7. Orphium
Chapter 7
Orphium
I paced up and down the tiny space of my carriage cabin, stomping so hard I should’ve broken straight through with each of my footsteps. Jars and phials rattled on the shelves. The threadbare rug over the floorboards couldn’t muffle all the banging.
“Nothing!” I shouted. “Can you believe that, Wagon? He said I deserved nothing. Me! The rightful owner of the coin. Me. How dare he? Who does he think he is?”
Wagon creaked and faintly groaned with each of my steps. But it did not reply, of course, because it did not have the gift of speech. That was for the best, really. Wagon and I both knew that I wasn’t the coin’s rightful bearer. No one was.
It was a thing of legend, a relic from aeons past, from another world entirely. The coin came and went as it pleased, imbued with the power to bestow great luck or terrible misfortune in equal measure. We only spoke of it in whispers among the fae, a story to lull the young ones before bedtime, this glittering golden relic with a raven on one face, a dragon on the other.
So close I could have snatched it from the shovel man’s bare hand, except he would have overpowered me, him and his two bumbling, clanking armored guardians. So close that I could feel the buzz of the coin’s magic in the air — hear it, taste it, smell it. This wasn’t a thing meant for humans. It belonged to us. The fae. It belonged to me .
The name of its fae creator had been forgotten to time, or perhaps to the twisting of tongues, new languages shedding old words as the coin traveled from one world to the next. But whoever had forged this powerful artifact was surely someone of great power themself. To create something so diminutive that could warp reality itself? Nothing short of miraculous.
Why did it come to Barrowdeep? Was it mere coincidence, manifesting so quickly after my arrival? Me, the only fae for leagues around.
And I needed it. Wanted it. A relic that belonged to the fae by right, something so deeply instilled within my person that every false coin and piece of fool’s gold I chucked at humans had been patterned after the very same relic. An homage, so to speak, a tribute to this legendary work of arcane wonder.
And where was it, now that it had deigned to travel to Aidun? Clutched within the work-worn grasp of a mud-raking gravedigger. A human! A deceptive one, too, he with his perplexing knowledge of me and my kind, so very nearly guessing at the true nature of my courtly domain .
What did he really know about the courts and the Fae Wilds? Did he know about the Wyrding Queen as well? A curse upon the Wyrding Queen. A curse upon Barrowdeep, upon all of humanity. I glowered at the pickle jar full of their leavings, their hopes and wishes and promises.
This morning I wanted nothing more than to dine upon the flavor of their memories, the sweetness of their dreams. But now that the coin was here — in Aidun — in Barrowdeep, of all places! Barely within my grasp.
“A plan, Wagon. I need to come up with a plan. There must be something this human wants more than the coin. What is it to him, after all, if not some worthless trinket?”
Favors. I would pay him in favors of all kinds. Orphium of the Dawning Court had no shame when it came to matters of acquisition. It would be delusional of me to claim that I didn’t find the human attractive in the least. I’d entertained the idea of dragging him under the bedcovers plenty enough times since Wagon and I had rolled into town.
Yes. Seduction. Simple enough. I’d seen those bashful little looks Leoric had tried to hide from me, lowering his head when a blush crawled to his cheeks, threatening to betray his feelings. Those snorts of annoyance, his glowers and scowls — whether he admitted it or not, Leoric was positively basking in my attention.
Yes. That was it. No doubt. My kind were renowned — no, infamous for courts. Courting. Courtship. It all blended together in the end, did it not? We fae were creatures of passion, desire, preying on the very worst of human nature in order to bring out our very best.
That was it, then. Leoric wouldn’t know what hit him. It was time to show the shovel man how brightly we could dazzle at the Dawning Court.
“Wagon! Wake up. I think we need a change of scenery.”
My carriage rumbled to life, no doubt relieved to be doing anything else but listen to me complain. I clambered up the shelves and threw the hatch open with a bang. I squirreled my way onto the roof, swinging upward, landing perfectly on my feet. A little showmanship never hurt anybody.
A woman yelped. It was Hertrude, hobbling past with a basket in one hand, a bolt of cloth tucked under her arm.
“Mr. Orphium! Are you leaving so soon? I thought you were staying in Barrowdeep a little while longer.”
I puffed my chest out, hands on my hips, a man on a mission. “Worry not, sweet Hertrude. I’m only setting up shop elsewhere in town.” I planted both feet firmly on the cabin roof, the captain of my own ship. I pointed away from the plaza.
“Wagon! To the graveyard!”
If Wagon could whinny like a horse, it would have. It certainly reared like one, its hind wheels grinding against the dirt as it gathered magical momentum. The townsfolk gasped as my carriage shot out of the plaza at top speed. I kept a confident grin plastered across my face. Nobody needed to know that I was terrified of being thrown off my own vehicle.
“Onward,” I shouted, cackling as Wagon tore into the neighborhood, past the tavern, through the marketplace, finally screeching to a stop just short of the graveyard gates.
Right across from the shovel man’s cozy little cottage. Perfect.
Armor clanked as the town guards emerged from the graveyard, attracted by the commotion. The cottage door slammed open, the shovel man’s face already bright red with anger. He knew. I knew. We both knew that this was going to be a problem. For him, mostly.
“What’s all this racket?” Leoric shouted, glaring up at me from the ground. “What on earth are you doing out here?”
I chuckled, pointing at his cottage. “And what on earth were you doing in there, lounging and lazing about when poor young Riggs and Sir Redginald were slaving away in the graveyard?”
Nothing like sowing a little soreness among the ranks. We fae were known for our fondness for nature, or for twisting it to our purposes. The best seeds to sow were those of discontent. But neither Riggs nor Redginald appeared to have missed the shovel man’s absence.
“If you must know,” Leoric huffed, “I was preparing for sundown. Riggs and Redginald were just finishing up to head back into town. My work really only begins when darkness falls.”
Drunk in my own delusions, I mustn’t have noticed how Leoric’s attire had slightly changed. He was wearing bits of leather armor — not the sturdiest pieces, but lightweight enough to afford him mobility in battle. Leather bracers covered his forearms, protective pauldrons for his shoulders.
And of course, there was the breastplate, which fit his body snugly enough to distract me. The way it laced under his arms, around his torso, it only accentuated the broadness of his chest and shoulders, the slenderness of his waist.
Never falter. Never flinch. Never give a single inch.
My gaze trailed up from Leoric’s chest and back into his face. A tiny smirk had formed in the corner of his mouth. He saw. He knew.
“You still haven’t answered my question, Orphium. Why have you brought your dangerous death trap to the graveyard?”
My carriage creaked and bucked. I went down on one knee, patting its roof. “Whoa, there, Wagon. He didn’t mean that. You’re not a dangerous death trap to me.”
Leoric smirked harder. “I was talking about your mouth.”
Riggs cleared his throat as he walked briskly down the lane, pointedly away from the graveyard. “We’ll just be heading back to town now, Leoric.”
Redginald’s armor clink-clanked as he hurried after his son. “Yes, yes. Good evening to you both, gentlemen.”
I glared at Leoric as I waited for two sets of clink-clanking boot steps to fade down the road. Leoric smirked back.
“Tell me why you’re really here, Orphium.”
I vaulted off the roof of my carriage, making a graceful landing that put me not two feet away from Leoric’s face. If he was impressed by my acrobatics, he was careful not to show it. I gestured at myself, at the graveyard, and lastly, at my carriage.
“Didn’t you hear what I told you about the undead? Wagon here has been my best defense against them. Should any of your ghouls emerge from these gates, my carriage will be more than happy to grind them into a fine paste. Isn’t that right, Wagon?”
The carriage rolled forward by a few inches, then back, wheels squeaking menacingly.
Leoric crossed his arms and tilted his head, assessing both me and my pet carriage. “So you really expect me to believe that you’ve brought your mighty steed all the way here to assist in the defense of Barrowdeep?”
“What is there to believe, Leoric? How many times do you want me to repeat myself? I am here to help.”
And to take that coin , I added in my head. By any means necessary.
Though this leather-bound version of Leoric didn’t seem especially malleable at the moment. There was a time and a place for everything. All bundled up in a second layer of protective clothing, he didn’t exactly make himself the most delectable of targets. Like a piece of fruit with a second skin. Would he be worth the effort of peeling just now?
Never mind that he definitely looked extremely alluring in all that armor, those close-fitting breeches, those bracers that laced so tightly at his arms as to make his veins and his muscles bulge all the more.
He lifted his hand, adjusting his bracer — he knew I was looking, I needed to stop doing that — then he made a resigned snort. “I very much doubt your ability to do anything beyond being a nuisance. Stay if you must. Do what you will. But stay out of my way.”
I scoffed, sauntering up toward, then past him, venturing a little too close, brushing my shoulder against his as a minor suggestion. Oh, how that gesture backfired. I caught a whiff of his scent, this heady mix of clean earth, oiled leather, the faintest hint of smoke.
The mingled smells of labor. If salt of the earth had a smell, it would smell like Leoric. Honest. Hardworking. Corruptible. But combined with the burning heat of his body, to me, even the lingering hint of his sweat smelled like the richest perfume. Masculine. Powerful. Solid.
Hard.
This human, this frolicker in the dirt was seducing me without even trying. Another approach. I needed to try something else.
“All I have is this dagger,” I told him, motioning at the sheathed blade at my hip. “And I’m hardly dressed for a fight, am I? Here. Show me what equipment you have on hand. Orphium of the Dawning Court can’t battle ghouls in his fanciest finery.”
I skipped over to his cottage’s porch and swished my way through the front door as if I owned the place. I glanced over my shoulder, grinning as I checked for his reaction. Exactly as planned. Leoric smacked himself in the forehead, irritation drawn in deep lines all over his face.
His boots stomped the floorboards heavily as he followed me in. “Where the hell do you think you’re going, Orphium? I’m wearing all the protective gear I have to spare. There’s nothing in there for you. And besides, none of it would fit.”
“Nonsense,” I cooed. “I’m sure that anything of yours could be a perfect fit for me if we tried hard enough.”
There it was again, the tinge of crimson in his cheeks, spidering up the sweat-glazed muscles of his neck.
“It’s much neater in here than I expected,” I said, politely admiring the humble trappings of his home. “I’m especially fond of this lovely mirror. A pity it isn’t full length. I love length. And fullness.”
Leoric cleared his throat, his reflection glaring at me as I preened and admired myself in the reflective surface. “It’s obviously a shield and you know that.”
Of course I knew. I also knew that the crest etched into its center meant something very interesting, but I could save that ammunition for later. Now that he was distracted, now that we were both inside — I clicked my fingers.
The cottage door slammed shut.
Leoric’s reflection glowered at me, angrier than he’d ever been. Uh-oh. Perhaps this was the wrong move.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his voice dangerously flat and still.
“Everything I need to take what’s rightfully mine,” I crowed, whipping around to face him. “The coin, Leoric. My coin. Hand it over.”
He crossed his arms and lifted his chin. “And what would you do if I denied you once more?”
I quickly assessed the situation. Shovel man was on the defensive, swathed in far too much clothing and steeped in too much anger for me to mount a successful seduction. I changed tacks.
“Then we’ll just have to stay locked in here together,” I gloated. “Just me and you, shovel man. I know you think I’m annoying. Imagine spending an hour in my presence. Two hours. A full night. I’ll drive you up the wall. You’ll be clawing at the door before the sun falls below the horizon.”
Leoric shook his head and tutted. Not anger in his eyes this time, but disappointment. Somehow, that stung more. “So this was never about you helping with the ghoul problem, was it?”
I inspected my fingernails, fighting the sensation of guilt flowering in my chest. “Well, I mean, Wagon is still out there. It could do my share of the work. But as long as I hold the spell over the front door, you’re stuck in here with me.”
He nodded in quiet agreement. “So you say. Right. Nothing for it, then.”
Leoric collected his shovel from the corner of the room, then headed for the front door. I laughed.
“Didn’t you hear me, shovel man? Only I can break the spell. Give up the coin and I’ll dispel the magic. You cannot overpower my — wait. Where do you think you’re going? No. What are you doing?”
Boards splintered as he drove his shovel against his own front door, the blade smashing through it with the ease of a woodcutter’s axe. Again and again he chopped, a man possessed, until the door was no more, only strips of wood and broken planks hanging from the hinges.
“There you go,” he said, with the same eerie calm and stillness to his voice. “Your spell can’t hold the door if there’s no door to begin with.”
“You’re completely mad,” I said, impressed and terrified all at once. This sort of passion and impulse, this nearly gleeful destruction, I only expected it among the fae. There was more to the shovel man than I thought.
I bit on the back of my hand as he approached. I was intrigued, afraid. Worst of all, I was terribly, horribly aroused.
Leoric’s hand closed around my throat, his fingers rough, his breath hot on my cheek. If he asked me to serve him, to fall on my knees, to shove my face into his pillow and prepare to accept him, I would gladly obey.
Instead he dragged me by the scruff of my shirt toward the door. I sputtered, clutching at my neck, slapping at his powerful hand. He flung his shovel aside, picked me up by the back of my breeches, then tossed me straight out the broken doorway.
I fell to the ground, taking a terrible spill, my limbs splayed out, my skin covered in scratches. But the worst of the bruising was done to my ego. I pushed myself up, gasping for breath, summoning the filthiest curse words I’d collected on my travels. But Leoric spoke first, his finger in my face.
“Try something like that again, and I will break you.”
I shivered. I wanted him more than ever.