But this is the King of Flames they’re facing, and he’s on full power now. The fire in his veins draws patterns on his back as it activates, and shadows rise from his body like smoke. The guards step back.
“Fuck,” one of them calls. But these are brave men and women, I know they won’t run for their lives. They’ll die in order to save me if they have to, even though they’re as aware as I am their sacrifice would be useless. There’s no way they can save me from the King of Fire now. I can feel his energy on my skin as he charges.
“Please, no,” I yelp, placing my hands on the iron sides of his torso. He’s so hot it almost burns my palms, but I don’t let go. “You promised me,” I whisper. “You promised you wouldn’t hurt them.”
He looks over his shoulder at me, fire playing in his irises.
“I have a teleportation crystal, and now you have the magic to get us out of here. You don’t have to barrel through them.” Because, through our strengthened connection, I sense that’s what he’s about to do.
We don’t need words, it’s like our bodies coordinate with each other of their own accord. He shields me as I dive under the divan where I keep my collector’s items—blades, pieces of velvet, tinctures, thread for voodoo dolls. That’s where I find Nazarean, too, curled up in a ball of fur. He arches and hisses in protest, but I whisper a desperate ‘Please,” and he leaps up on my arm, crawling to my shoulder. I grab the one thing I was after besides Nazarean—a teleporting crystal Arielle let me have from the Sea Court after the great victory against Xerxes a year ago.
I’m on my feet and plastered to Xerxes’ back in a second. The guards still haven’t dared to attack him, and he hasn’t pulverized them either, but I know he could do it in a split second if I tried to cross him.
“Here.” I press the crystal in his hand from behind. “You have the magic to use it. Just do it.”
He raises the crystal above his head, humming a teleportation spell. A circle of white light radiates from the crystal, growing bigger until it encapsulates both of us and basically pushes the guards out of the room. I’ve never seen teleportation done this way before. The King of Frost and Arielle the Sea Queen always used portals from one place to another.
Teleportation crystals usually work for short distances. It can take one from the midst of a violent crowd to the top of the next building, so it basically provides only a quick solution to a bad situation. But as hot winds start whirling around us, sucking us into a quantum tunnel like a vortex, I know this is going to be more. And when the vortex spits us into what looks like an ancient tunnel deep inside a rock, I know we’re nowhere close to the hideout. This is a place where no one will be able to follow, not quickly. And from where no one will be able to save me. All I’ve got now is Nazarean, who’s clawed to my hair, nestling on my shoulder under my braided ponytail.
I turn around, trying to figure out where we are, but the only thing I recognize is the King of Flames. He’s towering over me, fully recharged and oppressively powerful, with shadows rising from his body like smoke from a burning statue. Damn it. I’m completely in his power now.
Xerxes
I LEAD THE WAY UP THE rocky tunnels to the dungeons of Edinburgh castle, and enter the old prison through a series of grated gates. The first person in our way is what appears to be a tired old warlock with a hunched back under his cape, and an ugly face under his hood that is meant to scare away youngsters who just might wander into these parts, looking for a thrill or to dare the fates.
But as we enter the main medieval prison, the one they show off to tourists in its replica in the human realm, we find a gathering. Cerys stifles a gasp in her throat as she recognizes the witches and warlocks that circled her at the festival, but as she recognizes Marayke, she freezes.
Marayke the Iron Maiden leans against the wall along with a few of my fire fae warriors, the strongest ones who survived the purge after the great confrontation with Lysander and Arielle’s forces a year ago. More jump from the hammocks hanging on the sides. Heaps of jewels and precious metal glisten in the piles of hay gathered by the wall, and there are mugs of mead on barrels that serve as tables.
“I see greed is a common trait among fire fae and dark mages,” the girl says behind me, hostility in her voice. “You hoard anything that shines.”
“I won’t deny we like riches,” I reply. “But it’s because gold and jewels buy our way to important people. It’s a matter of strategy, not greed.”
She keeps close as I lead her down the aisle towards Marayke. I suppose it’s because of how my people close in from the sides. They scowl at her. The witches clearly hate her, even though she once helped one or two of them. But I suppose it’s natural, since they’re dark mages, and Cerys is a creature of the light, despite her last name.
“You’re back—as yourself,” Marayke says as I approach her, standing to attention. Her feelings radiate from her voice and her entire attitude, no matter how business-like she’s trying to remain. I can almost see her fantasies in her otherwise sharp, focused eyes that make her look like a vulture.
I try to ignore it, and step aside, allowing Cerys to take center stage, but she doesn’t. When I look at her, I feel something very different from what I feel when I look at Marayke. Her face glows white with rosy cheeks, contrasting with the energy of everyone here, her delicate frame in a white robe making her appear as ethereal as a high fae. It’s because of all the energy work she’s done in her young life, which imbued her skin with light. It’s not as strong as the magic of a fae mage, but in matters of elemental energy and channeling it to replenish other supernaturals, she’s famous.
“Cerys Dark, this is Marayke Velduros also known as Marayke the Iron Maiden. She’s my second in command. If anything should ever happen to me, she’s the one who will take over my operations. And the one who will decide you fate as well.”
“I know who she is,” Cerys bites, helping the black cat off her shoulder and holding him in her arms. Her familiar hisses at Marayke, its slit-eyes vicious as it bares teeth so sharp their tips glint. The animal clearly is not only ready, but also very much capable of protecting her. “She almost killed my brother Zillard last year, right before my eyes.” It impresses me that her blood boils hot enough that she confronts Marayke.
“I remember,” Marayke retorts. “How is pretty boy Zillard doing?”
“Trying to take over the world, last time I checked.” She glances at me. “Making sure he beats your boss to it.”
Marayke laughs, facing Cerys with her armored arms crossed over her chest. With her weapons strapped to her thighs, and her spiked short hair that makes her hard to grab in battle, she stands in strong contrast with the mage girl, who seems an ethereal being, almost like a spirit, and yet somehow forceful. The more I look at her, the more she fascinates me.
“Irony of fate, isn’t it, that you and Zillard should be siblings,” Marayke says. “And that your last name is Dark. Your face glows like a silver moon among the dark mages here.” The others burst into laughter, only Kareim watching silently from one of the barrel tables. I’m sure the bastard thinks he’s being inconspicuous, sitting there in his mage robe that he didn’t earn, drinking mead, his staff leant against the wall behind him. I only see him from the corner of my eye, but it’s enough to notice the way he leers at Cerys.