Shadow Faerie

Chapter 4

Four

The journey through the palace to meet the king feels both torturously long and frighteningly quick. It’s enough time for me to get myself completely worked up, but not nearly enough time to calm down and prepare myself.

“My father isn’t as kind as I am,” Roarke tells me as we stride across glossy marble hallways with two uniformed faeries ahead of us and two behind. “He wants to keep you no matter what. Daughter-in-law or prisoner.”

Wonderful. That doesn’t make me want to throw up at all.

“I won’t let that happen, of course,” Roarke adds, “but it would be better if you don’t make any joking comments about changing your mind or not being certain about the union. Things might get … unpleasant.”

“I’ve already told you I’m not changing my mind.” In my effort to mask my fear, my words come out louder than I intended. “I’m here, aren’t I?” I continue in a lower voice. “And I came to you. Doesn’t that prove how serious I am about this arrangement?”

“All I’m saying is that he doesn’t appreciate jokes or sarcasm, so it’s in your best interests to be polite. And you should probably remove my coat. You look very strange in it.”

I slip Roarke’s coat off and hand it back to him. “Perhaps it’s in his best interests to be polite too, given how valuable my Griffin Ability is to him. If he makes me his prisoner, I’ll never give him what he wants.”

I try very hard to believe my own words, but Roarke’s raised eyebrows and pitying expression make it impossible. As we stop outside an oversized, ornately carved door, he faces me. “You won’t need to give him anything, Emerson. He’ll take whatever he wants.”

A guard opens the door. The unnatural chill in the air intensifies, and the doorway itself seems to stretch wider like a giant mouth preparing to swallow me whole. I smell damp earth and rotting leaves. My heart pounds faster as images of slimy creatures, skulls, and beetles flash across my mind.

Then I blink away the imagined images and find that the doorway hasn’t changed at all, and the room it opens onto isn’t a dark mouth but a large office. Roarke takes my arm and steers me forward, since my feet have forgotten how to move on their own. “Remember, I’m on your side,” he whispers to me. “Prove to my father that you’re willing to work with us, and I’ll make sure you’re never forced into anything.”

I don’t answer, my attention focused instead on the interior of the king’s office. To the right is a table large enough for at least a dozen people to sit around. Oddly, though, whatever’s on top of the table appears blurred when I try to look too closely at it. My gaze swings to the left—and I’m even more startled by what I see there: no wall encloses the office on that side. Instead, it extends into an underground cavern made of rough rock and illuminated by pale light.

“Leave us.”

The deep voice brings my attention to the desk straight ahead of us. The surface is as polished as every other slab of marble that fills this palace. On the other side, a tall chair that appears to be made of the same rough rock as the cavern faces away from us. The chair remains motionless as the guards leave the room and close the door. Then, despite the fact that it must weigh a ton, the chair turns smoothly to face us.

King Savyon looks nothing like his son. His white-blond hair is streaked with black. His eyes are dark holes that bore into me. Without speaking, he places one hand on top of the other on the desk in front of him. Gold rings set with multi-colored gems glitter on every finger.

“Father, this is Emerson Clarke,” Roarke says. I swallow and force myself to stand straighter. I’m pretty sure this is one of those situations where I’m not supposed to show fear, but I think I’m about to fail miserably.

The king stands, walks around to the front of his desk, and folds his arms across his chest. His eyes travel all the way down my body and up again, his gaze like a cold, creeping finger stroking along my skin. His expressionless gaze lingers on my hoodie, then travels slowly up to my face, where he holds my gaze for several terrifying moments. Despite my determination not to be intimidated, I almost wilt with relief the moment his eyes release me and move to Roarke. I wrap my arms tightly around my body and stare at the floor just in front of my feet.

“Well,” King Savyon says, his voice a deep rumble I can almost feel in my own chest. “She’s a far cry from the woman I hoped you’d one day unite with, Roarke. She’s barely fit to be a servant in this court, let alone a princess.”

“Really, Father?” Roarke drawls. “That’s the nicest thing you have to say?”

“What do you expect when you present me with such a dismal prospect for a daughter-in-law?”

“I can assure you, Father, that her Griffin Ability more than makes up for what she lacks in other areas.”

Those black eyes settle on me once more. “I certainly hope so. I’d like to see a demonstration now.”

I open my mouth, my eyes darting between the two of them. I’m unsure if I’m allowed to speak, but they need to know that I can’t perform on demand. “Don’t worry, Emerson,” Roarke says before I can say anything. He reaches inside his coat and produces a small vial. “I have your precious elixir right here. Yokshin, our inventions master, has been examining it, but there’s plenty left for you to use.”

Crap. This is so not what I planned to use the elixir for. I’m supposed to be alone with Roarke when he gives it to me so I can instruct him to tell me everything he knows about Mom and how to fix her. That isn’t going to work right now unless I can give an instruction to the king at the same time. To remain frozen in place, perhaps. So he can’t interfere. As Roarke turns to face me, thoughts race wildly through my head. Am I brave enough to do this? If I don’t do it now, will I get another chance? And if I do command him now, how will I get past all the guards on my way out? Command them as well? Will there be enough time to give Roarke, his father, and all the palace guards an instruction before my Griffin Ability runs out?

“The compulsion potion first,” the king says. “Then the Griffin potion.”

“Of course,” Roarke says, removing another small bottle from within his coat.

“The—what?” I ask.

“Compulsion potion,” Roarke repeats, removing the lid. “It’s exactly what it sounds like. You can be compelled to do certain things while under the influence of this potion. It’s just to make sure you behave while using your Griffin Ability. We wouldn’t want you doing something silly or irrational.” He laughs. “Like telling us all to kill ourselves or something.”

All hope withers. “So—so you’re going to force me to say something?”

“This is just a precaution, Emerson. My father doesn’t know yet if he can trust you.”

He hands the bottle to me, and because I know I have absolutely no choice in the matter, I lift it to my lips. “How much?” I ask before tipping it back.

“Just a sip.”

The potion tastes like something familiar, but I can’t identify it. I hand the bottle back to Roarke, just as I realize that this compulsion thing sounds very much like the Griffin Ability everyone in this world has been trying to get their hands on. My Griffin Ability. “Wait—but—if you have such a thing as a compulsion potion, then what’s the big deal about my Griffin Ability? You can already tell people to do things and they’ll do them. You don’t need—” I realize what I’m saying too late. You don’t need me. Not something I should be pointing out when my Griffin Ability is the only leverage I have.

“We can force people to take a potion and then compel them to say or do certain things,” Roarke explains. “That isn’t the same as telling the ground to split apart and then watching it happen a moment later.” He places the Griffin Ability elixir in my hand and steps back to stand beside his father. Now that they’re next to each other, I can see the faint resemblance between them despite their dramatic differences in hair and eye color. “Emerson,” Roarke says. “Don’t you think it would be fun if it started raining in here?”

Though it’s an odd suggestion, I find that I agree with him. It would be the most marvelous thing in the world if it started raining right here in this room. “Yes,” I tell him.

“Then you should take a sip of that elixir and make it rain.”

He’s right. That’s exactly what I should do. So I remove the stopper from the vial and pour a few drops onto my tongue. Then I wait for that familiar tingle, that sense that the Griffin magic hidden somewhere within me is rushing suddenly to the surface. I look up at the ceiling and say, “Start raining.”

And it does.

I’m drenched within seconds, gasping and tensing my shoulders against the icy water. Roarke and the king remain completely dry, as if invisible umbrellas shield them from the downpour. “Tell it to stop,” Roarke calls out over the roar of raindrops.

I can’t sense if there’s any Griffin power left simmering at the surface of my magic, and it’s impossible to hear my voice above the noise. But when I tell the rain to stop, I feel the words resonating in my head the way they do when my Griffin Ability comes alive, and I know it’s worked.

“Very good,” the king says as I stand there shivering. He looks at Roarke. “Is Yokshin able to recreate the elixir? If not, and the Griffin Ability is random, the girl won’t be as useful to us as I’d hoped.”

“He’s uncertain about recreating it, but in Aurora’s last message to me before we returned, she said she’s been working on some theories as to how the ability might work. She thinks it may become more predictable.”

The king nods. “Well then. Are you sure you want to go through with this union? It would be simpler to deal with the girl as a prisoner.”

“Yes, I’m sure. I don’t want her to be a prisoner.” Roarke looks at me as though considering a purchase he’s about to make. “I actually quite like her. And Mother and Aurora can train her in the ways of the court. After some time, it’ll feel as though she’s always belonged here. She’ll become one of us. She’ll be happy to help us out whenever we have need of her Griffin Ability. We won’t even have to force her. Right, Emerson?”

“Yes,” I answer.

A distant howl echoes through the cavern.

“Good,” the king says again, paying no attention to the howl. “Until then, Roarke, you will give her a compulsion potion every day and tell her exactly what to say if and when her Griffin Ability appears.” All hope I had of using my Griffin Ability on Roarke slips away like ash through my fingers. “And you, Miss Clarke.” The king takes a step toward to me, which is about a thousand times closer than I’d like him to be. “Find out if Aurora’s theory—whatever it may be—is correct. Do everything you can to learn how your Griffin Ability works. You’ll be far more useful to us that way, and useful people are less likely to end up dead.”

“Father,” Roarke says with a roll of his eyes. “That’s not helpful. She doesn’t understand your sense of humor yet.”

The king’s expression doesn’t change one bit. Either he’s very good at keeping a straight face, or that wasn’t a joke.

Another howl pierces the silence, louder this time. The king doesn’t look toward the cavern, so neither do I. Whatever creature or person is making that sound, I don’t want to know.

“We will announce the union at your mother’s birthday celebration in two weeks,” the king says to Roarke. “You have until then to decide when the union ceremony will take place.”

A third howl morphs into sobs, shouts and the sounds of a struggle. Finally, the king looks toward the cavern, and though I don’t want to, I follow his gaze. Two Unseelie guards are dragging a man across the cavern’s uneven floor. As the man struggles, one of the guards shoots a spark of magic into his side, and the man twists away and howls in agony.

I look at Roarke, begging with my eyes for us to leave right now. But he’s watching the struggling man with an unreadable expression.

“Ah, you found him,” the king says. “This is the last one, I presume?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Very good.” As the two guards step away from the man, King Savyon raises his hand. The man, who looked for a moment as if he was about to run, swallows and closes his eyes. The king clenches his hand tightly around the air and turns his fist abruptly to the side. Across the room, at the edge of the cavern, the man’s head does the same, bending almost parallel to his shoulder. Too far, my mind shrieks. Too far, TOO FAR!

Then a sickening crack. The man’s cry cuts off. The king jerks his hand upward. The man’s head is ripped entirely off his body, and both parts fall to the floor, spurting blood everywhere.

A strangled gasp escapes me. My hand flies up to cover my mouth. I squeeze my eyes shut, but there’s no way I’ll ever be able to unsee that.

As if from a distance, I hear the king’s voice. “That will be all, Roarke. Take the girl back to her quarters.”

A hand latches onto my arm. I blink and force my eyes away from the dead body as Roarke pulls me toward the door. He opens it and lets me walk ahead of him. “And Roarke,” the king adds. “See to it that someone burns those hideous clothes she’s wearing. I don’t understand why it hasn’t been done already.”

“She refused to part with them, apparently.”

I dare to look back at the king. He doesn’t sigh. He doesn’t smile. He barely moves as he says, “The clothes will be burned. It’s up to Miss Clarke whether she’s still in them when that happens.”

The door swings slowly toward us. The moment it clicks shut, I start running.