With a Golden Sword (DFZ Changeling Book 2), page 19
“This is fun!” she cried as she punted a package at one of the hanging lights. “I should be a distraction more often!”
Valente ran a hand over the spot where his face should have been. The girl kicking the mail was made of Lola’s gossamer, but it definitely wasn’t her. She looked more like a Lola doll that had come to life. He wasn’t entirely sure how that worked, but the knighthood oaths were screaming at him to make her stop, so Valente stepped forward to grab her by the arm.
“Hey!” she said, tugging against his grip. “What gives?”
Valente let go of her just long enough to grab one of the flying letters out of the air. He stole a pen next, snatching it right out of a reply-writing thrall’s fingers. Both actions together couldn’t have taken more than five seconds, but by the time Valente turned back around, the girl-who-was-almost-Lola had spun her gossamer into a mallet and was swinging it over her head to smash the track lighting out of the ceiling.
He grabbed her again, taking her mallet away and tossing it on the floor to free his hands as he wrote a question on the back of the envelope he’d snatched out of the air.
What are you?
“I’m Lola,” the girl who was obviously not Lola said proudly. “Go on, ask me a question!”
What are you doing? he wrote next.
“Causing a ruckus to keep you distracted from the real Lola.”
Valente couldn’t help himself. Aren’t you not supposed to tell me that?
The fake Lola shrugged and shaped up another mallet. She was already swinging for the lights again when Valente pinned her arms behind her back, holding her wrists together with one hand while he wrote furiously with the other.
What did she want you to distract me from?
“She’s going into Victor’s dreams to find your head.”
Valente was so stunned that he let her slip from his grasp. The double seized the opportunity to grab both of her mallets and charge straight into the giant stack of packages in the corner. The sounds of destruction were so loud that even the thralls looked up, but Valente was frozen in place, his gloved hands fisting tighter and tighter.
This couldn’t be happening. Lola was supposed to be safe. He’d bent over backwards to keep her out of this, to keep her away from him. Now she was going into Victor’s dreams, plunging headfirst into the monster’s mouth, and it was all his fault.
The panic that shot through him at that was enough to make even the oaths go quiet. He never should have told her about his head. Never should have gone near her at all, but he couldn’t bring himself to die without telling her he was sorry, and now that selfishness was going to get her killed. He couldn’t let that happen, not after she’d finally gotten free. Killing Victor was supposed to be his atonement, the one thing Valente could still do to make up for all the evil he’d done as his knight. It wouldn’t bring anyone back, but at least he’d be leaving the world a better place. A better place for her.
Lola was a huge part of why he was doing this. She was the only person who’d seen him, all of him, and hadn’t despised him. Even Valente despised himself, but Lola never had. Even after Victor had ordered him to kill her, she’d embraced him and said she didn’t want him to die. Valente had no words for how much that meant, but he hadn’t thought she’d actually do it. Even if she did find his head, a knight had no life without his monarch, which meant Lola was putting herself in danger for nothing.
The double was still merrily smashing boxes when Valente grabbed her again, shoving the envelope, which was now scribbled all over, into her face.
How do I make her stop trying to save me?
“Oh, you can’t stop Lola,” the girl assured him. “She does whatever she wants. Just look at me! According to Tristan, changelings shouldn’t even be able to make gossamer that can think for itself, yet here I am!”
She smashed another package flat before leaning on the handle of her mallet to grin at him. “You might as well give up and let her save you, because Lola’s not going to stop until she does.”
But it’s impossible, Valente wrote, his hands shaking so badly that the letters looked like squiggles. I’m a knight. Only death can free me from Victor.
“That doesn’t matter,” the double informed him casually. “Her sister’s dead, too, and Lola hasn’t stopped trying to save her.”
Valente jerked. Her sister’s dead?
“Well, her body’s technically alive, but there’s nothing inside. Tristan’s known for weeks. He just hasn’t said anything yet because it would make Lola upset.”
But he said something to you?
“He was interrogating me,” the double said, lifting her chin as if this made her terribly important. “There’s something going on with Lola’s magic that he doesn’t understand. See example number one: myself! He’s always known she wasn’t a real changeling since actual changelings don’t dream. He thought that was due to Victor’s human blood, but that stuff’s been out of her for weeks and she still—”
She cut off as Valente grabbed another letter to start writing again, reading it carefully when he shoved the note under her nose.
What do you mean Lola’s not a real changeling?
“Hey, I’m just telling you what Tristan told me,” the double said, raising her hands. “But it does make sense. I mean, if Alberich could just make a changeling with dreams as delicious as Lola’s, why would he need to steal babies? All the food he needed would already be right there.”
When Valente tilted his headless body to think that over, Lola’s copy made a break for her mallets again. He smacked them out of her hands before she got six inches, pinning her arms behind her as he wrote his next question.
What else did Tristan tell you?
“Not much,” she said with a sigh. “He mostly wanted me to tell him stuff. I have all of Lola’s memories up to the point where she spun me off, so I’m a great source of information.”
Again, she sounded smugly proud about that, and the Rider hunched his shoulders like a scowl. Shouldn’t you be more loyal?
“I am loyal!” the copy cried, looking terribly hurt. “But Lola made me in her image, and she doesn’t care about secrets. All she wants is for everyone to be happy and safe. And for Victor to die in a fire, but that’s a distant second. She mostly just wants to set you all free. That’s why she’s fighting so hard to find your head. She was never going to sit back and let you sacrifice yourself even if it would kill Victor. You’re way more important to her than he is.”
She’s important to me too, Valente wrote in shaky letters. He stared at the words for a long time, and then he crumpled the scribbled envelope in his hands, reaching down to snatch a fresh one off the ground to write a new message.
I need you to do something for me.
“I know, I know, it’s ‘die,’” the double said with a dramatic sigh. “I told Lola I wasn’t strong enough to fight you, but she said that was okay, so I guess you can go ahead and melt my gossamer or whatever. Can I smash a few more things before you do it, though? Lola has a lot of pent-up rage, and breaking Victor’s stuff is really satisfying.”
I think you already broke it all, Valente wrote, waving his pen at the destroyed room. But I’m not going to kill you.
She looked confused. “Don’t you have to kill Lola?”
You’re not her, he wrote. But you are made from a lot of her gossamer. I’m pretty sure she’s going to need that back, so I’m letting you go. In return, I want you to deliver a message for me.
“Sure, what is it?”
Valente’s body moved in a silent breath. This was the most selfish thing he’d ever done, but just like that wonderful night by the lake, he couldn’t bring himself to stop. Lola always did this to him. Even when she wasn’t here, even when he knew it was all doomed, she still somehow made him hope. It was a stupid, self-indulgent feeling Valente knew he didn’t deserve, but he couldn’t stop his hand as the words appeared on the page.
Tell her I’ll wait, he wrote in tiny letters, turning his back to make sure the thralls didn’t see. I can’t promise I’ll survive the Wild Hunt, but if she’s brave enough to go into Victor’s dreams for me, the least I can do is try. He tightened his fingers on the pen. I won’t throw the fight with Orlando. As long as I can, as long as it takes, I’ll do my best to stay alive until she finds a way to set me free.
“That will make her very happy,” the double promised, wrapping her arms around his chest. “Don’t die, Valente!”
The sound of his real name spoken in Lola’s happy voice shook him to his core. By the time he got control of himself again, the copy had vanished like the morning dew, leaving him standing alone in the chaos as the tower’s alarms began to blare.
Chapter 13
Lola didn’t know how long she sat in the dark. It felt like a lifetime, or maybe an afterlifetime. She wasn’t sure if changelings counted as mortal, but it sure felt like she’d fallen somewhere people never came out of.
When she wasn’t staring blankly into the nothingness, Lola spent her time studying Fenrir. The rotting corpse wasn’t exactly pleasant viewing, but it was easier to look at than the empty human behind her. She couldn’t even turn her head that direction without bursting into tears.
She knew it was stupid, mourning so hard for someone she’d never even met, but that didn’t stop the loss from cutting to the bone. Normally, when Lola felt this hopeless, she’d grab her thread and tell her sister that everything would be okay. Even when it was a blatant lie, just having someone to put on that brave face for had made Lola feel like maybe it could be true.
Now, though, she had nothing. No sister, no plan, no hope. Even if she’d known how to get out of here, Valente and Simon were probably already dead, which meant there wasn’t anyone for her to go back to.
That set her off all over again. She was bracing for another long cry when Lola heard something thump in the darkness. It was the first noise she’d heard since the DFZ had disappeared, but when she lifted her head off her knees to see if the city spirit had come back, her sister was spasming on the ground.
Lola shot to her side with a yelp. The girl looked no more conscious than she ever had, but her body was bucking like a landed fish. Even worse, the spasms were slamming her head against the stone floor, threatening to crack her skull wide open.
“Stop!” Lola screamed, wrapping her arms around her sister’s shoulders to keep her from hurting herself. “Just stop it! Hasn’t she suffered enough?”
She didn’t know who she was yelling at, but they didn’t listen. Her sister just kept right on thrashing, whipping her body back and forth like she was possessed. Lola tried to hold her down, but for someone who was supposedly an empty corpse, her sister was freakishly strong. Stronger than Lola had ever been even when she’d spun herself muscles.
“Please,” she sobbed, clinging to the convulsing girl with all her might. “Don’t do this. Even if it’s empty, her body’s all I have left. Don’t destroy my last piece of—”
“Lola!”
Lola’s head shot up, her eyes blinking against the brightness that was suddenly everywhere. She was still wrapped around her sister, but they were no longer at the bottom of Fenrir’s pit. They were lying on the bed in Tristan’s guest room. Even stranger, Lola had almost all of her gossamer back. She could still feel the cat she’d left with Victor, but the rest of her magic was here.
She let the cat go at once, slicing the tiny bit of gossamer free as she climbed off her sister, who’d fallen still the moment they arrived. Lola was leaning over to check the girl’s head when her magic rippled. For a horrible moment, Lola thought it was Alberich, and then her doppelganger stepped out of her gossamer.
“Thank goodness you’re back!” the other Lola sobbed, throwing her arms around the original. “I was so worried!”
Lola pushed her right back off. “How did you do that?”
“Valente told me to give you your gossamer back,” her double replied tearfully. “But I didn’t know how to get it to you! I was shaking and shaking, but—”
“You were the one shaking her?” Lola asked sharply, whipping her head back toward her sister, who was indeed lying askew in the middle of the bed.
“It was the only way I knew to reach you!” the other her wailed. “I’m only made of gossamer! I couldn’t follow where you went!”
Lola covered her face with a groan. She supposed she should be happy that her sister’s death was still connected to her physical body, but the hope was just reflexive at this point. She had no actual expectation anymore that the empty girl on the bed would ever wake up, but the rest of this didn’t make any sense. How had her double pulled her out by shaking her sister’s body? And how had she given Lola’s magic back without Lola’s say-so? She was supposed to be a spell who only did what she was told.
“I thought I told you not to gain sentience.”
“But this is important,” her doppelganger insisted. “The Wild Hunt just arrived in the DFZ!”
Lola flinched. And here she’d thought today couldn’t get worse. “Who’s winning?”
“They’re not fighting yet,” her double reported as the real Lola pushed past her into the living room. “Alberich’s vanguard is still circling Victor’s tower, but that’s not what’s important. I have a message I have to deliver from—”
She cut off with a squawk as Lola pulled her gossamer back in. She couldn’t deal with whatever was going on with her copy right now. She’d much rather get her news from Tristan, but the knight and his queen were nowhere to be found. There was, however, a note waiting for her on the coffee table.
Lola-lion, it read. Gone to war. If you’ve got any aces left up your sleeve, now would be a good time. -XOXO, Tristan.
Lola tossed the note away and grabbed the remote. She was trying to remember the right combination of buttons that would turn on Morgan’s wall of televisions when her doppelganger smacked the controller out of her hand.
“Would you knock it off?” Lola snarled, whirling to face her mirror image, who was suddenly standing right beside her. “If you want to rebel against your creator, do it tomorrow. I’ve been through too much today already, and I can’t take it.”
“I’m not rebelling,” her double insisted, glaring at her with Lola’s own scowl. “I’m trying to help. There’s something very important that I need to—”
She was interrupted by a roar of sound as the entire wall of televisions came on all at once. Lola took the chance to yank her back in. She tied her gossamer in a knot this time, locking herself up tight as a drum to keep out interruptions before turning her attention back to the screens.
Morgan had left them tuned to news channels all over the world, but while the announcers were all speaking different languages, every TV was showing the exact same image: the Hero’s Tower rising from the destroyed DFZ like a golden sword, and the black cloud of riders swirling through the sky around it.
~~~
“And you didn’t stop her?” Victor shouted.
Valente shrugged his shoulders, giving his master the hardest “you brought this on yourself” glare a headless body could muster.
“Days of work,” Victor groaned, running a hand through the Hero’s perfect hair as he gazed mournfully at the mailroom Lola’s double had destroyed. “Vital efforts, ruined!” He whirled back to his Rider. “You think I have time to fix this? Alberich’s riders are already swarming the city, I’ve got the DFZ wailing in my ear about her bloody peasants, and you just let that menace waltz in here and smash the most critical piece of my infrastructure!”
The Rider bent down to grab one of the Hero’s trampled fan letters off the floor. He was pulling the pen he’d found earlier out of his pocket when Victor slapped the envelope out of his hand.
“I don’t have time for your nonsense,” the blood mage snarled, grabbing the collar of the Rider’s motorcycle suit where the shadows curled out of his headless torso like wisps of smoke. “We’re finishing this right now. Go get your head!”
Valente jerked. The knighthood oaths were already hammering at him to obey, but he genuinely didn’t know where his head was. If he did, he would have told Lola and saved her the trauma of going into Victor’s dreams. Since his master was awake and yelling at him, he assumed she hadn’t been successful, but that just made the order even more confusing. Had she stolen his head, and Victor wanted him to go get it back? Or was this some kind of test to—
His racing thoughts swerved off the road when his arm started moving of its own accord. The oaths didn’t usually take over his body this quickly, but the magic must have gotten fed up with his inaction, because it was moving Valente like a puppet, shoving his gloved hand down the empty hole where his neck should have been.
Valente stumbled in horror as his arm pushed in up to the elbow, practically dislocating his shoulder as his hand rooted around inside his chest. Then, with a jerk of triumph, his arm yanked itself back up, dragging something freezing out with it.
The feel of that icy lump sliding through his empty neck made Valente want to vomit. If he’d still had a mouth to open or a stomach to empty, he absolutely would have. Being the headless monster that he was, though, all he could do was stagger silently as his hand popped free of his neck and shot out to show Victor its prize.
Valente already knew what he’d see. That didn’t stop his eyeless gaze from locking onto the thing he hated most in the world, even more than Victor. The face he still couldn’t help but love.
Even after all these years, the fairy’s severed head was as lovely as a snowflake. Despite the gray skin and blue lips making him look like a frostbitten corpse, he was still more beautiful than any creature—alive or dead—had a right to be. Beautiful enough that he almost didn’t need the cursed magic that poured down from his face like a waterfall, making anyone who laid eyes on him ready to kill for the prize of his attention.
Valente was no exception. Even knowing what was coming, one look was all it took to collapse his convictions, leaving him nothing to hold on to as he slid into the maw of the dead fairy’s gossamer.
