Heirs of Chrior: The Empty Throne Part 2

"That's right." The youngest member of the trio had perked up, perhaps realizing he might get to keep some of his valuables. "You bet they'd slice 'em off. But I told ya the Gov'na likes them Fae. Wouldn't butcher one for sport."

I stiffened and my eyes flew open, a spasm of symbiotic pain afflicting the muscles of my upper back. The rat-like fellow frowned, then rubbed his grizzled chin.

"Maybe we could find 'em. You know, search in the gorge."

The other men stared, at last silent, though this blessing was short-lived.

"And 'ow we goin' to do that?" demanded the gray-haired member of the trio.

"I 'eard tell of a secret entrance."

"Be off with ya, then. But I ain't goin' lookin' for trouble. Don' care to end up in the 'ands of the Scarlets meself."

Unable to tolerate more, I bolted from my hidden position, barreling out of the alley and down the street, running until I was too winded to go farther. My head was pounding, my side aching, and when I looked at my cloak, I could see smears of blood.

Stumbling to the side of a building, I dropped my pack at my feet and searched through it again, this time dredging up an herbal salve. Clutching the small pouch, I washed away some of the blood on my face with water from a puddle, then caked on the thick substance. Once more pressing a cloth against it, I yanked free the sash that belted my tunic and tied it over the makes.h.i.+ft bandage and around my head. I closed my eyes and leaned against the building-perhaps if I stayed still for a bit, the bleeding would end and my nerves would calm.

I didn't want to think, didn't want to feel, and yet I couldn't prevent my mind from conjuring images of my once-vibrant cousin. Zabriel the daring, downing the mug of Sale that had been spitefully held out to him by Enerris, Illumina's father, even though it might have killed him for his lack of an elemental connection; Zabriel the charismatic, entertaining one and all at parties in the Great Redwood, for he needed no magic to draw people to him; Zabriel the kind and caring, folding me into his arms after the death of my mother, and spending time with my shy friend, Ione, who would otherwise have adored him from afar; Zabriel the rebel, crossing the b.l.o.o.d.y Road to enter the human territory in direct defiance of his mother's wishes. But even though he had fled his life in Chrior, tired of the whispered speculations about whether a half-human with wings but no elemental connection should be allowed to ascend to the throne, Zabriel had never forgotten his people. He had known more than I about what was going on at Evernook Island, about the plotting against our people engaged in by Fae-hating humans. And he had been equally appalled at the discovery of the ghastly experiments on abducted Fae and imprisoned humans that were being conducted on that Nature-forsaken chunk of rock-atrocities that might never come to light now that his life had been taken. He was the bold one, the clever one, a true man of action. Without his leaders.h.i.+p, how could anything be set right?

I came to my feet and grabbed my pack, feeling as though a stake had been driven into my chest. The burning ache that resulted was almost unbearable, and I wanted to reach through my rib cage and tear it away. Only this was an injury for which there was no treatment, no cure. Nor did there seem to be a way to shut off my brain, prevent it from reminding me of my mistakes and misjudgments, and from conjuring memories better buried and forgotten.

I glanced about, trying to get my bearings. What I needed, what I craved, was calm, the kind of stillness I'd once found with water, my element. I needed that connection to Nature, the security that existed in knowing there was a harmonizing force guiding all things. I was tired of this human city where the poor tended to be forgotten and reviled; where the constant drone of water created a sensation of drowning; where the vibration of the cras.h.i.+ng river coursed through the streets and set me off balance; where the buildings rose tall, as claustrophobia-inducing as the clouds of smoke and pollution humanity fostered; and where my life had spun out of control. I was Fae and didn't belong here; I was Fae and it wasn't fair I had nowhere else to go.

My eyes fell on a building on the other side of the road that seemed to rise up out of nowhere. Without conscious direction, my feet had taken me to a familiar place, one to which I never thought I'd return, and one that I should not enter now. But a voice inside my head, a voice that belonged to the damaged part of me, whispered sweetly: What does it matter now? You've failed at every task appointed to you-there's no hope for your salvation. But there might be hope for a temporary reprieve.

Without hesitation, I crossed the street and pushed my way through the front door of the shady establishment.

Chapter Three.

FRAT.

I'd been in The River's End pub twice before, and both times had run into Officer Tom Matlock. I glanced around, then pulled up my hood, for he was the one person who might identify me despite the change in my hair color. My heart fluttered, the thought of him stirring a yearning inside me, but I was afraid if I again put him in the position of choosing between me and his duty, the nineteen-year-old Constabulary would make a different decision. Still, I desperately wanted to feel the comfort of his arms, wanted to let him ease my grief and a.s.sure me everything would magically be all right.

I took a deep breath, inhaling the smells of alcohol and sweat, along with something deeper, sweeter, and more intoxicating. My gaze snapped to a closed door tucked into a vestibule behind the bar. The thick clouds of poison sifting through the cracks in the door frame were the source of this pub's unusual aroma and, in truth, most of its business. I had once previously gone through that barrier and down into the cellar it guarded-Tom had brought me here during the search for my friend Evangeline, my friend who was now dead by her own hand, unable to live with the abuse inflicted on her by Fae-haters. By the very people my cousins and I had come so close to exposing on Evernook that terrible night.

I made my way through the pub's patrons, stopping when I came abreast of the bar, common sense dictating I should go no farther.

"What'll you have?" the bartender growled.

"Ale!" I shouted to be heard above the hubbub, having learned a little about what humans drank. He filled a mug, and I slapped a coin on the counter in exchange for it.

I took a sip, my lip curling in distaste. Ale could offer some relief-a.s.suming I could consume enough-but it wasn't really the type of relief I wanted. I didn't just want to forget. I wanted to remember. I wanted to fly again, to once more be Fae, to feel Fae. If what I'd heard about the Green was true, it might be the one thing that could make me feel whole again.

Heart pounding, I left my mug on the counter and walked toward the door behind the bar, only to discover the vestibule had a purpose: to allow those in charge to keep note of comers and goers. A rough hand clutched my cloak just above my breast, and I was almost lifted off my feet by a burly enforcer whose nose appeared to point in a different direction than the rest of his face did. He snarled unintelligibly, and another fellow spoke up from a seat behind a nearby table.

"Need gold to get green," he informed me, not bothering to pull his attention from the cards he was shuffling.

"How much?" I croaked, eyeing the brute in whose clutches I stood.

"You ain't a returning customer. Fifty nick to have a go." He gave me a lopsided grin, a gold canine tooth reflecting the light. Money must be good in this line of work. "You like it, you come back, we negotiate. Got it?"

"Who's we?"

"Not sure you're in a position to ask, but folks here call me Robb. Some even claims I rob 'em blind. Strange that, 'cause they keeps coming back." With a flick of his wrist, he fanned the cards open in his hand. "But I'm a dealer, plain to see. You want a go or not?"

I should have said no. Fifty pieces could have rented me a room for the night. And what lay behind that door could take my life in the same way it had Evangeline's. But if that was Nature's course, it might well be a blessing.

The brutish enforcer released me, and I reached into the pack slung across my shoulder to fish out the necessary funds. I tossed the coins on the table, then pushed past the big fellow and through the cellar door. The smoke clouding the top of the steps brought an immediate rush to my head, and I took several deep breaths, savoring my descent into the dim green cave. I took my place among the other users, my ears seeming to plug and my eyes stinging, though the tears that leaked from them felt good. With coherency dissipating to tendrils, I relaxed, releasing my guilt, worry, and pain.

I was picked up by the back of my cloak and thrown outdoors before the sun rose. I skidded across the rough ground and felt something hot and wet on my cheek. Blood? I smiled. It made the air feel less cold.

I'd been conveniently deposited in an alley. Still entranced by the drug, I rolled until I was tucked against a wall, and closed my eyes, desiring only to reimmerse myself. Soon I was floating off the stone, flying as I hadn't done in months. I dipped in the air, free-falling a few meters before I spread my wings. The wind buffeted me back up, and my heart swelled, my body tingling all the way to my fingertips. I could have died, then and there, and died happy. Only the dream s.h.i.+fted and changed, the drug joining with my subconscious to conspire against me.

I sat in the corner of the room, my eyes on my mother where she lay in her bed sweating and moaning, her muscles cramping. Although she had no awareness of my presence, I was convinced she would not die while I was on watch; that she would not leave the Faerie Realm if she were reminded she had a daughter.

I fought the drooping of my eyelids but fell asleep nonetheless, waking to the sound of m.u.f.fled voices. My father, the medicine mage, and Queen Ubiqua were gathered near the bed.

"There doesn't seem to be any improvement," my aunt noted, her tone betraying her sadness over her sister's condition.

"None of our medicinal approaches are working, including Sale," the mage replied. "I have never seen symptoms like these before and have no idea what malady has struck."

"Malady? Do you suspect something other than illness?" asked the Queen.

The mage hesitated, clearly wanting to choose just the right words. "Either a never-before-seen illness has emerged or something else is the cause. Since a new illness would spread to others, the latter is more plausible."

My father glanced at me; then he abruptly joined the conversation. The pitch of his voice was higher than usual, as though something was squeezing his vocal cords.

"Does this malady have no antidote?"

"Since it is unknown to me, I have no antidote. And I have already tried all the plant-based remedies in our Realm."

The Queen, apparently having been reminded of my presence by my father, stepped closer to the mage before quietly asking, "So the source of her malady is not plant based?"

"I don't believe so."

A long silence followed the mage's statement, then Ubiqua asked one more question, a note of anger that I did not understand punctuating her words.

"Is it from the human world?"

"That seems likely."

My father muttered something under his breath, then strode toward the door.

"Be careful, Cyandro, we don't know anything for certain," Ubiqua cautioned, and I wondered what she thought he was about to do.

His exit interrupted, my father turned to face the Queen, his jaw clenched.

"We all know he has long carried a grudge against Incarnadine. And we have foolishly chosen to ignore his abhorrent behaviors, unwilling to face the reality that he is neither a good father nor a good Fae."

"You are my Lord of the Law. You know we cannot proceed without proof. Bring me the proof, and I will deal most harshly with him-on that you have my word. But until I am presented with evidence, I will not take action against him, and neither should you. You have a daughter to think about, and she is going to need you in the days and years to come."

With a curt nod, my father stalked from the room, leaving me shaking in the corner, alone, bewildered, and terribly afraid.

I jerked upright, then slammed my palms on the cobblestone, swaying like a pa.s.senger in a fast-moving carriage. I pried my eyelids open. Where was I? In an alley. Why was I here? Because you failed to save your cousin and took the coward's way out.

Groaning, I sat up straighter, and my eyes landed on a gargoyle hunched nearby. No, not a gargoyle, but a young boy perhaps eight or nine years of age, wearing a coat so big it covered his legs and feet. He was examining me, munching on an apple.

"You a'right?" he asked, a grin lighting up his brown eyes and dirty face.

I rubbed my temples to clear my head, my royal upbringing producing a twinge of shame at the circ.u.mstances in which this young stranger had found me.

"Yes, I'm fine. How long have you been sitting there?"

"Don' know exactly. Hour or two, I 'spect. Long enough to keep the vultures off a' you."

"What do you mean?" Alarm penetrated me like the blade of a knife, and I scanned the area.

"They ain't here no more, but some nasty types prowl these alleys." Pointing to the royal ring on my hand, he continued, "Wouldn't wear that if I were you. If I 'adn't come along, you'd be wakin' one finger short."

I scrambled to my knees in preparation for flight, only to tip backward against the wall, my balance still off. How could I have been so stupid, so careless? When I'd been trying to find Evangeline, I'd been accosted in these alleyways by thieves after the very same prize.

The boy chuckled at my clumsiness, and a touch of irritation flared.

"Why would you help me?" I grumbled, fixing my gaze on him.

He shrugged. "Looks like you've 'ad it rough, what with that beat-up face an' all." He pointed to my swollen eye in case I'd forgotten the injury. "Wasn't right to 'ave to deal with more."

Shame again washed over me-had I become so jaded I couldn't accept that another person would do me a kindness? Though I remained dubious of the boy's interest and intentions, I found the words to express some grat.i.tude.

"Thank you, then, for what you've done. But tell me, how did you...?"

"Stop 'em?" He smirked and pulled a slingshot from one of the pockets of his enormous coat. "Aim's pretty good."

I laughed. "Remind me not to cross you."

"Good thing to 'member. I'm pretty famous in these parts."

Though I tried to stifle another laugh, the remnants of the drug I'd used, combined with tiredness and stress, pushed the sound up from my belly. The idea of this boy and his slingshot being a threat to anything other than birds or rats struck me as gut-splittingly hilarious. He watched me, smile firmly in place, waiting for me to regain control.

"I'm sorry," I gasped. "I'm not trying to make fun of you, it's just..."

"It takes some adjustin', I know. But smart people learn."

"All right, I believe you. And I like to think I'm smart."

He raised his eyebrows, and my cheeks grew hot, the point he was making effectively driven home. I said no more, watching him polish off his apple and expecting him to leave. When he didn't seem inclined to do so, I broke the silence.

"So what's your name?"

"Don' know."

"What do you mean, you don't know? Everyone has a name."

"No doubt true. But mine got lost someplace." He stood and tossed the well-gnawed core he held into a trash heap a few feet away. After rubbing his palms on his trousers, he settled cross-legged on the ground facing me. Annoyed by his attempts to dodge the question, I persisted.

"Then what do people call you?"

"Beggar, runt, scamp, sometimes just boy. Pick what ya like."

"And what if I don't like any of them?"

He shrugged. "Tag me with your own."

Exasperated, I nudged him with my foot, and he s.h.i.+fted farther from me. "No, that wouldn't be right. Tell me what you like to be called."

He pulled off his hat and scratched his nest of curly brown hair, brows furrowed. "Guess I like Frat."

"Frat?"

"Short for Faerie brat, but it suits me."

I nodded, then examined the youngster more closely. He was slight of build, seeming particularly so in the oversize clothing he was wearing, and was caked in street dirt the same way a carriage might be, with heavier layers at the bottom. But there was no sign of magic about him.

"Are you Fae, then?" I ventured, more curious about this urchin than I wanted to be.

"Half and half. Mum was human, so me dad must've been Fae. He didn't stick round, you see. But she weren't 'xactly happy about me being born with wings. Cut 'em off when I was little."

I gaped at him. How could a mother mutilate her own son? And how could he be so nonchalant about the experience?

"Don't let it bother you none," he continued, discerning my reaction from my face. "I don't 'member much of it."

"Where's your mother now?"

"Don' know. Sort of here one day, gone the next. Pro'bly arrested or dead. No matter-I likes things better on my own. She weren't always so nice."

"I'd say not," I mumbled, more to myself than to him. Then I s.h.i.+fted onto one knee, putting my other foot beneath me. Feeling steadier than before, I stood, brus.h.i.+ng debris off my leggings and cloak.