Queen of Destruction, page 4
part #2 of Queen of Extinction Series
“Favors to friends in high places,” Jorah said dryly.
“You included,” Aurora demanded, shocked that he could stoop to something as despicable and cowardly as an assassination.
“I am yet to find a use for Lazuli’s services,” Jorah replied. “Thus far, I have fought my own battles, and I would very much like to continue that way.”
“I agree.” She rubbed her temples against a dull throb. “If fish heads or an assassin are our only other options, whatever happens, tomorrow, we have to win.”
Jorah touched his heart. “If that is your will, my nymph, I will do all I can to spare us either of those options.”
She could ask no more. She picked up her spoon and was about to finally start eating when Niing pointed his pipe at her and then at Jorah. “What did I teach you both when you were mere tots in my burrow?”
“A great many things,” Aurora replied, rolling her eyes. As much as she loved Niing, sometimes he could be pedantic.
“Most of which we didn’t want to learn,” Jorah added.
She and Jorah had shared Niing as a tutor—even if Jorah had left the schoolroom long, long before she had been born.
Niing tsked. “I taught you to never close a door until it slams shut in your face. Aurora, while I find an assassin almost impossible to stomach under any circumstance, Peckle is right about the Oracle. We are in no position to spurn help—even if it's given over fish heads. The Oracle is our very best course.”
Aurora wasn’t in the mood for an argument, so she humored him. “As it isn’t the desires of Peckle’s heart that matter”—she waved at a hand at Peckle to hush his hiss of disapproval—“what would I have to give the Oracle to get answers?”
“The thing you value most in the world,” Arwen said. “Anything else, and the Oracle will mock you with lies.”
Apart from the friends seated around this table, the thing she valued most were her subjects in Ryferia, now stricken under Artemis’s rule and with Raith stalking them. None of these were ‘objects’ she could offer the Oracle. In fact, the only object she had, other than the rags on her back, was the black pearl Raith had given her during the trials. Given Raith’s terrible incubus powers and the sway he had so often held her under, she had stuck it into her pocket before the final trial to remind herself of who and what he was. It now bumped against her leg. With the Oracle already such a dodgy source of information, what would it say if she gave it a symbol of treachery?
She didn’t intend finding out, no more than she intended to send Lazuli after Raith. She had come to Ryferia to win over the council and nothing this side of hell was going to stop her in that quest.
Raith adjusted the soggy hood covering his head for the fifth time. His boots stomped through the deepening water from the rising tide. It soaked through his socks and numbed his toes. In the canals and alleyways, the salty water shone silver in the bright moonlight. The beleaguered boats and gondolas that had lain on the patchwork cobblestones all day now bobbed merrily in the sloshing water. The smell of salt replaced the scent of unwashed bodies, gutted fish, and overripe fruit that hung in the daytime air. One of Raith’s wanted posters had come off its peg and now floated nearby.
Very few people moved about, and almost all of them were musketeers. Decked out in spotless uniforms, carrying an array of weapons and swinging incense balls, they marched through streets and alleys in groups of four, threatening anyone who dared walk a little too close in their rush to get home. Curfew would begin in a few minutes.
Raith leaned back against the slick wall, hiding beside Carian in the shadows. A cold trickle of sweat ran slowly down his temple. He fidgeted with his hood again.
“Would you stop squirming?” Carian hissed above the trickling water. “Come on. We only have a few minutes left.” Without waiting for a reply, he pushed off the wall and splashed through the water. It now came up to his calves.
Raith sniffed and followed. He hated this plan, even though he had agreed to do as Carian wanted. It would only get them killed a little faster than waiting for Aurora and Jorah’s return would. He wished he could beguile Carian into giving up this course, but he had been a child when he’d first learned that it was impossible to charm his brother. He moaned. “There are no Infirm out. They’re all too scared to break curfew.”
“There are bound to be a few vagrants loitering around. And if we can’t find any, then we’ll lure some out of their homes.”
Raith ground his jaw as a rat paddled past.
Bells dinged loudly through the cold night air.
Curfew had begun.
In the darkness, Raith could just make out Carian’s wide grin. His stomach lurched. Untalented Carian in hunting mode was even more deadly than Raith the incubus could ever be. Carian surged up a rotting wooden walkway and onto an uneven cobbled path above the slow-moving water. They followed it through a narrow alleyway as the pealing bells bleated their final warning.
Musketeers hadn’t reached this part of the city yet. Clothes hung limply from lines high above their heads. Empty fruit vendor stalls, smelling of rotting juices, leaned against the walls. Most of the windowpanes were empty of glass, covered only by filthy strips of fabric. One of the poorer areas of the capital city, it was likely filled with Infirm and vagrants alike.
They reached a dead end, blocked on all sides by high walls slick with dirt. A single vendor’s cart, covered in a tattered old sheet bleached of color by sun and sea spray, had been abandoned against a wall. Two of Raith’s wanted posters were stuck to the walls.
Carian stopped, feet scraping against the dirty ground as he turned a full circle.
Raith clapped his hands to his sides in frustration. “There’s nothing here, Carian. What are you looking for?”
Carian didn’t respond. His brows narrowed. Listening.
Raith rolled his eyes and turned to stalk away. “Carian, let’s go—”
“Shh!” Carian snapped, hand going to his sword. Steel hissed as he drew it.
A whimper sounded from the cart, and Raith stilled.
A cruel smile twisted Carian’s face. He lowered the sword, moonlight glinting off the sharp edge, and hooked it under the sheet covering the abandoned fruit cart.
The whimpering grew louder.
Carian flicked the sheet away.
A man crouched on a filthy bed of sheets beneath the cart. Two little girls—the biggest looked no older than eight—hid behind him. Faces pinched with fright, they held on to each other. The youngest curled into her sister’s arms, and her legs dragged out behind her. Like twirled candy, her bones twisted beneath her too-thin skin. Her hands curled, with fingers bent at impossible angles.
Eyes wide, the man—probably their father—held out a battered cane as if it were a grand sword. One of his legs was twisted and mangled, too, but not nearly as badly as the little girl's. His unkempt beard trembled as his grimy, cracked lips pleaded silently.
The older girl dragged her sister closer, tucking the tiny thing between her and the wall. The little girl whimpered. She couldn’t have been older than four.
Carian raised a playful eyebrow, gaze running along the Infirm man’s frail wooden cane.
These were Carian’s targets?
“Carian, no!” Raith inched closer, holding his palm out at his brother. “They’re children! We should find someone else.”
Carian didn’t even look at Raith. He cocked his head and huffed out a satisfied sigh.
The older girl stuck her chin out in defiance.
She reminded Raith so much of Trojean facing off against their father to spare him a beating. Such courage deserved to be rewarded with a reprieve, but with Carian in hunting mode, that wasn't likely. Somewhere not far off, Raith caught the marching boots of the musketeers. He grabbed at the sound as a possible escape. He hissed, “Carian, the musketeers are upon us. Let’s leave these people. There will be others.”
Raith started to stride away, but Carian clicked his tongue and twisted his sword so the moonlight glinted off it.
Little Trojean refused to turn away.
Carian smiled down at her. “Are you going to protect them both with that stare, girl?”
Her lips thinned, and her eyes narrowed.
Carian chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
Her father jerked his cane at Carian again. “We don’t want no trouble, mister.” The cane shook in his weak hands.
Carian nodded along, still smiling widely.
The sounds of the musketeers drew closer.
Raith hopped from foot to foot. “For Maleficent’s sake, Carian, stop this. We have to leave. The musketeers will be here soon.”
Carian shrugged and chuckled. “Well, I’m afraid that’s not going to work out. For any of you. Brother, you always were the weak one.”
Just as Raith opened his mouth to defend himself, Carian smashed his sword into the man’s cane. The wood shattered, shooting splinters into the man’s face. He shrank back, arms raised too late to block the blow.
The little Infirm girl screamed—
And Raith was suddenly cowering on the floor in the dining hall of Lorithian Castle. His brutish father bore down on him with a belt hanging from his hand. It was slippery with Raith’s blood.
Somewhere in the shadows—out of reach of the colored light streaming through the ugly stained-glass window—Trojean screamed for Raith.
He peeked through little fingers to see her. A servant held her back, under Duke Krall’s orders.
With all her strength, Trojean kicked and fought until the servant dropped her. She thudded to the stone floor and sprang to her feet. The little thing—they’d been nine years old at the time—leaped into Raith’s path just as the belt came down.
Hot blood splashed onto Raith’s face.
It pulled him away from Lorithian Castle and thrust him back into the alleyway.
The Infirm man lay headless on the ground at his feet. Blood dripped from Carian’s sword, mingling with the red flood on the cobbles.
The smell of magic sank into Raith’s pores. He groaned, trying to blink back the glaze blinding his eyes. A glaze that did nothing to hide Carian and his sword.
The little girls screamed.
Raith yelled, “Carian, stop!”
The sword whistled as it swept through the air and sliced through the tiny Infirm girl’s neck.
Her sister screamed and lunged for her, but not fast enough to catch her head as it bounced across the cobbles. Blood sprayed the walls. Wailing, she clutched her dead sister’s body.
Raith’s fangs burned in his jaw as more magic spilled out.
A voice called, “Who’s down there?”
The musketeers were mere seconds away.
Carian strode away from the surviving girl to the grimy back wall, where he wrote something in blood.
Not caring what Carian did, Raith lunged for the ruined sheets. He waved a desperate hand at the girl. “Hide in here.” He pointed at the empty fruit stall. She cried louder and covered her face with bloody hands. Swearing, he grabbed and tossed her, kicking and screaming, into the stall. Her filthy fingernails sliced into his cheek, but he ignored the stinging pain. “Just stay here and be quiet,” he ordered, grabbing more of the soiled sheets to cover her.
She must have realized that he wasn’t going to kill her because, even though tears streaked her bloody cheeks, she lay still as Raith threw the final sheets over her.
Musketeer boots bore down on them.
Carian grabbed Raith by the collar and yanked him away from the stall.
But instead of trying to escape, Carian dropped into a low bow as four armed musketeers rounded the corner.
This was it. Just as they had planned. Knees trembling, Raith followed suit.
The musketeers skidded to a stop. A frown spread across their officer’s face at the two dead Infirm and Carian’s message, “Kill the Infirm before they kill us!” scrawled in blood on the wall.
The officer’s quizzical eyes settled first on Carian, and then on Raith—and then they drifted to the wanted poster on the wall. All doubt faded from his face. He hitched his musket until it was level with Raith’s heart. “Lord Raith Krall. Wanted by King Artemis. We have orders to take you to him.”
It was time to meet Artemis or face the gallows.
Iron manacles chafed Raith’s wrists as the musketeers marched him and Carian across the main piazza in the heart of the palazzo. Where exactly they were taking them, he didn’t know. Even after an hour or so locked in a cell in the musketeers’ headquarters, Magical blood from the little girl and her father still stuck to his hands and clothing. So intoxicating, it was a fight to keep his head clear.
The musketeers had left the two bodies where they had found them—perhaps to let the crows feast in the morning. Thankfully, they hadn’t bothered searching for survivors. Raith hoped the little girl, who reminded him so much of his dead sister, had found a way out.
A few nobles partying in the piazza—clearly unaffected by the strict dusk-to-dawn curfew the king had set for the rest of his subjects—stopped to stare at them.
Raith snorted at the injustice of it.
They walked for several more minutes before reaching a vast, domed building he recognized as the Ryferian forum. Someone must have alerted Artemis that they had been found, because the doors were already open, awaiting their arrival.
A musket thrust in the kidneys propelled Raith into the hall.
Monstrous, towering Guardians, spinning slowly on their spindles, lined the stone walls and stood watch at the giant doors. Torches fought the darkness sweeping in from the domed glass ceiling. High in the sky above, distant stars sparkled. Closer at hand, colorful gemstone mosaics swirled static galaxies on the floor. But it wasn’t the grandeur or majesty of the hall that made his eyebrows hitch: the Intelligentsia crowded the rows of stone benches, decked with cushions in the Ryferian colors, blue and silver. It seemed that every single one of Artemis’s nobles was here tonight.
Raith wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
At the head of them all, perched on a tall marble throne embedded with a mosaic of precious stones, sat King Artemis. He lounged in his stolen throne, wearing a crown of iron and jet upon his brow. A brutal, cruel crown for a poisonous, tyrannical king, it spiked up in thin spindles, sharp enough to prick a finger on.
The musketeers shoved Raith and Carian down onto their knees before Artemis and then also bowed low. The Intelligentsia watched silently as if no one dared breathe.
Artemis huffed a humorless laugh. “Well. Isn’t this exciting.” From his tone, the king wasn’t looking for an answer.
Heart hammering painfully, Raith remained on his knees. His fear didn’t stop his fangs aching in his jaw at the stench from the Guardians. He silently cursed them. “Rise,” Artemis commanded.
They obeyed. Raith’s eyes locked on Artemis’s, allowing some of his incubus charm, which invited his victims to walk straight into his waiting fangs, to leach into his expression.
Artemis responded by curling his lip in a half smile. The man may have been good-looking in his time, but years of sneers and gracelessness had left severe lines on his aquiline face.
The temptation to turn all his charm—or at least as much of it as he could harness under the Guardians—on Artemis was strong, but he didn’t want to alert the watching Intelligentsia that he was playing with their king’s emotions.
Still smiling, Artemis said, “I understand you’ve been killing my Infirm citizens. A bit odd, don’t you think?” He tore his eyes away from Raith to look at Carian for a brief moment. But drawn to the incubus allure Raith radiated, his eyes swung back to settle on him. “After all, you did win the affections of my traitorous Infirm niece. And you were oh so sweet to her. So accepting of her hideousness. Do you wish for me to believe you would have killed her on your wedding night?” Even his softer tone belied the harsh content of his comments.
Raith only just managed to hide his surprise at how close to the truth Artemis was. But left to reply by Carian, he flicked his tongue over his parched lips to rivet Artemis’s eyes on his mouth. “Sire,” he said, clear and bright. “When I first arrived in Ryferia, I did not know the true nature of the Infirm. Or your niece.”
Artemis’s eyes darkened. He must have known Raith was referring to magic.
Raith risked a small step forward, gaze flitting from Artemis, to the Intelligentsia, and to Artemis again. “May I speak…freely, my king?” Let him think I’m on his side. Let him think that I don’t want to cause him any embarrassment. After all, he wants me here or else I would be dead by now.
Obeying the subtle command, the king dipped his chin in a shallow nod.
Even the Intelligentsia seemed to be hanging on his every word. Raith deduced that they knew Aurora and the rest of the Infirm were Magical.
He took another step forward. The musketeer closest to him placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. Despite the prickle in his skin, he feigned calmness. “I despise the Magical as much as you do, King Artemis. I had no idea what filth your niece was until she escaped. Or else I would have done as you suggested and killed her.” His stomach knotted at the lies. “I realized that day when I watched her escape that she used her Infirmity to hide her magic. And that the other Infirm were the same.Magical,” he sneered, wondering if it would be too much to spit.
Artemis’s leaned forward, glued to his words.
Still too wary to believe he could walk out of here alive, Raith barreled on, hoping for the best. “In my Dukedom of Lorithian, there are no Magical, sire. We hunted them near to extinction.” That was almost true; Trojean had eradicated an entire generation of magic in her quest for power.
No…on Carian’s quest for power.
Carian had so desperately wanted magic that he hadn’t cared what dangers he'd inflicted on her. He hadn’t cared that the cravings for magic would have eaten her alive for the rest of her life had she lived, or that any of the Magical she’d reaped in Lorithian could have killed her. He hadn’t cared about the dangers of sending her to Warrendyte, where she had ultimately been killed by Jorah. Having to start again from scratch with Raith may have irritated Carian somewhat, but Carian didn’t mourn Trojean. Not truly. And Raith knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Carian would do the same to him to get what he wanted. He wasn’t only stuck between a choice of waiting for Artemis or Jorah and Aurora to kill him—no, it was just as likely that Carian would kill him, too.
