Chapter 20

Julian

Irondale smells of salt, fish, and smelting smoke. I cringe, unhappy to inhale that nauseating mixture into my lungs once more. The day I leave this city, never to darken its doors again, will be a day for celebration.

I've cast the illusion about myself that Cricket doesn't like to be unrecognizable while I do some quick reconnaissance down by the docks. The fishy scent grows stronger the closer I get to the seedy western beaches.

It's a warm day despite the season, with a coastal breeze that only serves to tangle my hair and make my skin feel sticky.

I hate it.

Memories spider-crawl through the webbing of my mind. The copper tang of my blood. The damp stone of the cell floor beneath my cheek. The gurgling wails of the other captive. A gargoyle, one I never met but whose cries I still hear in my nightmares.

Rumor has it they freed him. Good for him.

I had to free myself.

"State your business," says a burly man with more gaps than teeth in his mouth. He sits on a wooden stool on a boardwalk over the sand before the dock. Next to him, a rickety lighthouse stands a bit crooked, propped up with thick, weathered beams. Faerie lights shimmer at the top, even in full daylight.

I came prepared for this. "Looking for Tauren. Man in Ember Crest said there might be work."

He scowls, furry brows touching in the middle. "Work, eh? What for? We're all rich now, right?" He nearly laughs himself off his stool.

"I'll believe that when pigs fly, same as you, I suspect. Don't trust royals, young or old, queen or princess, and I have debts to pay."

"Debts, eh?"

"That's what I said."

"Well, Tauren ain't here."

"Damn." I make a show of looking surprised, then disappointed. "Forice said he would be."

"Well, he ain't."

"There must be someone else I can talk to. Look, I won't be any trouble, and I need the work something bad."

He blows an irritated breath through his nose. "I'll check. But you'll have to come back later. Tonight. Around dusk. What's your name?"

"Lou."

"Right, Lou. See you tonight."

"Thanks, man. Didn't get your name."

"And you won't, not unless the boss says you need it."

I nod and take my leave. That was easy enough. I head up the shore to find something to eat and a good place to keep an eye on the comings and goings of the area.

My nerves, steady until this point, catch up to me as I walk. A growing sensation of unease in my gut, a tightening of the spine, a closing of the throat.

Panic, my old friend.

I breathe through the uncomfortable feeling, counting my steps to distract myself. Listening to the cawing of the seabirds. Gulls squawk and peck, fighting over scraps of food, shitting on the beach. This place is disgusting.

Did I mention I hate it?

But I need to eat. Keep my strength up. To be ready.

A street cart selling falafel catches my eye. I buy myself a plate of food: fried chickpeas, vegetables, hummus, and yogurt. Nothing exists here like the nice outdoor seating of Willowood, so I eat as a walk. The fare is probably good, but I'm too high strung to taste it.

The countdown has begun.

Dusk.

Tonight.

I'll come face-to-face with Tauren once more, only this time, I'll come out the victor.

He stands no chance against me, that greedy, money-hungry degenerate. The coin may not be mine, but I won't be going in empty handed. I curl what's left of the fingers on my right hand around the hilt of the Gatekeeper's dagger. Given to me by the man himself. Was it a moment of weakness that made him part with this treasure?

Shame?

Love?

Some unnatural assortment of all three?

I know not.

And I care not. That man can freeze his balls off guarding his precious gate into eternity for all I care. He's caused me enough trouble for ten lifetimes.

But his dagger—forged from the molten remains of a falling star by a master blacksmith before even the Gatekeeper's time—will be my secret weapon. Enchanted never to miss its mark when welded by a proper sorcerer like me, the blade will always strike true.

I'd hoped the coin would make me invincible, but the dagger will be enough.

It has to be.

Come nightfall, I'm ready. Eager even. I've been studying the activity along the docks all afternoon. It's a slow business, sitting, waiting, watching. Action will be a welcome diversion.

I haven't seen Tauren or his lackeys in all this time, but I know he's here. My magic senses him. I feel the proximity like a stone lodges in my gut.

The guard I spoke with has remained at his post save an hour's break when a fae in fancy, tailored red silk clothes with gold embroidery took over while he ambled into the first of several stone buildings.

I don't like the new fae on principle. Who wears silk in weather this humid? The salt will ruin that fabric.

Also, his face is held in a permanent sneer, as if he's looking down his sharp nose at everyone around him. As if he's too good for guard duty.

Workers come and go, loading and unloading fishing boats. I suspect that's all cover for whatever business Tauren is into these days. In our time, it was weapons trade and a fair amount of shady dealings for the previous queen.

Including the containment of dangerous prisoners. For a price.

If only I knew then what I know now.

It pains me to admit there was a time when I believed Tauren cared for me, but he was only ever using me for my magic. Needling and cajoling me into wielding my powers for his benefit and against my best interests.

He never really wanted me; he wanted the power he suspected I had. The power Queen Aurielle suspected I had.

Power that belongs to one fae and one fae only.

The Gatekeeper.

Curse the buried rumors that tie me to him.

I shall never be so blind again.

But even as I'm embracing the old rage, I'm thinking of Cricket. Of how the man has earned my trust, though I've lost his. And rightfully so on both counts.

Cricket may be cranky, stubborn, and occasionally arrogant, but he isn't conniving. He isn't selfish. He cares a great deal for others. It's obvious in the way he treats people, how he speaks of them, even in what he steals for them.

I haven't forgotten the toys in his sack of treasures from Lemossin. If those aren't for the village children, I'll eat my big toe.

Cricket would never ask anything of anyone else he wasn't willing to do or give himself, and even then, he'd probably struggle through it himself rather than ask for help.

Independent little thing.

He's never once sought to take advantage of me or my magic.

Cricket is inherently kind.

And Tauren is inherently ruthless. I'll never forgive myself for not figuring that out before letting him destroy me.

Hands in my pockets, I make my way down the shore to the westernmost dock. Tidal fishermen gather along the beach, ores posted in the sand, lines cast among the waves.

Predators feed at dark.

This is when sharks are most active. Chum bloodies the waters to attract them.

It stinks. I wish I'd thought to rub some mint oil under my nose, a luxury I never had during my captivity.

The stench brings me back. Makes me feel small. But I shake it off. Can't afford to let any weakness affect my confidence. My disguise must be foolproof until I seize my moment and enact my revenge.

At my arrival, the guard tips his head, the same one I spoke with earlier.

"Any word on a job? Will the boss man see me?"

"He'll see ya all right." He thumbs toward the pier. "Go on down."

I swallow and force my feet to carry me past the rickety lighthouse and plank by plank down the pier over the open ocean. A bad feeling churns in my gut as the waves churn beneath the boards. I finger the hilt of my dagger for comfort.

"Are you Lou?" asks another guard by the stairwell.

The way he says my fake name gives me pause, but I nod.

"Office is down here." He jerks his thumb toward a familiar narrow staircase. "Boss is expecting you."

"Thanks." I flinch as a hint of foreign magic prickles at my skin. Before I can analyze it, the feeling is gone.

I dread the walk down the steps. Tauren had this room built below the decking so he could deposit his trash straight through a hole in the floorboards to the gaping maw of the sea at his leisure. The place still gives me chills.

I stop at the door, gather my courage, and knock.

"Come in." Hearing his voice is grating, even after all these years.

Fingering the dagger, I push open the door and step inside.

There he is—my ex-lover, my capture, my torturer, my nightmare—seated at his desk and looking as smug as ever. As if no time has passed at all.

"My, my, my." Tauren whistles and leans back in his chair. He props his feet up on the desk and crosses one ankle over the other. "Who do we have here? Back after all this time."

What? That's recognition on his face! But he can't possibly recognize me. My magic. My disguise. It's never failed me.

"Julian." Tauren's smile contains the malice of ages.

My breath freezes in clenched lungs.

"The Gatekeeper's spawn himself. You dare to show your face in my establishment again, Julie?" He tuts and stands abruptly. "Making things easy for me as always."

Shocked, I shuffle backward—into the arms of a waiting guard.

Now or never. The shing of steel whipping from its sheath screams as I draw my dagger and thrust it backward.

Please, please let the enchantment ring true.

A blade that never misses its mark. Surely, the Gatekeeper wouldn't have lied about something so important.

The guard cries out, blade lodged in his gut because I couldn't bring myself to aim for his heart.

I should have.

My mistake. A mistake I won't make when I aim for Tauren. I vow it. A killing blow for Tauren.

I yank the dagger out of the guard's flesh with a sickening squelch and try not to think about what I just did.

"Ooh." Tauren purses his lips. "You've gotten feisty without my steadying hand."

"How did you know it was me?"

He laughs, a wicked cackle I'd forgotten.

My lunch threatens to violently exit my stomach. I loathe that sound.

And I fear it.

"Did you really think I wouldn't keep tabs on you? That Aurielle wouldn't keep tabs on you? I know you to be na?ve, but not stupid." More laughter brings more nausea.

I adjust my grip.

"Have you regressed so far since our last dance? Shall I spin you around the ballroom once more? I'll always be a step ahead of you, pet."

Behind me, someone drags the injured, moaning guard out of the room. The metallic tang of his blood stings my nose and makes me shiver.

The dagger feels hot in my hand. Burning.

This was a bad idea.

Tauren stalks closer. "Where are all your pretty words, hmm? You used to beg so nicely for me."

"I won't be begging tonight." My voice is weaker than intended.

"Oh, I think you will."

I aim the dagger but don't get a chance to use it. Unfamiliar magic scalds my hand and forces my fingers to stay clenched painfully tight around the handle.

I wrench my neck to see whose magic has temporarily bested mine.

It's the red and gold fae from the watch post. I rack my brain for any hint of recognition, but no, I don't know him. He arches perfectly manicured brows, his expression amused.

Tauren slinks forward. I intend to lunge for him, but I can't move.

Panic clamors inside the jail of my ribcage.

"Julie"—Tauren's hand lands on my hair and smooths it back behind my ears—"meet Rune of the Vesper lineage, my new flame. Rune, meet the old flame, Julian of questionable lineage, as it were."

Rune clucks his tongue, and his fire blazes around my hand, searing the flesh. The Gatekeeper's dagger clatters to the ground. I struggle to free myself from an invisible hold, my hand throbbing, my mind racing, but nothing works.

A line of guards waits behind the red mage.

I'm outnumbered and outmatched.

"What do we have here?" Rune plucks the dagger from the ground with dainty fingers. "Ice magic? So the rumors about you are true."

"True enough," says Tauren.

I want to spit. To howl. To tear him apart limb for limb, but I can't even cry out for help.

Not that anyone would help me.

Rune inspects the dagger. "I'll be keeping this. Now"—he presses the tip of the blade to my jaw and drags it to my bottom lip—"what shall we do with you?"

I thought I knew fear. I thought we were well acquainted. But the way this pair of demons are looking at me unlocks a level of terror I hadn't known existed.

"Have him brought to the The Stag, would you, dear?" Rune paces a slow circle around me, trailing one fingertip around my throat. "I should like to question him before we make any rash decisions."

Tauren calls for more men.

Rune's magic releases me. For a brief second, I'm convinced I'll be able to fight back, but the floor rises to slam my face, and blackness takes hold.