The Empty Throne

“You’re Fae, and you lost your wings. Nothin’ more to be said ’bout it. Lots of injured Faeries seek out the Black Magic. You’re not the first I’ve found out here—just one of the few still livin’.”

The matter-of-fact tone of Frat’s statement sent a shiver down my spine. How close had I come to being one of his more typical finds? I needed to get out of here, needed to get my head on straight.

Swallowing down a surge of nausea, I said as calmly as I could, “Well, thanks again. But I’ve got to be on my way.”

He scrambled to his feet and clapped his hat back on his head. “So what are you called?”

Once more, I felt the color rise in my cheeks. Where had I left my manners?

“My name’s Anya. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Frat.”

I held out my hand, and he gave it an energetic shake. Though this was no time to form a relationship with a young boy—and I wasn’t interested in a sidekick in the aftermath of Shea—I nonetheless hesitated. Now that he was standing, he seemed even smaller and somehow more fragile. Guilt about leaving him alone assailed me, despite his bravado.

“Do you have a place to go?” I asked.

“I know more ’bout these streets than you do. Plenty of places to go.”

“All right. I guess I’ll see you around.”

I picked up my pack and slung it over my shoulder, then headed out of the alley. I didn’t glance back, though the sound of scuffling feet told me Frat had departed in the opposite direction.

I quickly put some distance between me and the alley, but thoughts of the Fae boy weren’t so easy to leave behind. I couldn’t quite figure out why. It was true I felt a connection to him because of our common injury, and I doubted I’d ever rid myself of the image my mind invented of his mother’s abhorrent action, no doubt driven by the Fae-hating subculture in Tairmor. But while those things were horribly distressing and terribly wrong, something else was nagging at me. I kicked at some rubbish on the street, and it came to me like a rush of wind—all Frat’s suffering might have been prevented had his father not deserted his lover and child. I liked to believe none of my people would be so callous, so puerile. Our closeness to Nature created a bond with all living things, an understanding of our interconnectedness, and a strong sense of responsibility.

But I was obviously fooling myself—there were Fae who were not good fathers, and by extension Fae who would desert their offspring. I knew well enough that my friend Evangeline’s parents had been neglectful. And then there was Illumina’s father... A faint echo from my dream rang in my head—he is neither a good father nor a good Fae.

My stomach lurched and I halted, putting a hand against the wall of the building closest to me to steady myself. My breathing had picked up, along with my heart rate, and I feared I might faint. I leaned forward to rest my forearms against the stone, head bent down, my thoughts clanging into each other and sending pain through my temples.

Could Enerris have poisoned my mother, his sister? There had always been something unsettling about the man, and my own experiences had taught me he was unkind. And even though he had been the firstborn of his siblings, he had been passed over for the throne in favor of Ubiqua. What would have made him unsuitable to rule in the eyes of their parents?

As I struggled for breath, hazy memories from childhood slowly came into sharper focus—bits of conversation I had overheard about the fire that destroyed a section of the Great Redwood, rumors of injured and mistreated animals, vitriolic philosophies and arguments, and the scarifications on Illumina’s body.

At the thought of my cousin, molten lead seemed to work its way into the pit of my stomach. In addition to sentiments she had no doubt etched into her skin herself, four words had been carved on her back in a place she could never have reached: belief, strength, power, perseverance.

I clenched my fists, my heart turning cold even while anger burned my skin. I was glad Enerris was dead, glad worms and maggots were eating his flesh in some unmarked grave—it was believed he had taken his own life after Ubiqua had banished him to the human world for goading Zabriel into drinking a mug of Sale. But why hadn’t he been dealt with sooner? Why hadn’t he been stopped before he’d had the opportunity to hurt my mother? Despite all the actions in which he had engaged, had he really left no evidence behind? Pity welled within me at the thought of Illumina. There was clearly proof of Enerris’s demented philosophies on her body. Why had no one intervened on her behalf? And with such a man influencing her, how could she have turned out anything but damaged?

I groaned in misery, the lingering effects of the drug conjuring images I wanted to ignore. Then the distressing conversation I’d overheard between the three men in the alley resurfaced. The men had mentioned the tunnels that ran alongside the river. I knew where to find the secret entrance, having used it once before. I might not be able to change the past, to change things for myself, for Evangeline, or for Illumina, but there was one thing I could still do for Zabriel. When darkness came, I’d use the passages to beat the human vultures to my cousin’s body. I needed to return him to Chrior, to give our people the comfort that a proper Fae parting ceremony for their Prince would afford. And though that was a rite I’d be unable to attend, maybe accomplishing this task would grant me the peace of mind I craved.

Chapter Four (#ulink_dbc6d956-eb22-586a-8f49-0073b00de8fb)

MACABRE QUEST

Even with the snowmelt, it was freezing at night. I didn’t mind the temperature against the broken skin of the welt on my forehead or my swollen right eye, but I wrapped my cloak tightly around the rest of my shivering form.

The enhanced senses and advantages I’d had as a Faerie had steadily diminished in the time since the hunters had hacked off my wings, but my memory remained fully intact. I had little trouble navigating the pitted and muck-slobbered roads to find their more desirable relatives in a business district of the capital, where an out-of-use warehouse building hid an entrance to the caverns beneath the city. Officer Tom Matlock had shown Shea and me the secret exit from Tairmor when she and I had been on the run. We’d found much more than sanctuary on the underside of Tairmor, however. We’d found the body of the executed Fae-hunter Alexander Eskander in the clutches of a riverside eddy, and we’d encountered a colony of dislocated Sepulchres—once beautiful beings separated from the Faerie Realm and the magic they needed to thrive by the curse of the Bloody Road—who had begged us for help. I trembled, hoping I would not have to go deep enough into the caverns to reach the chambers the Sepulchres occupied—the chambers in which they almost reverently preserved the skeletal remains of the children they kidnapped and devoured for their purity. I didn’t know what help I could give them, what help they needed, or even if they deserved help. I shook my head to clear it. I doubted I had the strength to handle more than one problem at a time.

Upon reaching my destination, I put a hand on the warehouse door to discover it yielded easily to pressure; its lock was broken. A trickle of sweat ran down the back of my neck at the notion that someone might be lurking inside, but I swallowed my fear and stepped across the threshold. My gaze swept the darkened interior, landing on the heavy stones that covered the trapdoor. If anyone else was or had been in the building, it appeared the passageway had gone undiscovered.

Abandoning caution, I rushed forward and moved the stones aside one by one, gasping with the effort. But my resolve remained undaunted. I would search until I found Zabriel, or what was left of him. What then? I’d hide his body—the cold in the caverns would help to preserve it—until there was word of Ubiqua’s arrival in Tairmor. It would be her responsibility as his mother and as Queen to take him to Chrior so that his body and spirit could be imparted unto Nature. But she couldn’t do that unless I found him. After all my failures, I owed this to the Faerie people. I owed this to Zabriel.

I lifted the heavy trapdoor to be hit by the roar of the Kappa. Steeling myself, I removed the length of rope stored in my pack and threw it over a ceiling beam. Then I lowered myself into the caverns and headed downstream.

Glutinous darkness fell away when I’d gone a few dozen paces. The cave wall to my right disintegrated into pillars that allowed a view of the river and the moonlight that played upon its surface. Stalagmites, precarious stalactites, and an occasional column where the two shook hands slowed my progress. Inside my boots, my stockings had long since surrendered to rips and holes, and my feet paid the price, with one less layer between them and the frigid river spray.

For the most part, I scanned the rocks and water from the natural pathway, but where the Kappa fell out of sight behind the stone formations, I clambered around or over them to slosh through pools and eddies. I would not overlook any crevice that could conceal a body, despite how much I dreaded seeing my cousin’s remains.

At a clatter of rocks behind me, I spun around, hand falling to the long knife sheathed at my hip. Who else was down here? Sepulchres? Scavengers? I strained my ears to hear, but the sound did not repeat. Rolling my shoulders, I forced the muscles in my neck and arms to relax and hurried onward.

I searched until the cold seeped into my bones and my knees begged to yield. Though I fought against the notion, it was becoming increasingly obvious that I wasn’t destined for success—the weights strapped to Zabriel’s wrists and ankles had probably taken him to the river bottom. A dozen or more Water Fae would be needed to search for him, and since I had no elemental connection at all, my efforts would remain futile. Enmeshing both hands in my hair, I tugged hard, releasing a howl of despair and frustration. I had failed yet again.

I turned to retreat, only to slip and lose my footing. With nothing to grab on to, I fell into the water...into the river...into the sea near Evernook Island. I coughed and sputtered, looking frantically around, my clothes and pack dragging me down toward a fearful death. In time past, my nature as a Water Fae would have allowed me to calm the torrent with the palm of my hand, or with a pulse of thought ask it to bear me to shore. But time past did me no good. Should I even bother to fight? In light of my failures, maybe this was the ending I deserved. But, no, I couldn’t give up, for a flicker of memory told me there was someone with me in the water. I thrashed about, trying to figure out who I had forgotten. Then my thoughts seemed to clear. Where was Illumina? My younger cousin and I had fled the all-consuming fire on Evernook Island together, plunging into the Bay of Arvogale in order to escape.

“Illumina,” I called, voice thick and raspy. But there was no answer, just the rush of water in my ears. I held my breath, trying to quiet my own movements. Had she drifted away? Drowned? Had I lost both of my cousins this night?

But that wasn’t right. Zabriel hadn’t died on the island—he had been executed in Tairmor. And I wasn’t in the bay near Sheness; I was near to drowning in the river in Tairmor, hallucinating like a madwoman as the current pushed me farther downriver. What was happening to me? Why was my mind playing tricks?

Despite my escalating terror, I waged a battle against the Kappa’s current. With a mighty effort, I propelled myself to its bank and clawed my way onto the rocks. Though I wanted to curl into a ball and rest, I forced myself upright, my muscles quivering and protesting the movement.

Fighting paralyzing cold, I bungled my way along the path in the direction I had come, icicles forming in my wet hair and frost decorating my clothing and pack. At length, I made it back to the original passageway, then on to the trapdoor, where I struggled to scale the still-dangling rope to haul myself out of the tunnels. After concealing the entrance once more with rocks and rubble, I reentered the city and rushed toward the poorer section of southern Tairmor, familiarity and the thought of food and warmth providing the impetus I needed to keep moving.

Eventually I became aware of the wide berth I was being given on the street, and I realized I’d been mumbling out loud while I walked along, my head down, watching the road just in front of my feet. Those I passed must have thought me insane, but that didn’t bother me. In truth, being insane wouldn’t have bothered me, either. I was too cold and tired and frightened and heartbroken to care.

Though I tried to fight the urge, what I wanted was the unique brand of comfort to be found at The River’s End pub. But could I do that to myself again? I sighed, hating to admit Tom Matlock had been right about Cysur Naravni, called the Green or Black Magic on the streets. He was the one who had originally warned me about it, taking special care to ensure I was aware of its dangers; he’d told me it wasn’t worth its price, and I’d scoffed at the idea that I might fall so far.

I rubbed my forehead, unable to shake the image of Tom’s brows drawn close in concern over his silver-gray eyes; nor could I shirk off the shame the image inspired. Perhaps what I needed wasn’t Cysur, but a good night’s sleep, a luxury I’d been denied for some time. Nightmares appeared to be creeping into my waking hours, making me feel out of place and time. Clinging to the hope that sleep might be the cure for all my ailments, I headed toward the place that would give me the best opportunity to claim it.

When the Fae-mily Home came into sight, I stopped and surveyed the area, trying to assess the danger that a Constabulary might be waiting for me inside. Despite my altered appearance, I didn’t want to take any chances. When my hunger and exhaustion turned into physical pain, I hastened across the pitted road and into the shelter, leaving behind the incessant sound of the rushing waters of the Kappa that permeated the capital city.

I entered to be bathed in warmth from the crackling hearth fire in the corner. There were doors to my left and right that led to storage and laundry rooms, and a podium straight ahead. Through an archway beyond, a dining area stirred with life, and the enticing smell of cooked meat wafted upon the air.

Despite the noise, Fi heard the ringing of the bell above the front door and scuttled into the vestibule, ready to offer a meal and a bed to her newest patron. When she saw me, she halted as though she had encountered a barrier, the momentum of her body pitching her slightly forward. Her lips parted, her short brown hair almost standing on end; then she rushed forward to thrust her arms around me. Her embrace was reassuring, the heat from her body enough to melt the ice that had formed in my gut at the moment of Zabriel’s execution.

“Anya, I’ve been so worried,” she exclaimed, holding me at arm’s length to examine me. “Are you all right? You dealt me a blow with that blond hair. And that black eye you’re sporting. You look...”

“Dreadful?” I supplied with a feeble laugh. “Not exactly what you’d expect from Fae royalty.”

“It’s not that. Just you’ve surely been through a lot. But I’ll fix you up in no time.”

Her wide-set blue-green eyes told me it wasn’t just her naturally maternal personality that had set her to fussing.

“What’s going on, Fi? Why so worried?”

“Lots of unsettling things these days. For one, there’s been another execution, a Faerie no less. That’ll stir up the Fae-haters in this city. And Luka and his Constabularies have been asking after you. I told him you wouldn’t do anything bad, and he said it was about keeping you safe.”

Her mention of the execution hit me harder than I expected, and I stumbled to the fireplace mantel, putting a hand upon it to steady myself.

“It’s not my safety that interests Luka,” I scoffed.

If possible, Fi’s eyes grew larger, and her hands dropped to her skirt to fidget with its folds.