Chapter 23
VALANCE
Deep beneath the snow, a Gentry fae and an elf of Winter were locked in dank cells lit by the fire of two torches fixed in sconces. No moonlight or daylight touched any inch of this darkness.
A Gentry fae with hair of vibrant red and fair, freckled skin looked up at me. He wore copper metal armor, no need for the strong yet weaker elven leather armor I favored.
The stone cell was terribly cold. He shivered, his shoulders hunched.
Good.
Beside him, a female elf didn’t shiver, her blue eyes filled with determined rage. She even had the bad manners to spit at my feet as I entered the cell with Orla and a human guard.
Kormac remained in my chambers. I didn’t want him to see this, for him to be reminded of the things I’d done to him beneath Summer Palace.
Orla smacked the elf across the face with the back of her hand. She spun to the side, cracking her head on the wall.
“Cunt!” the rebel screeched, hand over her cheek as she sat back up.
“One more word, and your tongue is mine,” Orla warned.
The elf hissed but said no more.
I folded my hands before me. “I wasn’t expecting to see a Gentry fae just yet.”
The spy who’d snuck into Winter with the aid of the elf simply stared at me.
“At least not until the battlefield.” I kept my voice calm, sweet.
No response.
“Well?” I said. “Do you care to explain why you’re here in Winter without permission of its new king?” By Danu, what an arrogant lilt creeping into my tone.
“He was carrying this, Your Majesty,” Orla said, holding up a strange metal instrument. A steel thing fashioned into a slender tube affixed to a handle. There was what looked like a small lever within an arc of metal joining the two parts together.
“What is this?” I asked the fae. “A new Spring creation?”
Brave, shivering silence met me.
“I admire your loyalty to your leaders, but it is in your best interest to start talking.”
“Point the barrel at your face and pull—”
Orla kicked the rebel elf in the face for having the audacity to speak. The back of her head cracked on the floor, eliciting a wail from her wretched mouth.
“Interesting indeed,” I said. “Is it a weapon?”
No answer from the Gentry fae.
I shook my head. “And this is where I lose my patience.” I folded my arms across my chest. “I am going to assume you have knowledge of my use of torture? If not, I can only suppose you have lived a very sheltered life.”
“Answer your king!” Orla barked.
I lifted a hand to keep her at bay. “No need. Our guest will answer.”
The elf laughed, snorting. “Guests, are we?”
“You could say that,” I responded. “I like to think you are.”
I readied my magic.
“Can’t bring yourself to call us what we are, eh?” the rebel added. “Prisoners of the false king.”
I smiled, keeping my attention on the fae. “Orla?”
“Yes, My King?”
“Bring me her tongue.”
The Gentry fae’s eyes darted to his left as the rebel elf screamed.
Orla rushed the creature.
“No! Please! No! Cunts! You’re nothing but cu—”
Orla, through a cloud of agonized screams and limbs thrashing against stone, took the tongue of the rebel.
“Much better,” I said, silver magic glistening on my fingertips.
The spy’s wide eyes were a delight, though he still didn’t offer any information.
Not to worry. Nothing a little enchantment wouldn’t cure.
I hit him in the chest with bursts of silver light. He jolted backward, wracked by a series of convulsions before he got to his feet at my command.
“You’re very tall,” I said.
I saw the struggle in his face, the thick sheen of sweat on his brow. “I… I…”
“Tell me why you’re here and what this metal instrument is.”
“I came on the orders of Queen Lasair,” he said.
“Queen, you say?”
“Yes. They were wed four days ago.”
“That didn’t take long. And no invite for me.”
“It was a private affair at Spring Keep.”
“I’m sure it was.” Married already. How sickening. Had they consummated their marriage already? Would some evil spawn slither into existence within nine months’ time? What a terrifying prospect, the continuation of their united bloodlines.
“I…”
“You will continue with what you were saying,” I pushed.
“I’m renowned at the Spring Court for my skills in stealth. Her Majesty wanted me to sneak into Winter with this gun and shoot you, see if it was easy to kill you or not with one bullet. Return to her and give her my report.”
Strange words to me—gun and bullet. “Explain what these words mean.”
The Gentry fae obeyed. “The forges of Spring have created a new weapon. A gun. Made of metal, it is designed to fire small pieces of metal known as bullets at high speeds. To kill, to maim. I’m not privy to all aspects of the design, yet I know they are highly effective.
King Florent has ordered for many more to be made, with a priority on those which fire iron bullets. ”
Iron being the deadliest of metals to all fae not of Gentry blood. Non-Gentry could handle steel weapons, touch copper and tin and other metals, but not forge things or do anything with them.
Iron killed, poisoned us simply by touching it. Which made the Gentry the most dangerous of fae for their resistance to it.
Guns. Bullets. Yet more innovations from the metal-proficient scum. “How interesting. You came to kill me.”
“Yes. Or hurt you.”
“I’m sure an iron bullet would hurt me.”
“Yes.”
“Do you know how many of these guns are in existence?”
“Twenty so far.”
“That’s a very specific number.”
“Ten for the Autumn border, ten for Spring Keep. More will come.”
The Autumn border. Those fae wielding them there would be destroyed first. I’d seek them out from the skies, command the dragon to burn them alive.
“Is there anything else you need to tell me?” I asked.
The enchantment attacked him within and without, forcing every sliver of truth out of that vile Gentry mouth.
“I’m sad to have failed,” he answered.
“I’m sure. Is Lasair tucked away with her new king, or is she here with you?”
“She’s at the border.”
But of course. She loved war.
“I hate you,” he added further. “I’ve always hated you from your time as prince up to now.
All we ever heard was how beautiful and dangerous you were, how Lord Florent was so lucky to be chosen as your betrothed.
Every time I saw you on royal visits to Spring or had to endure any tale or song about you, I wanted to vomit.
You sicken me. Everything you are, everything you’ve ever had has been handed to you without question.
I’m sad you’re not dead and now the king of the Tuatha. You deserve a thousand deaths.”
His sentiments were echoed outside of Winter, I was sure. I could sense Orla wanted to hurt him, bark some warning into his face.
But we were done here.
“Do we have any oil?” I asked, already knowing the answers.
Barrels of the nasty black ooze were kept even deeper than these cells, used sparingly. The Tuatha fae harvested it from the permafrost in the northern reaches of Winter, storing it for emergencies after they discovered its flammability centuries ago.
Thank Danu they did.
“Yes,” the guard answered. “Shall I get some, Your Majesty?”
“If you would, thank you.”
As he left to do his duty, we waited in silence. I’d gathered all the information I needed. If there were more, the enchantment would’ve dragged it out of the Gentry fae.
The guard returned with a barrel and an oil can. He proceeded to remove the torches from the cell, handing one each to Orla and me. Then he filled up the can from the barrel.
The rebel elf moaned while the Gentry held his silence, the enchantment gone.
But he couldn’t hide his terror as the guard poured oil throughout the cell, throwing it to splatter the walls as well as on the prisoners.
The rebel hissed and spat crude words, the Gentry’s eyes and mouth firmly closed as the black ooze ran down his face.
I loathed oil. The acrid stench hit the back of my throat, assaulting my nostrils.
“You’re both so cold,” I said when the job was done, stepping out of the cell. “I hate to see you shiver like this. My home is a place of great warmth I want you both to experience.”
The guard slammed the door of crisscrossed bars closed, locking it.
“What… What are you doing?” the Gentry fae asked. He got up, slowly walking toward the bars.
“I’ll let you take a guess,” I answered.
The elf screamed.
Realization struck the spy. “No…”
“Yes.” I pushed my torch through the bars. It landed in the oil-drenched cell beside the Gentry fae’s feet.
Whoosh! Fire spread across the floor in seconds, engulfing both prisoners, licking up the walls. Now they both screamed, charging the bars, desperate for respite from such agony.
I kept my distance, watching them scramble, their screams piercing my ear canals, their pleading pitiful.
This could be Faerie. All of them burning, all of them learning.
The stink of their burning flesh filled the corridor, worse than the toxic smell of the oil. I kept the fire and the smoke contained in the cell with an enchantment, a special condition just for them, protecting the corridor.
Their screams stopped as they fell to the ground, the flames and smoke dying away at the command of my magic.
“What do you want to do, Your Majesty?” Orla asked.
I drifted into a numb space, my focus on the charred, smoking flesh. There would be more of this, so much more. Fire in the hills, smoke curling into the skies to drown the sun and the moon. Bodies in the seas, oceans, rivers, the soil soaked in blood.
Because it has to be this way…
I blinked, breaking my gaze from the corpses. “Bring them outside to the dragon. I have a message to send.”