait her.”
Seriously? He’s going to avoid answering my question? “Khao.”
“Victoria.”
Glaring at him, I shove my frustration and annoyance into a pointed look that spans the short distance between us like a tangible beam. I’m in no mood for evasion. I need truth.
But can I handle the truth?
A rare smile crosses his lips. “I will heal. You are not free of me yet.”
“I better not be.” I want to believe him. I do. But the color leaching from his skin has me worrying Tauriel won’t reach us in time. “So, first a Lord Regent and now a prince?” I tease. “Any other titles I should know about?”
Khao chuffs, the air hissing between his scabbed lips. He shifts his body. The movement seems to loosen the chain attached to the cuff around his right wrist. The lag drops his elbow, which causes his right shoulder to slide against the stone. A tendril of red lashes out from the shackle, and in the next instant, the chain pulls taut, snapping his arm back to the wall with an unnatural speed that forces a groan from his mouth.
I jump to my feet.
“Sit,” he says with a grimace, stretching his neck. A lock of silver-white hair falls against his cheek. “It is naught.”
Naught?
“You and I have a different definition of naught. That is not naught.” I scour the dungeon for more evidence of the telltale wisps, but they evade my panicky sweep. “They’re magic? The chains? The cuff?”
“Only mine. The vrou queen enjoys her theatrics. About the ikkeren. Did you hear what I said?”
“I heard.” Thinking about Dorata makes my brain leap to what happens if Tauriel doesn’t show.
Tauriel is coming.
She has to.
And she’s bringing a freaking army with her that’s going to tear this mountain apart to find us. We’re getting out of here because I can’t think about the alternative.
I can’t.
“Victoria.”
Stomping my errant thoughts and the fear scalding my throat, I ask, “Did you know about Eimyrja?”
Khao shakes his head, that intense stare of his scrolling across my face. “I knew of activity outside the mountain. We were not aware of the insurgency.” His lips purse. “Nor the extent to which they have assembled.”
My gaze darts to Thora’s cell. She’s moved away from the bars, crouched in a darkened corner. Her words swing back around, tolling in my head, an ominous harbinger that forces my pulse to race and my feet to pace.
“… do you know who he is?”
“Do you know why she bleeds him?”
What does Khao have to do with any of this other than being the unlucky person tasked with retrieving the bones and ashes?
My pacing stalls.
Is there a connection between him and that horrible magic he hasn’t told me about?
“Why are we really here?” Please don’t lie to me. “What does Eimyrja want with you?”
“Power.”
“Power?”
“Aye.” The red of his eyes seems to flare and bleed past his pupils, and then his body stiffens beyond the traction of the chains.
My attention shoots to his shackles, to the air around his fisted hands, and when I see no trace of magic, I worry this is all another dream. I’ll see his form waver. The air will curl. He’ll dematerialize out of this cell. And I…?
I’ll wake up somewhere else. Not in my bedroom at the penthouse, lost and depressed and missing him. Not at the fortress angry and confused and searching for answers. But back at the borgs, crawling and crying and retreating deep within myself to escape a reality I don’t want to face.
“Victoria,” Khao calls softly, jarring me from the fear filling my veins, freezing me from the inside out.
“The ikkeren knows your value. Use it until I can free you.”
I frown. My value?
“I will come for you. Trust me.”
“I do,” I say warily. “But I don’t understand. What do you mean by ‘come for me’? We’re leaving this hell hole together, right?” He wouldn’t dare leave me behind.
Would he?
Noise near Thora’s cell has me whipping around.
Eyes on me, the Vred warrior rises from her crouched position and then slowly turns toward the sound of jangling metal echoing from our right.
The high-pitched squeal of rusty hinges signals the swinging of a door I can’t see, confirmed by the sudden flush of light entering the room, illuminating the three forms marching inside.
Dorata enters flanked by two armed vrou. Red must be her color because she’s wrapped in another silky, barely there gown tailored to fit every inch of her body. Thigh high-slits expose the entire length of her legs, the crimson fabric rippling behind her as she moves. Whisper thin armor extends past her shoulders, tapering into lethally sharp points, complimenting the heavy gold embroidery sewn across the bodice and flaring out to her waist.
She glides by Thora without giving the warrior queen a second look. When she reaches our cell, Dorata stops and pivots to face Khao, long dangle earrings swinging from her ears. Her heavily kohled eyes land on me. She lifts her brow, a pleased expression supplanting the dour sneer she’d worn.
“Victoria,” she purrs. The light catches on the gold bands spiraling up her right arm, wrist to biceps, and the rows of sparkly amber stones embedded in the thick gold links encircling her neck. Even her graying hair shines, twisted and wound into elaborate curved horns that add inches to her frame, augmenting her Egyptian goddess vibe.
It’s impressive. And if I’m honest, a little intimidating. But I refuse to be wowed, especially by her.
Keeping my voice from shaking, I say, “Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. Or should I say vrou?”
Dorata’s smile widens. “Ah, my little friend, I see your tongue is as sharp as ever.”
I was such a fool. I can’t believe I let myself care for her. “I am not your friend.”
“I am not your friend,” she mimics, and I bite down hard enough to grind my molars. “Are your feelings hurt? Poor, poor, Victoria. Betrayed, alone, and helpless once again.”
I choke back the “fuck you” burning my tongue. She wants a reaction. She wants to break me. I won’t give her the satisfaction.
“Be grateful you are here and not in the pits with a band of goblins, little bird.”
I shudder. A cold sweat coats my skin, and I force the image of my tormentor’s face from my mind. “I hate you.”
Dorata laughs. “Hate me all you want. Your angst does not change the role you played in our rebellion.”
“Me?”
“Were it not for you, we would not have Myrkur’s bones and ashes. We would not have him.” She tilts her enormous head to Khao. “Thanks to you, we are on the cusp of a long-awaited victory against the High Queen. And soon, the vrou will crush Menora’s rule and restore glory to all Hulemork.”
I’m horrified. “You won’t get away with this.”
“No? But we already have,” she whispers, leaning in to my ear. Dorata reaches for my hair, twining her bony finger into the tangled strands.
I force myself to go still, hot air locked in my lungs.
“Did your time in the dreamscape teach you nothing, Victoria?”
Despite her hold, I stretch, elongating every inch of my spine to fill my five-foot four height. “My time in the dreamscape taught me everything I need to know about you and your queen.”
“Eimyrja will be thrilled to hear of this.”
“Eimyrja can kiss my ass.” God, that felt good.
Dorata’s smile turns nasty, intensifying the prickling sensation crawling over my skin. “My queen will find your exceptionally spirited demeanor interesting, especially when she learns you have received no nourishment during the entirety of your captivity.” She releases my hair roughly, several strands catching on her fingernail when she drops her hand. “So very odd for a species such as yours, is it not, my prince?”
She’s right. I feel… good. Really good. There’s no residual pain anywhere in my body, not even in my hand.
How can that be?
“Leave her,” Khao warns. “Eimyrja’s quarrel is with me.”
“And so it is. Shall I tell my queen you have reached a decision regarding her proposition?” The guards standing behind Dorata take several menacing steps toward me.
It’s a veiled threat Khao doesn’t miss. His eyes flare, pupils dilating until the black nearly overtakes the red. “Harm my ward, and there will be no negotiating.”
Negotiating?
My gaze snaps to Khao, and then dread sweeps into my heart. He’s going to—
I suck in a sharp breath. He can’t. “Khao, no. Don’t.”
His gaze remains fixed on Dorata, but I know he heard me. The lines bracketing his mouth deepened when I’d spoke. When my voice broke.
“Khao.” Look at me. God, please look at me.
But he doesn’t. Not when I move closer. And not when I beg, “Don’t do this. Please.”
Dorata clasps her hands at her waist. “My queen will be most pleased.” To the guards, she says, “Take the human and the traitor to the mines.”
The stockier of the two guards advances to Thora’s cell. The other crosses to me.
I jump back.
“The girl is not to be harmed,” Dorata hisses at the guard.
“And the Vred?” the other asks.
“Throw her in the pit.”
Thora laughs, the sound hollow yet thick with fury. “Is this to be my end, daughter of my blood? You curse my soul to rot beneath this mountain?”
Daughter of my blood?
My jaw loosens. Dorata is Thora’s daughter? She’s… a Vred?
“I? No.” Dorata snaps. “You chose this fate when you undertook my daughter’s death. When her blood coated your hands.”
I watch her move past Thora, a frigid air accompanying every step she takes toward the door.
“Now your reckoning has come.” She snickers. “Where are your beloved gods now, Mother?”
CHAPTER THREE
VICTORIA
“So, who are you, anyway?” I gesture to Dorata’s splashy getup and snort derisively. “The vrou king’s concubine?”
“There is no vrou king. Eimyrja has yet to take a consort.” Thora’s daughter gives me a wicked smile that wakes the flood of prickles at my neck. “Perhaps that will soon change.”
“I feel sorry for whoever fills that role.” My step falters. Wait a minute. She’s not suggesting Khao, is she?
“Say what you will about human fragility,” Dorata quips over her shoulder, “your mind is sharp. You could have been an asset to our court, Victoria, were you not so biased against us.”
“I—”
Eimyrja wants Khao.
We enter a narrow, musty-scented corridor with jagged rock walls glistening with moisture. I place one shaky foot in front of the other, my mind stuttering, caught on a single thought like a stuck gear.
The vrou queen wants Khao.
My Khao.
Was this Eimyrja’s plan all along? Or did she set out after Myrkur’s remains and Khao was the icing on what should have been an impossible feat?
“Come along,” Dorata says. “We are nearly there.”
An aged wooden door looms ahead.
My guard, a scarred vrou with shaved hair and tattoos stamped into the sides of his gray scalp, proceeds ahead and opens it with a hard yank.
A narrow stone staircase slightly wider than him leads into a darkened stairwell. Glowing stones, like the one Khao had given me the night we’d found the brownie’s decaying body—the night we’d walked into Eimyrja’s trap—are embedded into the rock along the edges of each step.
Dorata takes the lead, and I follow behind. The second vrou guard is at my back, joined by a third. Thora is restrained between them, wrists shackled, and unlike me, the guards take no chances, sharp blades raised to her neck on each side.
The staircase is an endless nightmare, tight and curved and desperate. How on freaking Earth will Tauriel find me if I’m three or four stories beneath a mountain made of solid rock with Khao probably in the vrou queen’s chamber?
Negotiating.
Instantly, my brain spawns an image of a beautiful vrou woman locked in his arms, and a surge of jealousy twists the knot in my throat when I think about him sharing firsts with anyone but me.
When I’d heard mention of a proposition, I’d thought…
I don’t know what I’d thought. That he’d broker some kind of deal? Maybe trade court secrets to buy us time until Tauriel and her forces could arrive?
Never in a million years did I think negotiating meant joining Eimyrja’s court as her consort.
As her king.
But even in this, Khao gets the raw end of the deal. Hulemork is his legacy. His kingdom. He’s the last vrou heir, not some queen no one knew anything about. He shouldn’t have to negotiate his place, or iron out a deal.
A deal he’ll work to save the people he protects because Khao is the most loyal person I know. He won’t betray Rogar, his king. His friend. He won’t.
And he won’t endanger me.
This knowledge eases some of the fire in my throat. Yet with each step deeper into this yawning mountain, the unfairness he’s being dealt builds, and I want to lash out at Dorata and her stupid queen. I want to roar my frustration. My helplessness. I want to inflict fear—spine-shattering fear—then watch them cower in its wake.
“I will come for you. Trust me.”
The knot in my throat swells, and I reel in my thorny emotions, curling my uncertainty, fear, and mistrust into a ball I squeeze tightly in my hand. I can survive whatever awaits me in the mines because he will come for me.
I know he will.
By the time we reach the bottom floor, I’m exhausted. I flatten a palm against the wall to catch my breath, the muscles in my legs cramping. Dorata doesn’t slow, and before my guard can use his sword like a cattle prod, I scramble after her into a large area, brightly lit by a source other than the glowing stones.
The walls are massive, towering over our heads, four or five stories tall. Like the wall I’d touched, the surface is rough and uneven, as if chiseled by hand and never refined beyond that first step. Scents, wet dirt, and fragrant herbs resembling thyme, oregano, or basil hang thick in the air.
And there’s something else.
Something metallic. Like iron.
The individual scents aren’t awful, but together, they’re distinct, sharp, and pungent enough to wrinkle my nose. A thin layer of sand coats the floor, stirred by a breeze that tickles the sweaty hair glued to my neck.
I should’ve paid more attention in science class, because the fact we can breathe, never mind feel this erratic warmth cascading between our bodies, seems scientifically improbable.
Behind me, boots scuff the rock floor, followed by a grunt and several groans. Mouth puckered, Thora’s entire face is creased. She glares at the guard on her left, who’s clutching her biceps with a death grip while jabbing the tip of his dagger into her neck.
She swings black turbulent eyes over my head to her her daughter’s. “This is not your destiny.” Her voice is furious, and yet beneath the harsh layers, there’s a plea. A warning.
Don’t do this.
“Where is the daughter, the sweet child I raised in love, honor, and harmony?” she bellows. “Where is she?”
Dorata doesn’t respond. She continues marching, the silky fabric of her gown billowing between us. But there’s a harder ridge to the slope of her shoulders that wasn’t there a minute ago.
The warrior queen’s gaze lands on me, and I wish I’d turned away sooner.
“You know what you must do.” She seethes. “Do not fail.”
The guard strikes, heel of his fist to her face.
Thora takes the hit without a jolt, baring sharpened teeth at the vrou with a vicious growl. There’s no doubt in my mind who’d win that fight, fair or not.
The expanse narrows, funneling us through openings on either side of reddish-gray arches marking the beginning of the next hollowed out space. Faint voices echo, carried into this smaller cavern from another part of the mountain. Murmurs. A clang. The ceiling isn’t as high here, maybe fifteen feet at most? Before the second archway, the well-worn path splits into two. One runs straight to the arch Dorata disappears through. The other curves left to an opening in the wall where a descending staircase is visible.
“Do not forget,” Thora presses again, struggling against the guards dragging her to the stairs. “He is the key. He is her weakness.”
“Move,” Tattoo Head snaps, nudging me roughly with a sharp poke to my shoulder blade. We pass through the arches into a cavernous space boasting—
Oh, my god.
There’re people here.
Human people.
Women sit in small groups around a massive fire blazing at the heart of the room. Thick smoke spirals upward through what must be a hidden vent some twenty stories above our head.
Chatter ceases. Heads turn. Interspersed among the humans are silver-haired vrou women who watch me with the same disinterest the humans do. The only men I note, beside the annoying guard shoving me forward, are two other vrou stationed at opposite points of the room.
My gaze jumps to movement on the far wall, snagging on a misty tendril darkening the stone.
Magic.
Well, that explains the breeze. And the warmth.
I make out a large hole in the rock, then notice the ladders and ledges running between several more openings. They’re cavities, wide recesses in the stone running one and two levels above the main floor, spanning this entire cavern. I twist around, peering at a few that appear occupied.
They’re living quarters?
A tall woman dressed in a belted blue tunic, pants, and leather boots approaches. She’s weaponless, so not a guard, but clearly someone of authority.
She bows when she reaches Dorata. “High Priestess.”
High Priestess?
Dorata?
I contain my snort.
“Jalaea.” Dorata steps aside so I’m visible to not only the woman, who up close looks more Vred than human, but also to everyone else currently staring at me in the chamber. And the looks I’m getting aren’t friendly.
“She’s to work the herbs,” Dorata commands.
Whatever that means.
Up until that point, Jalaea’s expression had been cold. After, a flicker of something akin to sympathy washes over her face.
“As you wish,” she says.
An uncomfortable heaviness settles over my lungs. That look…
No, this place can’t be worse than the borgs.
It can’t.
“And Jalaea, tell the guards I am not to see a mark on her skin. If punishment is required”—Dorata eyeballs me as she speaks—”use methods the queen approves of. Do you understand?”
“Yes, mistress.”
“Ensure all do.”
“It will be done.”
Dorata leaves, and the panic that had been ticking in my chest explodes.
“Wait.” I spin around. “You’re just… You’re just going to leave me here? I—” Khao’s words blare in my head. “The ikkeren knows your value.”
Use it, he’d said.
God, I hope he’s right.
I bite my lip. “I—I have skills.” I try not to cringe at how pathetic I sound. “I can be of value to you.”
“Oh, I am quite aware, and make no mistake, Victoria, you will put those abilities to use.” A smug smile spears Dorata’s face. “I expected you to crumble, but this soon? How shameful. What will your Lord Regent think?” She laughs, the sound grating on my every nerve, but in the snap of a finger, her amusement vanishes, replaced by a hard, icy stare that turns my irritation to wariness.
“Prove your worth and then perhaps I will reconsider your place among the slaves. That is, if you survive the mines.”
If I survive?
Stunned, I watch her sashay through the arches, heart pounding against my ribs, as a rough hand grips my arm.
“Be still.”
I almost laugh. My whole body trembles. In shock? Fear? Adrenalin? Who knows at this point.
Jalaea’s cool fingers wrap around my leg.
I startle. “What’re you doing?”
“Idiotic human,” she murmurs under her breath. “Hold still.” She slides a key into the shackle I’d forgotten about. A soft click chases the turn of her hand, the tension loosening around my ankle.
“Thank—”
“Do not speak. If you feel the urge, cut off your tongue.” The shackle slips to the ground with a clang. “It would be a mercy compared to what they will do to you.” She grasps the chain, rises to her full height, the cuff dangling over her fist, and deposits the restraint into the waiting hands of the guard standing beside her.
“I—”
She’s in my face before I can blink. A full foot taller than me, her eyes are blacker than Thora’s.
“Go ahead. Talk.” She gestures to one of the vrou guards. “He will not mar your skin, but you will wish you were dead.”
My eyes water, and the breath I was about to inhale gels in my throat. I thought nothing could top the borgs. Nothing. I have the sudden and unmistakable certainty fate is about to prove me wrong.
READY FOR MORE?
What I need, what I crave beyond sense and sanity, is also what endangers her most—what shapes her into the perfect pawn to be used against me by a crown I revile.
— Khao/Fae King's Triumph