The Unknown Beauty

TYKE

After barely twenty feet, a cluster of beams appeared from behind the cover of darkness, blocking our path and significantly slowing us down. Of course, my stupid ass had to try something out…

Across my headset, Vine's heavy breathing meddles with my own, the silence between us thick. "Are you okay?" eventually flits across the line, adding another blow to my pride. "That was quite the fall."

With cracking knee joints, I gather myself in a crouch and look up. I can hardly distinguish Vine, but she's there, slivering such a shadow between and above the rubble.

While the thickset of humiliation flushes through my body, I stagger in my pathetic squat, attempting to wipe dirt off my gloves. "Stay vigilent, sergeant. My poor climbing technique, along with that little bang of yours, must have sounded a much bigger bell." And yet, knowing how fast these creatures are, none seem to be barreling toward us...

"I thought it was a vampire. I swear," she breathes as my gaze catches a very agile elf skedaddling up a paper-thin fallen joist. She's enjoying this. The girl is as light as a feather, her muscle mass a paradox to her weight. She's legging it, jumping from one plank to another, an absolute hop-skipper...

I shouldn't, but I say it anyway. "Even a fool wouldn't confuse a tiny lizard with a vampire."

Although she could have killed us, the little incident proved I was right. It turns out the vamps are waiting for us somewhere they know best. They are luring us in, and I like this idea because it adds a bit of surprise to their trip to hell. In fact, the bombs are not only manually operated, but are also triggered by a remote, and this little guy is currently snoozing in one of my pockets. Can't say it enough, but contemplating this five minutes ago has significantly lowered my pulse rate.

Back on my feet, weapon in place, I pinch my lips for those giant jackstraws in front of me. Fat fingers to blame, I've never been good with this game, and now I'm facing dread.

I come forth, place myself under one of those beams, brace my hands against one, and push, lifting the damn thing as cautiously as possible, not even daring a breathy grunt. I just tried climbing one, and as much as I succeeded, the bloody pound snapped under me, the whole ballyhoo sending us into another state of frost...

"This wouldn't have happened if we could use my abilities. Magic is soundless. You know, I could easily lift all that, easy-peasy."

I disagree. Once, Fay's wings boomed out so much pixie dust that I was deafened for days. She must have them checked. This constant magic is abnormal...

Muscles aching from another fat beam defying my push, I blow, "Well, if it makes you feel better, I miss my axe."

She's frustrated, and I can't blame her. Since Fidr banned magic after the war, magic foes have had a hard time adapting.

"It's not just that. It's all this waste of silver. These bloodlusters don't deserve it. With proper M-guns, we could kill them in one go!"

"Bell... You do know magic has little effect on them. Silver is our best ally."

Finally, a big woody guy bulges. I hold it tight, pressing its notchy head against my chest, stepping left, gaining a mere five feet... Then, just as one would do with a newborn baby, I hunch, dropping the beam softly to the ground.

"Yeah, as long as I aim for the heart."

"I saw your scoresheet. You're quite the gunn—Arh!" Pain blows for me as if the weakest of my hip bones shifted. I rise with a hiss, my left leg vibrating in response to another crack. Guess it did, and now it's back in its socket...

Shouts whisper somewhere in this rubbly maze, and Vine hints at something not many people notice. "Rack?"

"Skipped training at the Our People, Our Strength facility. Never missed one session after that."

"Shh. Bitchillstranglehersliceherwingsfuckingmisery..."

I don't know what she said, but I have a rough idea. Deon had a similar reaction to the topic... Definitely a conversation-ender, the torture device, Fidr included.

I look around and smile. It's back to being an aisle, not a jungle of giant wood stacks.

But then our progression is once again stopped by yet another rock. "How many altars does an elven cathedral have?"

We should have reached the transept by now...

I detect a laugh disguised in a puff. "Captain, this ain't an altar." Smarty pants skirts past me, lifts her firearm strap over her head, and props the rifle against the slab.

My feet break, my brain swells from veins popping like frescos, and I inhale once more—everything I can do to keep my mind clear from the rage that's about to thunder out. It's technically a breathing exercise at this point. "Stay armed, Vine."

Why try? This stubborn woman listens to no one. I firmly believe she wants me to lose it. Not only is she sectioning my nerves, but she's also decided to dismember me, step by step, and shrewdly at that, starting by skinning my vocal cords. This orc-grunt inducer is making my throat sore. I've been grunting nonstop for thirty minutes, taking a slight break when I clenched my remote. This must be my most extensive rant so far... and the gods know I'm trying to stay calm.

"This is an arcane sacred throne. There can be no weapons near it."

As suspected, Vine's a churchgoer. I can only respect that, but not now. "This ain't the time for prayers, Bell." My tusks are grating against my skin, irritating me as they struggle to stay under my mask. She's trouble. And I need my strength for one that's beyond compare...

Why couldn't it have been Deon... Oh, yes, I know why. He's an idiot, too.

With watchful steps, I circle this massive bulk, my eyes widening as a lifeless body comes into view.

My weapon jiggles around my waist while my hands drop, my jaw not far off...

I chin down to my partner. "Do you elven folks do this every Sunday mass? Gutting beautiful women?"

She immediately fires her goggles at me. Just pressed her holy button, did I?

"No," she finally says. After a brief pause, she turns her attention to the corpse and extends a curious hand to her.

"Don't touch."

To my voice, she gasps weakly. And then she blabbers something backward, as if she decided to swallow back what she was about to say.

Suits me fine.

The crowned head in front of me, however, doesn't.

It's dark, but I can see the victim perfectly. Something is disturbing about her beauty. She's sitting with her head up, dignified, as if life never really left her. With black beads surrounding its hilt, a golden dagger is plunged deep into her heart, hinged deep enough into the backrest to hold her upright. Wings held high behind her back seem unconcerned by this symbol-laden seat covered with blue velvet, golden swirls winding up the settee's spires, adding opulence to the scene.

The curve of one wing draws my eyes to the ceiling, my neck taking a proper bend as my gaze rises up. Sha, those wings are enormous. They tower over us, stretching high, glinting ferociously at my eyes. I don't understand because it's darker than a hellhound's den. Still immaculate, like those of a giant grasshopper, spiderweb patterns adorn their surface, all coated in a fine translucent mother-of-pearl shine, such as dew on a moonlit evening. "Fayra..."

"Sorry, captain?"

"Nothing."I have to quell this panting or whatever this is. My eyes are playing tricks on me. Although everything appears green, this unreal radiance is kaleidoscoping unwanted colors, such as the ones of Fayra's eyes and wings.

"What happened to her? She seems so out of time, yet her body shows no sign of decay... A queen, maybe?"

"I don't know, Vine, but you're right on one thing: the crime happened recently." I swiftly study this fae, her crown standing out immediately. Carved from a block of green crystal—or maybe another color, I can't tell—it's surmounted by tips, spiraling high, as tall as honed sparkling stalagmites. It's blinding.

Running over her youth, I lock on her tunic, embellished in the finest gems. Dotting every seam, hem, and thread of her gown, these cascade down her legs along the bloodied drape elegantly wrapped over her feet. There's a tender smile traced on her face, a soft curl of the lip, one of affection. Something about it gets my nails fiddling with one another... Maybe it's because of these thin brush strokes of blood painted down her nose and lips.

One streamlet leads me down her jawline. It ends in a drop hanging at her chin, the bulb loaded crimson. It should be falling by now, but it never does.

"Dawn Breaker one to Citadel, can you see this?" I speak over the comms.

"Citadel to Dawn Breaker one, clarify?"

"A throne with a woman on it."

"Negative."

Black magic.

"This dagger..."

Immediately, my heels swivel toward Vine. Her whisper was about to shout, barely holding back a trembling note. "Sergeant?"

"This dagger is an Elemental Channeler."

"And how would you know that?"

"Because I know... stuff."She shrugs, her voice dissolving into her shoulders.

Another grunt tumbles out. I don't think I want to know that much after all.

She glances back at the fae, a dicey poise darkening her gesture.

Approaching her hands as she leans forth, her neck angles in a way I have never seen before. It's like watching an asp about to strike, but with a helmet.

"A sacrifices' vital force is taken by whoever plunges the Elemental Channeler into them, draining their magic in the process."

The deep, sharp strain in her voice pricks my ears. There's tension in it, and by how my senses are suddenly heightened, it's also threatening.

"In short, it steals the victim's magic and gives it to the murderer." I emphasize the 'murderer' part, hoping she gets the gist.

Thankfully, her shoulders sag as she steps back. I was beginning to think she was treading on thin, thin ice...the ice of a thief.

"It's one way to put it. Yeah," she says, shaking her head—and in one shameful way indeed. She was going astray...

Actually, everything about this mission is going astray. We have fresh blood dripping near the chancel, and now sleeping beauty here, not to mention those lazy shitheads unfazed by our presence. And most of all, why wasn't this corpse picked up by the infrared cameras? These gems contain more energy than our surveillance vans' batteries—it's impossible to miss. I don't have a hex-spell scan, but I would bet big on it.

I study the dagger, the hilt's gems carving an intrusive glint into my eyes. I've seen those stones before... "Where is this reflection coming from? There's no light."

"It's because of the Ever stones cladding the gown and hilt. It is only possible to see them in the dark. They are known to your kind as?—"

The eye of Gruumsh!

My blood boils to the surface. "Why are the sacred stones of my people stitched on a very dead, yet alarmingly well-preserved fae, who looks like she just stepped out of a medieval time portal?" I grate, trying not to lose my fucking cool.

Her hand clasps mine. "I don't know. The only Ever stone I've seen is the one topping Fidr's wand."

She marks a pause.

I do, too.

"Fidr," she murmurs, hooking her eyes back on the dagger. "I wouldn't be surprised if that whore was involved in this clusterfuck..."

My breathing is cut short.

"This little bitch must be pulling all the?—"

I shove against her, muffling her mouth. "Bell." I pull down my breathing mask, carrying on, but lip-talking this time. "Stop."

We have a problem.

In silence, I clasp her helmet in a fury of fingers, angling it to meet mine.

There can be no more marked expression than my stretched finger, as flat as a bar of steel arrowing at my headset.

Her waving chest comes to a halt, followed by the dry bulge of her throat. The idiot forgot that this mission was being recorded.

I've got to drown this disaster with something else. "Your Orcish is improving, but I'm not sure what the whore connotation means in Faerish."

"Oops, I meant beloved." She laughs artificially, her voice conveying pain, hate, and terror.

Fuck, this little hand wrapping around my thumb.

Taking me off guard, she sways, her knees buckling. And with nothing to hold on to but my hand tightening around hers, she falls to her knees.

She's having a panic attack.

I quickly crouch at her level. "Sergeant." My every move is stiff, hurried, almost aggressive, chasing the chills going viral throughout my body. My fingertips slip underneath her chin, unfastening her helmet, lifting the muzzle from her head, and freeing her words from this mouthpiece that should only serve as protection.

Not as a hindrance.

Neither as a surveillance pole.

Nor as a threat.

A shower of damp hair falls over her eyes as I remove it.

She's hyperventilating, every draw of breath she takes embrangling inside her.

"Bell." I squeeze her hand and wrap my other around her neck, clamping it firmly, but not enough to hurt her. "You're safe."

"How do you know this?" Hiccups spew from her lips, jerking, forecasting something I break witnessing.

It's impossible to miss the dimple tucked under her lower lip, this one waving unsteadily as my thumb tries to tame it.

I remove my helmet and roll them far enough so only we can hear what we say.

Pulling Vine forth, I'm torn between keeping the mission going and sheltering whatever is rippling across her. There's a whimper that awakens something sharp in me. It's blunt enough that I may need Vine against me more than she needs me.

"Captain," cries out of her.

The woman is cracking, and I gasp at her fingers crooking into my back.

I lock her tight against me, my heart aching with each muffled sob bursting in the crook of my neck, a snag of teeth nicking against my throat.

"Don't worry about it." I tighten my embrace, veins bolting at my throat and temples, tendons arcing from a rage I know.

"Bell... it's okay. It's just a slip of the tongue." My whisper is softer than my embrace, and I won't let her go. I'll hold her as much as she keeps holding me.

Frustration has always lived rent-free inside me. But with my tusks unkindly cutting into my cheekbones as the tips yoke under my skin, it has decided to purchase and invest in something far larger than myself.

Fear. The reason my tribe would have disowned me if it was still around.

And as I stare at the throne crippled with a dead queen, my face doesn't darken.

It shuts down.

By now, we all have joined the dots and aren't feeling smart about it. In fact, we shut up. After sharing a piece of their minds about Fidr, people tend to disappear.

Never to be found again.

"I didn't know elves liked to make burrows out of orcs' necks. You're buried in it quite deep..." I murmur, not knowing what to say aside from this bullshit.

Vine finally lifts her small head to me, the contour of her eyes playing a game of guess with the dark, maybe squinting at it as I remove some dark strands from her eyes.

"I'm as good as dead." Her voice tears through me like a sword, sending my heart into turmoil.

"Calm down. No one is going to die."

What skidded over my lips was comfort, not the truth.

I close my eyes, hiding my face in Bell's hair.

Fidr.

I met her once...