21. Eventual Justice
21
EVENTUAL JUSTICE
Low, half-familiar male voices filled the cottage’s downstairs. Hannixe held aside the curtain at the foot of the stairs, beckoning Ari through.
Do I have to? But there was no escape.
“—the Mere,” Majan was saying. “Leshe is serious in her charge; indeed I think ’tis the only thing she is not careless of.”
“There is a Conjunction soon.” The chained man sounded flat, uninterested. “If missed, simply waiting will suffice.”
“Another ten thousand mortal years?” Jazarl was audibly having none of this.
Ten thousand what now? Ari paused, trying to figure out if her invisible translator had burped, but Hannixe was waiting.
“She is returned. It is enough.” A slight edge to every word, the first brush of killing frost. “If need be we will stand guard twice or thrice as long, and count ourselves lucky to have the chance.”
Ari braced herself, stepping through the curtain.
A couple more plain hard wooden chairs had been found to crouch near the three overstuffed ones, but the downstairs room was hardly crowded. Half a dozen men in green and brown. One in grey, his pale gaze finding Hannixe and sharpening. The chained man was at the fireplace, ruddy flamelight running over blackened armor and strings of links; did he sleep in the iron getup?
Now that sounded uncomfortable.
The window shutters remained tight-closed and barred; a heavy beam rested in brackets across the front door’s blank inner face. Golden glow from the globes in branchlike holders brightened as the chained man stepped away from the stone hearth; one by one, Jazarl’s men rose. The grey-clad fellow with the stripe in his hair was already on his feet, leaning easily against the wall; his rapier-hilt gave a smart, cheerful little winking gleam.
Thick silence, broken only by the fire mutter-crackling about its business. Ari shifted uneasily, her skirt swaying, and a faint edge of silver touched the room’s light.
Christ, I probably look like a clown in RenFaire dress-up . But the stitching on the gown was exquisite, the material of excellent quality, and every item in the house had begun to look distressingly, utterly normal.
At what point was she going to start considering her life before waking up in the pond a multicolored nightmare, and this the reality? Human beings were adaptable almost to a fault, but if Ari started believing she was what these people had been waiting for, she would no doubt overlook some tiny, crucial clue.
The consequences would be drastic, if not violent. Just because these folk didn’t know about cars or phones didn’t mean they were stupid, and their laws and norms weren’t hers. She was a foreigner, and couldn’t forget as much even for a moment.
A shadow loomed before her. It was the chained man; somehow, he had crossed the entire room. “My lady.” Quiet, and grave. “The Carcanet is returned. Will it please you to partake, and hear our counsel?”
I am so not ready for this . Was she going to start dropping thee and thou like a drama kid finally getting a soliloquy chance? These people sounded sophisticated; she would simply stumble, falling flat on her verbal face. “Will it help if I do?”
“More than you may ever know.” No trace of sarcasm in the words, that feverish gaze fastened on her face. It felt almost indecent, to be studied so closely. Once more he offered his gauntlet, the right this time, palm-up. “Soon it will feel natural.”
I’m not betting on that, my dude. Still, Ari laid her fingers in his hand, and was grateful all over again when the iron glove didn’t snap convulsively shut. A strange, unwilling feeling settled on her, impossible to name.
Was she losing English? It was hard to tell, and the very concept of misplacing her own language was too terrifying to contemplate at the moment.
He led her to the biggest chair in the room, its almost severe lines softened by cheerfully threadbare pillows. Ari hoped she wasn’t taking anyone’s seat. It was fantastic to get off her feet, though, and even better that the skirts hid her legs.
Hannixe set off for a row of wooden cupboards along the back wall; stripe-headed Keners hurried in her wake. Everyone else remained standing, watching Ari, and she began to get the idea she should say something.
Thankfully, the chained man piped up. “Take your ease, knights of the Keep, so long as our queen is at hers. To all present that signal honour is granted, and shall endure so long as Underdark does.” He arranged himself at the right hand of the chair, a bare foot away, and while the hovering was faintly comforting it was also scary as fuck.
She was all dressed up and a formal meeting was about to start; go figure, it was equally anxiety-producing in this world or the one she’d left behind.
It took a few seconds for the guys to sink back down, and the rule of human behavior that said everyone stayed in their first-chosen seat—even if getting up was part of the program—apparently held here too. It was just like the beginning of a middle-management bitch session, except with everyone in old-timey Eurotrash drag.
I’m definitely feeling better. A hot bath and new clothes did wonders for a girl’s equanimity.
“I have but a s-single tray,” Hannixe said, “though thankfully you shall not have to share cups. But ’tis less mannerly in the forest, I wager.”
Sarle and Majan shared a glance, eyebrows up, speaking without words. Jazarl shook his head, Naithor stretched out his legs with a sigh, crossing his arms high on his chest.
“I had half forgotten the sound of your voice, Grey Lady.” Laughter ran under Darjeth’s tone. “Or confused it with a fox’s bark.”
“If I speak for my lady, Darjeth, ’tis only because she has little patience for lackwits,” Keners shot back.
“Oh, aye, and you have more?” It was impossible for the pale blond man to smile any wider, the expression of a class clown with all of lunchtime to perform in. He rubbed at his cheek with callused fingertips, and wrinkled his nose slightly. “Well-matched you are indeed.”
“Soon Hannixe’s tongue will be sharp as ever,” Alzarien draped himself on the bench near the door; he had slicked his crimson hair back and his boots looked suspiciously like they had been polished. “And you will be too occupied in crying mercy to remember when ’twas silent.”
“Crying with laughter, perhaps.” Darjeth was having a grand time, one knee twitching as he lounged.
Ari couldn’t help but smile as well, and looked quickly at her lap to hide it, letting her hair fall in a damp curtain. At least the dark curls weren’t frizzing; they hung sleek and well-behaved, probably because Hannixe applied the comb.
Who would want to disappoint her? And it had been… nice, Ari decided, to have someone mess with her hair. She listened intently, ready to soak up every possible clue, hint, and inference.
“Pity Leshe is not here.” Majan interlaced his fingers, stretching out his legs from another hard wooden chair set at an angle to the others. He settled his shoulders, clearly arranged for deep thought and serious conversation. “She would enjoy the contest most roundly.”
“And complain we could be riding instead.” Jazarl dangled his hat from one capable hand as he sank into one of the cushioned seats; a full quiver leaned against its leg. “Speaking of wagers, I believe I have won one, Darj.”
“Oh, aye, and when we return to the Keep the item is yours.” Darjeth made a dismissive gesture with one hand. “If the Golden did not smash it, that is.”
“Do not speak lightly of such filth in my lady’s home.” Keners came back into view, carrying a wooden tray bordered in ornate scrollwork. Hannixe hovered behind him, cradling a dusty green stoneware flagon. “We have a bottle of the greater drink. A full measure for the ladies and a scant for every knight, unless our lord prince finds it best to observe the prohibition.”
“Madman,” Jazarl muttered. “Steal into the Keep for a single bottle.”
“My lady was determined to rescue some small effects.” Keners halted with the tray, handling it easily despite its thickness and the load of glassware and goblets clustered at its center. Each piece looked distinctly handmade. “Could I let her go alone?”
“Four Golden slain that night,” Sarle aimed the words in Ari’s general direction, as if she could be expected to know all the in-jokes. Or as if he was inviting her inside the popular kids’ holy circle, a bit of social mercy. “The entire place in uproar, the Bright King’s servants riding every direction for days, and later we find ’twas because the Grey Lady wished a visit and a few trinkets. We did not dare test her hospitality for some while afterward.”
So the stripe-headed guy was good at killing clockworks, which made sense. Were there other small groups hiding elsewhere? Maybe at this Mere, with this Leshe. That was good to know.
“They were taken by stealth, not overmatched in strength.” Keners shot an uneasy glance Ari’s way as well. “But still, the purpose was served.”
The chained man stirred, one of the cables hanging from his arm rippling. “My lady’s handmaiden was well-guarded,” he murmured, and that seemed to be what everyone was wanting to hear.
“Oh indeed, Keners fusses endlessly.” Hannixe presented the flagon in the chained man’s direction. “My lord prince, if it p-pleases you?”
He didn’t move. Yet there was a sharp cracking noise of breakage, and Hannixe smiled as if answered. She turned to pour, concentrating and biting her lip gently while filling a wooden goblet. It had a twin, sitting companionably close, but the other four containers were smoked, bubble-streaked glass, all shot-sized.
However, she only filled the one goblet, swept it from the tray, and presented it to Ari, sinking into a graceful curtsey. “My queen.”
You guys have got to stop. This is ridiculous . But what did it matter?
The bath had maybe sluiced off some of her old life. Her working theory had been admirably proved unless something better came along. The chips and cracks on much-used items or plaster walls, the individual hairs, the creases and small worn spots on clothing—there was no way she could come up with a vision or delirium so detailed.
Ariadne was stuck here, for however long. The problem now was impersonating this queen of theirs; could she claim amnesia forever? Hannixe seemed to believe, but who knew what the others truly thought? Ari’s position depended on the chained man, so she had to keep him happy.
More disturbingly, she didn’t want to go home. This was terrifying and bizarre, true. But it also felt… strangely comforting? And at least the dangers were overt.
Unless she just didn’t know the real ones yet.
“’Tis the greater drink.” Did the chained man sound faintly anxious, or was it her own uncertainty projected onto his flat, just-the-facts-ma’am tone? “It will not have turned as mortal vintage does, nor is it harmful. And your companions may this time share the blessing instead of waiting for the lesser, or the slow restoration of clear water.”
Maybe she was supposed to chug since it was her first time at a party? Ari took the goblet, and didn’t wait.
There was no point.
Cool liquid, vaguely spiced though she couldn’t untangle all the different components. The drink poured down Ari’s throat in a rush, hit her stomach, and spread in a warm velvet haze far different than the burn of alcohol. An almost-stinging thrill expanded all the way out to fingers and toes, and her scalp tingled as if her hair had joined the party and was attempting to speed-grow.
Ari lowered the carved goblet, exhaling in wonder. The remaining liquid trembled, clear as water, but faint hints of cinnamon, capsaicin, and cardamom simmered in its scent. “Oh, wow,” she breathed, but thankfully the invisible translator swung into operation. “What’s in this?”
“’Tis a mystery. Perhaps Leshe knows, but will not say.” Hannixe beamed, turning back to the tray. The stripe-headed guy held it steady, watching her closely as she poured again—half-filling the other goblet, and dolloping splashes into the collection of small glass containers. “I know ’tis not a knight’s duty, Keners, but will you carry to?—”
“Of course.” He didn’t even wait for the rest of the question, and no hint of irritation was visible at all. “An honour to perform such service, my lady.”
Wow. He’s really gone over her . It was nice to see romance wasn’t dead, though Ari would have to watch carefully to see if he was really even-tempered as he seemed. She took another hit off her drink. Good Lord. This would make millions back home .
Each guy took a shotglass, raised it gravely in her direction, and toasted Hannixe as well before tossing the contents far back. The other woman curtseyed once again before sipping steadily at her own goblet matching Ari’s. Keners settled the tray on a small table near the stairs and went through the motions, lingering over lifting his drink to the Grey Lady and watching her while he swallowed.
The chained man simply stood there, making no move to down a slug.
Ari decided she shouldn’t swill the rest of hers just yet. “Aren’t you going to have any?” A completely uncharacteristic sense of well-being swamped her, along with fresh unease.
Nothing that felt this good was legal, or lasted very long.
“Pleasant, but I do not require.” His dark head tilted, a listening look. “We shall tarry here long enough to regain your strength, then travel to the Mere. It will be easier, now.”
That’s good, I guess . Ari held the goblet up, an offering to his looming; her arm didn’t want to shake. The drink burrowed in, much more filling than the pondwater.
The good feeling of being full, warm, dry, and reasonably safe had to be transitory, but at least she had a breather. “Are you sure? I don’t mind sharing, and you’re probably…” Would he take you’re probably tired as an insult? She didn’t know the rules well enough; this was a risk.
The offer earned her a long considering look, his chin down and that strange, hot gaze resting first on her outstretched hand, then moving to her face. It was unsettling, being watched so closely.
“If my lady offers,” he said softly, “I cannot refuse.” His metal-clad fingers closed around the goblet, brushing hers, and it was also super strange that the armor wasn’t cold but instead skin-warm.
Did he ever take it off? Or was he burning with fever inside its embrace?
He turned the cup slightly, and Ari had the bizarre idea he deliberately rested his lips where her mouth had touched the rim. A single swallow, those dark eyes half-lidding as his throat moved, and he returned the goblet to her numb hand—which had forgotten to return to its proper place, just hanging in the air.
“My thanks.” His mouth curved, a smile blooming, and it was official, she was transfixed.
Wow. No doubt she looked completely ridiculous. Ari’s cheeks were flaming hot, and she couldn’t blame it on the bath or the drink. “You’re welcome,” she managed, faintly.
Everyone was silent, as if embarrassed for her. She stared into the cup’s depths, and the longing to be invisible was a familiar half-friend, half-enemy.
At least the chained man didn’t let her suffer long; clearly, it was time to get on with business. “A Conjunction approaches,” he said, gauntleted hands crossed before him, all sharp edges and dark metal amid the softer shadows and more organic textures. If this were a painting, he would definitely be the cynosure; the artist would have to be at the corner near the stairs to arrange each element properly. “I intend to be at the Mirrored City to meet it, which will break the last of the fetters placed upon me after the… misfortune. Of far more importance is our queen’s renewal of the Mere, and the traitor will do all he can to deny that event. Upon every knight present rests the duty of giving him no success in further blasphemy.”
Renewal of the Mere sounded like a religious ritual . Mirrored City was new—no, wait, she dredged a mention out of memory. That was where the Bright King lived.
The traitor who had strangled the real queen, Ari’s predecessor. Clearly this wasn’t a constitutional monarchy with largely ceremonial duties. She continued staring into the remainder of her drink. Was she supposed to know about the Mere thing? Should she down all of the extra she’d been given, or pour a bit out for the gods of this weird place? Was she required to transubstantiate?
Hannixe set her goblet on the tray. She approached the big chair with a rustle, and sank onto a small ottoman to Ari’s left, a breath of sweet perfume spreading from her skirts. Then, as if it were quite natural, she touched Ari’s elbow. “Come, my lady.” Her eyes sparkled and only a bare trace of huskiness remained in the words. “A little more, if it please you? It will do naught but g-good.”
Now Ari had to finish the goblet. She was very aware of the stares while she took down more spice-smelling medicine—or was it a wine? These people didn’t seem to eat.
“He will send many Golden,” Jazarl said. “And other, fouler things.”
“Mere dolls will not trouble us overmuch.” The chained man didn’t quite give a dismissive wave, but Ari suspected it was close. “Of far more concern are the restless dead of his Law, for he has gained some slight puissance. They must not be allowed to approach our lady in any wise.”
“Restless dead?” Ari didn’t mean to interrupt, but the phrase was disconcerting. Especially when it called up the memory of those wet slapping footsteps and cold, despairing moans.
Like damned souls, she’d thought, and didn’t it just figure she’d be right about the most horrifying possibility?
“Our old companions.” Keners was back to leaning against the wall near the door, new color in his cheeks. His pale gaze rested on Hannixe, and his hand on rapier-hilt. “Not all, though. I think some of them unlucky mortals; Sarle disagrees.”
“I do.” Sarle stared at the fireplace, tense even while seated. “But wherever they hail from, they are dangerous.”
“Only one fetter remains upon me.” The chained man’s tone remained even, businesslike. “While it does, there is some small difficulty in dealing with those particular abominations.”
A series of alarmed glances exchanged between the men. Even Keners looked a little taken aback. Ari tried not to stare, but their open shock was thought-provoking.
“They are infectious,” the chained man continued, as if not noticing. “So you must take care, and above all do not let them near her.”
“My lord.” Jazarl shifted uncomfortably. His seat squeaked a bit; the small noise was another reminder of this place’s terrifyingly detailed reality. “Should you miss the Conjunction, there might be… further complications.”
“In that event, we will retreat to the Keep and stand a siege.” The chained man didn’t sound particularly worried at the prospect. Nobody mentioned the ‘ten thousand mortal years’ thing again, so maybe that was a figure of speech. “This is not the first war I have fought, my friend.”
Well, that’s comforting. Sort of. Ari’s fingers creaked on the goblet. Hannixe was still watching her, a worried line between dark eyebrows. Was the grey in her hair natural aging, or the result of lingering stress? The rims of her eyelids remained red and faintly swollen. At least her cheeks were soft and unmarked now, and her nose wasn’t pinkened-raw. She still looked way too young for that hair.
“A little more,” the Grey Lady pleaded, quietly. “Please, my lady Ari.”
Even a magical drink couldn’t erase the lump in Ari’s throat. “This traitor—the Bright King, right? What exactly did he do?”
Alzarien studied the floor. Maybe he was grateful she was playing dumb. Even the fire was hushed; the expression could hear a pin drop didn’t quite work in their language, but Ari could think it in English.
That was a relief.
“He placed violent hands upon my lady Moon.” The chained man’s tone could only be described as forbidding . “The fault is mine; I was not present to stop him. He laid his plans well, giving report of a strange irruption near one of the doors to the mortal realm?—”
Now there was a piece of news; she’d been operating off the assumption of a single wormhole or gap. Ari didn’t quite sit bolt-upright, but she certainly stiffened. “There’s more than one entrance?”
It was also confirmation that her theory was entirely sound. Folklore and fiction were full of the idea—openings to fairyland, alternate dimensions, whole other worlds. There were historical reports of people visiting other places and sometimes returning, and where there was smoke fire couldn’t be far behind.
This still could be a completely different planet, and Ari wasn’t sure about all the stuff that seemed to be magic. Advanced technology couldn’t be ruled out. Did these people only look human? If they were an alien species…
Worry about that later. The reassurance of finally, for once in her life, having guessed right when it counted was so intense she downed the rest of the goblet; when the drink hit her stomach its warmth could barely compare to that consolation.
“There were doors, yes.” The chained man turned his head, gazing down at her, and he sounded almost pedantic. “The… misfortune closed them, and more cannot occur without a truly blasphemous effort.”
So this Bright King had murdered their queen, and now they’d nominated Ari to take her place. That explained some things—but not how she’d managed to arrive, and not the damn dreams.
Where was the instruction manual for this kind of thing? “But…”
The silence warned her. Ari realized everyone was looking at her, and hastily dropped her gaze to the empty cup, her fingers tightening on its stem.
Hannixe, however, wasn’t about to let her off so easily. “Something troubles you, my lady?”
“No,” Ari said, hastily, and wished she’d stayed quiet. “I was just wondering how I got here if all the doors were closed, that’s all.”
“There is no door which will not answer you .” Fortunately the chained man still sounded professorial instead of irritated. “If Sarle is correct and the faithless accursed is indeed using mortals to create passageways—and his abominations—it is simply one more crime he shall be brought to account for in due time. The fact remains that I rode to investigate his tale, and so was not present to gainsay his foul purpose.”
This Bright King guy was sounding worse and worse. No wonder they were resisting; at least Ari could be reasonably certain she was on a morally justifiable side. “So he planned pretty carefully, is what I’m hearing.” She almost winced at the banality of the observation.
“He was ever of a thoughtful bent, while one of your knights.” Hannixe shook her head, the twin braids moving gently to brush her shoulders. “I will never forgive myself, that I did not see his treachery.”
“He misled us all,” Keners immediately objected. “The fault was not yours.”
“I didn’t mean it that way,” Ari hurried to explain. The subject of mortal doors, as well as figuring out who had already guessed she was an ersatz substitute for their old queen at best, could wait until she had some time to think. “It just seems to me that he probably has some kind of plan now, too.”
Wanda Lee would have scoffed. Oh, it seems to you? A stupid little city girl should probably keep her mouth shut .
Ari was no great shakes at coping, but at least she was adjusting better than she could imagine her mother-in-law doing.
Focus on the bigger problem. It’s how you’ll get through this. Ari’s head ached, a swift crunching pang vanishing almost as soon as it arrived. Maybe the magic drink was a variety of interplanetary aspirin.
“No doubt he does.” The chained man’s nostrils flared and his mouth turned down, his forehead wrinkling slightly. “It will avail him less than nothing, my lady. His defeat only required a single event, and that has occurred. All is done save eventual justice.”
If you say so. “That’s good, then.” The last thing she wanted was to argue with a scary metal-wrapped prince, who might even turn out to be the legitimate ruler with their old queen gone—but in that case, what did he need her for? Just to grab his sword, or as a figurehead? Hannixe called him a servant, but that had to be some kind of mistranslation; Ari couldn’t imagine this guy fetching bonbons. “So, we start in the morning?”
“Unless the traitor’s forces invade Gesthel tonight.” Jazarl hurried to smooth the waters. “Though they have a healthy respect for the Fox’s disapproval of such visitors.”
“I will be more than happy to stand guard.” Keners stiffened, drawing away from the wall.
“No need.” The chained man shook his head, a short, very nearly regal movement. “Tonight is for what rest we may gather. There will be little once we leave this place, until I tear the traitor into pieces and consign his soul to eternal wandering torment.”
Oh boy. Ari’s shoulders hunched. It wasn’t the gruesomeness of the threat, she’d heard a lot worse from Mike.
No, it was the way the chained man said it, as a foregone conclusion. He meant every word, and it sounded like he grimly enjoyed the idea as well.
“Our lady is weary,” he continued. “Tomorrow we ride for the Mere. Be ready.”
That apparently finished up the meeting, though it did exactly nothing for Ari’s new questions. The guys stirred, exchanging glances, more than one touching rapier-hilt; Hannixe rose immediately to collect Ari’s goblet, then led her upstairs, chivvying softly like a mother with a tired toddler.
Which was a relief, since Ari could use some time alone to think. Unfortunately, despite her need for even a few minutes’ worth of brooding, exhaustion won.
It wasn’t even a contest.