Chapter 4
VALANCE
Rosestar Hill was hollow, a large mound like those to the northeast of Summer.
Mounds of lush grass and radiant flowers by the coast we once visited in my childhood for lazy weeks away from the palace and politics.
The dwellings of some of my family not at the top of the royal food chain and other Sidhe of quieter living.
I think I’d been twelve the last time my parents had taken us there.
Unlike those understated mounds, Rosestar Hill was a beast with hidden depths. It housed even more of the palace, from recreational locations to dining halls, from living quarters to the two theaters my mother had built to feed her obsessions with plays and musicals.
Deeper down were more servant’s quarters, and deeper than that was the Lost Road.
Not really lost, the road of black bricks, narrow between high black walls, was the only route in and out of the dungeons half a mile away from the palace.
Underground where the light didn’t touch.
To be a prisoner of the crown was to be removed from the world.
Such a dark and harrowing place. The only light from flaming torches in their sconces, lit sparingly. The only sounds, the keys of the jailors, the movement of the guards, the despair of fellow prisoners.
Another offering of light, from the luminescent horse. These special horses were bred for the darkness, to service this place. It pulled a rickety carriage to the end of the Lost Road.
I smiled as a guard opened a gate for us, my lips still spread as we headed down the endless stairs to the bottom of yet more dark deepness, thinking of the human and the sorcerer.
The former wouldn’t be so brave to stare me down now.
And the latter… I pictured him trembling like a leaf.
Yet, it was he who troubled me the most.
The report from the guards told me the sorcerer had been given a poison to suppress his powers in lieu of no rare binding pixie powder.
It induced a migraine to distract him and was required to be given every hour.
A side effect of the poison was insomnia.
Good. The unseelie scum deserved much worse.
He’d receive much worse.
A shadow sorcerer with impressive skills.
Though not enough to leave me tingling with awe, I hated to admit his level of trickery did amaze me a little.
Far more interesting than any shadowy spell from the last unseelie attacks.
Usually, it was all fizzle, no sizzle. I wanted to keep it that way, but first, I needed some answers because this Ren had himself some sizzle.
I heard the Fomorian sobbing first, smelled him second. He was the only prisoner on this floor, of fifty, for now. Danu, talk about ripeness. He really needed a bath. Even the guards were wearing lavender oil on their upper lips to hold back the stench.
“Wise move,” I said to the elven woman on my left.
She offered me and Maeve lavender oil. I gladly took it.
A much better smell wafting up at me, I ordered the heavy silver door to be opened. Painted black, of course, to team with the dark theme.
Silver, gold, and copper were the only metals a fae could handle. Well, apart from the Gentry. Anything else was toxic, particularly iron and lead. Two extremely dangerous substances capable of destruction. Which made me think of my upcoming duties in seven days and the days to follow that.
Not now…
More stench hit me as the door scraped open noisily. Heat too. Stifling and extremely close.
“All he does is cry,” said the other female guard. “I’m fed up with telling him. But at least he’s quieter than when he first got here.”
According to the report, the sorcerer divulged nothing.
Maeve took a torch and stepped in first, bringing light to the dark as pitch cell.
I applied more lavender oil before I entered.
The Fomorian curled himself up into a tight ball on a battered straw mattress. Chained at his hands and feet. The cell was tiny and cramped, the ground cracked and dusty, a disgusting chamber pot in the corner. I scrunched my nose.
How distasteful.
“We meet again,” I said. Dressed in brown rags, he had his back to me. “I suggest you face me.”
He didn’t.
Maeve stuck the torch into an empty sconce and forced him over. He yelped and wailed under her brutal handling.
“Disobey me again, and I take a foot,” I warned.
Though he offered no answer, I saw he understood to not be a fool.
A pathetic creature, not what you’d expect from a powerful sorcerer. In need of many meals, many baths, and much pain. His skinny frame would break and let him down quickly, bringing so much agony. Too easy, too fast to torture. The last thing I wanted was for him to fold before the fun began.
With the poisons keeping him nice and suppressed and suffering from a terrible headache, he wasn’t a threat.
Yes, a tiny voice told me to exterminate him now.
Take no risks with him and his magic. But how dull.
There were secrets inside this man. He may have more details on a grander operation to attack the palace.
You could never be too sure what unseelie scum devised in the shadows. What evil they planned to spread.
Something told me that this thing before me would spill many, many details with the right pressure.
“Is Ren your real name?” I asked.
“I…” He didn’t add anything.
“What? Speak.”
“I can’t…”
“You can’t what? Tell me? Have you lost your tongue? Do you want to lose it?”
The unseelie closed his eyes.
Ah, trying to display a modicum of strength in the face of his enemy. How admirable, though not really. More an irritation than anything else.
I drew my sword from its scabbard on my back.
Terrific silver, not the pretty, bejeweled rose gold my father would rather I use to keep up the face of my house.
I preferred this sleek, non-patterned silver warrior.
A true work of art in design and death. Excellent weight.
Excellent for combat. I pointed it at the prisoner, resting the tip on his thin nose.
His eyes crossed to see it, his body trembling.
I watched his throat move as he gulped, his fingers clawing at his bedding.
“Confirm your name,” I said softly. “I will know if you’re lying.”
His eyes met mine for the briefest of moments. Unlike his human friend, the Fomorian displayed no desire to play staring games with me.
I nicked his nose, just a tiny cut to draw a bead of blood to the surface.
“Re-Ren,” he said, “i-is my real name.”
“Ren what?”
“Ren… Ren Horn.”
“Much better. And you’re here with your human friend to kill me. To break into the palace through a secret door.” I laughed. “But there is more to this, isn’t there?”
“Chaos,” he whispered. “We wanted chaos.”
“Break into the palace and bring chaos,” I said. “Interesting. A suicide mission?”
He winced, groaning at the very evident pain in his head. He didn’t speak.
As weak as he seemed, I began to doubt what torture would do, and how much he’d give away. Which unsettled me. Stronger cores could be found beneath softer shells. Sometimes.
Kill him now and be done with it.
“Well, Ren. That’s all I need from you for now.” I sheathed my sword, wanting out of the cell.
I turned my back on him.
“You’ll fall,” he whispered.
I paused mid-stride, glancing over my shoulder. “Fall. Now that’s an idea. You plummeting into my orchid garden or from the highest tower in the palace.” I slapped my hands together. “Splat.”
With that, I left with Maeve.
The heavy door slammed closed against Ren’s whispering.
“Now to visit the other one,” I chimed.
Maeve took point with her torch, but I stopped, turning back to face the guard by the door. “Can you let me back in, please?”
She didn’t ask any questions, unlocking the door.
“Your Highness?” Maeve said. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s something I need to do.” I took out my sword again.
Ren cowered, pleaded. There. That’s what I craved. I’d break him.
Those under unseelie banners didn’t deserve my mercy.
“Please…”
Sweet music to my ears, this begging. “Move, and I take the leg.”
I slowly pushed my blade into his ankle bone.
Very slowly.