A Kingdom of Lies (Realm of Fey #2)

CHAPTER 11

It was the unfamiliar presence that woke me. Not a sound or slight sudden movement, but the knowing burn of someone’s unwanted, silent stare that dragged me from the pits of the deep sleep I’d found myself prisoner to.

Abruptly, I sat up tangled in the bedsheets, panic coursing through my veins.

“Was it something I did?” Duncan leaned against the wall opposite the end of the bed, one leg propped up behind him. His arms were folded across his broad chest as he surveyed me with eyes glittering with intrigue.

Perhaps it was the grogginess, but it took a moment to register what was happening. Instinct had my hand reaching for my waist, but the golden-handled dagger was nowhere to be found. In the back of my mind I conjured a picture of it, forgotten on the tavern’s floor of King’s Head.

As discarded as Erix had become in my life.

I scanned the room for Gyah, but the lack of her presence was abundantly clear even without the need to check. I was alone, with Duncan. There was a hideous quiet among the darkening room which only added to the fear I felt with the man looming over me.

“What have you done to her?” I accused, arms shaking as I held myself up.

“Which one?” he replied curtly, simple words that made my anxiety spike even further.

“Gyah.”

“Ah, the one who looks as though she wants to pick the skin from my very bones.” Duncan kicked off from the wall, taking confident steps towards me. “I gave her the opportunity to see your friend. At first I thought she’d refuse, leaving you and all. But she had no problems leaving you alone. Never seen someone move so quickly out of a place.”

His words were meant to hurt me, but I already knew Gyah’s displeasure in me. I smiled anyway, glad that she was with Althea, hoping they would find their chance and escape. With or without me, they had to leave.

“Is something amusing you?” Duncan tilted his head, narrowing his stare until his scar pulled into a deep crease beneath his eye.

“Just wondering what a man like you is doing stalking me like a creep whilst I slept?” I questioned, thrusting my jibe at him in response. “Do you like looking at helpless men in your free time?”

“Stalking? Ha, hardly. And I never once believed you to be helpless,” Duncan replied, taking slow steps around the base of the bed to its side. I felt the need to draw in my legs, but didn’t want to show signs that his presence caused me discomfort. “I was going to wake you eventually , I promise.”

“What do you want, Hunter?”

“The question is, what do you want… Robin Icethorn?” Duncan’s cherry-red lips pulled into a tight line, his scar tightening down his face. It wasn’t an ugly mark, but one that gave his aura of danger more of an allure. “Would you care to indulge me?”

“Do I owe you a conversation?”

He shook his head. “Well no, but I just ensured your friend is going to survive. So, out of common curtesy, I think some answers would be justified.”

I took a deep inhale, wanting nothing more than to escape his gaze, whilst being pinned beneath it like a butterfly to a corkboard. “Ask away then, as you said, it’s the least I can do for your incredible hospitality.”

“Mouthy little thing, aren’t you?”

I smiled. “It’s certainly not the first time I’ve heard that.”

Duncan narrowed his eyes, taking his time to run them across every visible inch of me. “What makes a man beg for the attention of the very people who would wish to see his innards spilled freely across the ground? I’ve never known someone of your kind wishing for an audience with the Hand, a person who supplies coin to encourage your capture and, in most cases, eventual death.”

“Are you the mysterious Hand I ask after, Duncan?”

Duncan released a noise somewhere between a laugh and a gasp. “Do you think I would be staying in the likes of this hovel if I was?”

“Then the reason I request an audience is not your concern.”

Nor do I want it anymore, but I kept that to myself.

I was coming to realise that Duncan had the ability of switching from calm to feral in a blink of an eye. I had no time to gasp before his weight was on the bed and his hand was gripping my chin, stopping me from uttering a word.

“I think you’ve mistaken me for a person who enjoys a game. Let me be the first to tell you, Robin, I hate games. You’ll learn, sooner rather than later, or not at all. But for now, if I ask a question, I damn well require an answer.”

His grip on me relaxed and he rocked backwards. My jaw ached from his strength, the skin tender where his finger left an imprint. He must’ve marked me, because suddenly Duncan reacted with what I could only describe as regret. I was surprised when an apology didn’t fall out of his slacked mouth.

“Touch me like that again,” I warned, sheets balled in my fists, anger fuelled by the pain. “I’ll make you regret ever laying your fucking eyes on me.”

Silence thrummed between us, as taut as a rope. It was Duncan who broke it. Again, not with an apology, but his tone had softened, his fingers flexing at his sides.

“Let us try again, shall we?” he said. “What is it you require from the Hand?”

“An army,” I seethed, teeth gritted so tight that my jaw ached.

Although my desires had shifted, there was no point making Duncan know that. If he got wind I didn’t want his help anymore, it could affect our plans of escape.

Duncan’s eyes widened for a moment, quiet whilst he allowed my truth to settle in. “What does an Icethorn fey require an army for?”

So, you do not know who I am. What I am. Good, I thought, imagining my power flowing from my hands and turning his flesh to deathly, hard ice. When the time comes, I will show you.

“To kill a king.”

Duncan blanched, skin leeching of colour. “Treacherous words do not befit you–”

“Not the human king. A fey king,” I quickly interrupted, revelling in the way his face melted to shock.

“So you come running to the people who’d love the chance to help, except you do realise what you are, don’t you?”

I swallowed, my throat dry as stone. “I do. But I got the sense that I’d only be joining a plan that this Hand already has arranged. And if that’s the case then I would gladly aid him in his attempts.”

“You know nothing of the war he prepares for.” Duncan turned from the bed, stalking towards the main door of the room. The dark clothing he wore enunciated the V-shaped sculpture of his back. Duncan was tall and reedy, however I knew that beneath his clothes he likely housed a multitude of muscle. He certainly moved as though he carried the weight of strength across his body.

“Then tell me,” I called after him, swinging my legs over the bed and coming to a stand. “What does the Hand want? He wants fey blood, I know that. But why?”

Duncan looked over his shoulder, emerald eyes full of judgement. I’d never experienced the overwhelming urge to read the inner thoughts of a person until now. There was fear in his gaze, mixed with a disgust as his lip curled. I first blamed myself for his reaction, but I couldn’t shake the feeling it was the topic of conversation that displeased him.

“Let us go for a walk, shall we?” Duncan pushed open the door, which had clearly been left unlocked since he had entered. It unsettled me that I still didn’t know how long he had been watching me for. Either way, I was still alive. That had to count for something.

“Not really in the mood for a walk. I’m content staying here.”

“Don’t you trust me?” Duncan pouted, clearly amused by the idea.

“Are you taking the piss out of me?” I bristled, heckles raising down my back. “Of course I don’t trust you, General Rackley.”

“Good, you shouldn’t. And I don’t trust you either, so we are on common ground. However, know this, if I had wanted you dead I would’ve finished the job a hundred ways whilst you slept. Believe it or not, you are likely safer with me than any of my fellow Hunters.”

“You sound sure?” I mused.

“Considering I’ve heard the things they would like to do with you, yes I am. Now, follow me and you shall find out exactly that the Hand prepares for. What you will be used for once we reach Lockinge, unless you’re successful in your petition. Otherwise, you’ll be headed down to the Below with the rest of them.”

I straightened at that. “The Below?”

Duncan smiled from ear to ear. “I hear it’s lovely. Big open space beneath Lockinge castle. I could send word ahead and make sure a nice corner of the prison is made comfortable for you.”

“You’re talking in riddles,” I snapped, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. “What do you mean the rest of them?”

“Fey,” Duncan said, beckoning me. “The Hand’s favoured fey. Hundreds of them, I’d wager.”

He must’ve read the shock on my face because he finished with a twisted comment. “Not the army you were expecting, was it?”

No , I thought. It wasn’t .

Gyah had said to listen and get information, I just didn’t expect I’d have found out what had become of all the missing fey taken by Hunters. In my mind, I imagined them harvested for blood and discarded. Turned out I was wrong. But until I got more information, I decided to keep it to myself. Knowledge was only powerful when it was true. For all I knew, Duncan could’ve been luring me because maybe he sensed my change of desires.

It certainly worked.

I would’ve expected Duncan to leash me with iron as we ventured through the endless corridors of Finstock. Instead, he allowed me to walk freely, likely because he knew I wouldn’t try and escape, and also that I understood the threat of Hunters that filled the fortress like ants across rotting food.

“I’ll permit you four questions,” he said, words echoing up stone corridors, scaring bats out from the alcoves above us.

I skipped a step, not wanting to fall behind for fear a Hunter would snatch me from the shadows. Night had fallen on Finstock, which meant I had been asleep for a long time. Outside the narrow-slitted windows all I could see was the dark sky and the dancing tongues of mist which clung to the empty courtyard.

“What?”

“Three left,” Duncan said, amusement dripping from his deep tone.

“Where is everyone?” I asked, mind racing. I silently scolded myself for wasting yet another question on something so pathetic, but it was a genuine thought. Unlike when we arrived, there wasn’t a Hunter in sight.

“Evening worship. And if I don’t show my face I may be disgraced by the Hand before we even have the chance of reaching Lockinge. It’s unbecoming for a Hunter to miss prayer, no matter the reason.”

His short reply only conjured more questions. I felt as though I was reaching in a river for gold, unsure which lump to pick out of the bunch.

“I didn’t realise the Hand was such a devoted follower of the Creator.”

“He isn’t.” Duncan’s jaw tensed, muscles feathering. Whereas I studied his face to see if it provided me any information beyond words, he only looked forward. His stare fixated ahead as though I was not by his side at all.

I was not a religious person, nor had Father been. Growing up in a household where Father scorned the Creator, rather than praised Him, it had made me look at the stories as no more than what they were.

Fiction.

The teachings of the Creator, the humans’ god, were preached within schools and whispered about during holy sabbats that I never found myself joining. The humans and the fey didn’t worship the same god; the Creator and Altar were different beings. Altar… the very god who’d graced me with his presence within Welhaven, tearing down his place of worship as my own father’s blood spoiled his holy place.

“So you’re cultists,” I said. “Crazed people who worship a god who would smite them down with sickness and plague if given the choice. A cult of blood-thirsty humans, who follow the Creator in a twisted way that the teachings never suggest.”

“As I just said, we don’t put our belief in the Creator.” Duncan paused in his walking, stopping suddenly.

“Well I don’t imagine you worship Altar, considering you hunt his children for sport. Or am I wrong, and this is all some big twisted game?”

“Ah, fourth and final question.” Duncan began walking again, his pace quickened this time as we split from the corridor and began our descent down a twisting staircase. The walls were narrow, so much so that I felt as though they pushed in from either side, restricting my breathing. I had to hold my hands out at my sides, steadying myself against the rough stone wall to prevent me from falling down. One wrong step and I hardly believed Duncan would break a sweat trying to stop me from tumbling down to the bottom.

“Then who do you worship?” I asked, chasing Duncan around the twisting steps until we finally reached flat ground.

“You will see.”

A shiver ran across my skin at his words. “When?”

“Tonight. I would like you to join me for this evening’s worship.” Duncan shot a look back at me, gesturing to an arched, doorless frame in our direction. Beyond was the courtyard and a dazzling glow of warm, orange light through yet another archway further away. “Once we are finished you will be taken to see your friends. Then, as soon as Althea is in a position to travel, it’s back on the road for us.”

I thought the heavy thumping was coming from my chest as I stared, in wonder, towards to the glow. But it was not my chest. It came from the ground, a thundering of feet as Hunters stomped in unison.

“Quick,” Duncan said, grin long and sly. He reached for me, fingers grasping my bare wrist. It was his touch that shocked me more than anything he’d said. The mention of prisons beneath castles and hundreds of captured fey. Gods and worship. It was the gentle grasp of his hand as he wrapped fingers around my wrist like a bracelet, a completely contrasting touch from that which bruised my jaw when he held me in the chamber room. “Tonight is a special mass, for we have a blood rite to witness.”

I couldn’t have refused even if I wished to.

Duncan guided me into the chilly courtyard, towards the glow of the door on the other side of it. I almost choked on the thick, incense-filled air; it climbed up my nose and dug deep into my throat, making every inhale feel like breathing underwater, and the exhale no better.

We waded through the short hallway that soon opened up into a room no bigger than the chamber we had left. Except this room was full of bodies. Hunters filled every possible space, each fixated on the podium raised at the far end. Without the countless candles that dripped wax down the walls and from the ceiling, it would’ve been impossible to see what happened inside. But the horror was illuminated in a red glow that danced off the dark, maroon habits worn by the people lined up like cattle upon the podium.

“–Duwar has been kept, starved, and broken, in a prison its own kin had forged. Tricked, it was discarded into hell with no hope to escape. Alone for no one to hear its crying pleas for forgiveness to the very ones who banished it into the dark place. Until Duwar was heard again, a small whimper in the shadows that the Hand had listened to, whispers full of promise–”

An old man spoke amidst the line of cloaked figures. His back was bent at an odd angle, as though he carried the weight of the world atop him. White hair fell in clumps from his head, knotting with the beard that hung down to the swollen belly within his plain brown habit held together with a frayed piece of cord. He swung a brass chalice on the end of a chain that spat out streams of smoke that coiled around his stout frame as he called across the crowd.

“Keep quiet and listen,” Duncan murmured into my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. “This wouldn’t be the place to draw attention to yourself.”

I forced down the bile that crept up my throat, wondering why Duncan would even care to give me such a warning. But that thought didn’t last long as I focused back on the words the old man continued to recite.

“You know what must be done for Duwar’s sustenance,” he wailed, bloodshot eyes scanning for a crowd as though he could hardly see an inch before him. “We must keep Duwar fed whilst we wait for its return as ordered by its voice. All hail Duwar, and the blessed mouthpiece they chose for a vessel.”

“Duwar,” everyone but Duncan and I repeated, as though entranced by the old man. “Duwar.”

“Let the rite begin.”

He stepped back, gesturing for the line of veiled beings, the same I’d seen walking within Finstock upon our arrival. There were five of them, each a different height than the one next to them.

“Kneel,” the old man demanded, voice cracking against incense-spoiled air.

And they did, maroon habits kicked out around their feet as they got down onto both knees.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Just watch,” Duncan said, gaze fixed on the podium. A worried line formed between his brows which drew down into a frown. It was then I noticed that everyone else around us was muttering prayers beneath breaths. Everyone but Duncan.

“Oh, forgotten Duwar,” the priest began again as the veiled figures reached for something on the ground before them. I couldn’t see over their heads what it was they grabbed for until they each raised their arms up, hands held high to the sky. Across both palms they balanced a knife, one crafted from a dark dull metal that I’d not seen before. It seemed to swallow the light from the room, not even reflecting the glittering candlelight that haloed around them.

“Long have you been kept from this realm, from the hearts and minds of those who care for you. Patience is a gift only for a god, and a gift that you hold far greater than your kin. For a time is coming, and you will be brought redemption by your own hand, a second chance against those who scorned you; who locked you away; who kept your potential from us.”

The five figures twisted the daggers until the sharp edges were pointed down from the sky. They each held a hilt in both hands with a sure, strong grip.

“There will be a time when you will be free again, but until we are graced with your presence…” The crowd seemed to inhale at once, everyone waiting on the old man’s words with bated breath. “… feed .”

The figures brought the daggers down simultaneously, slamming blades into their chests without word or sound. Where screams should’ve sounded, only silence replied. One by one they slumped forward – dead – as the crowd of Hunters watched, continuing their prayers. Then the room exploded in bloodthirsty chants of a name over and over.

“Duwar, Duwar, Duwar.”

The brush of cold lips tickled my ear. I couldn’t even flinch. My body was frozen in shock, my mind wondering if this was what my father had once done. The thought sickened me. The old man writhed before the blood-leaking bodies, arms held high, as he muttered strange words to himself. Every now and then he scooped up blood with trembling hands and doused his body in it.

“This is disgusting,” I said, finding only that word coming to mind.

“Those with a belief are known to do desperate things,” Duncan whispered in return. “Have you seen enough?”

I nodded, unable to blink or make a sound. All I wanted to do was leave, to rid my nose of the smell of blood by inhaling deeply out in the fresh air.

“Good,” Duncan said, hand pushing at my back as he urged me out of the room, all without a single Hunter looking our way. “Now, are you certain you still wish to meet with the Hand?”

There was a warning hidden beneath his words, a double-edged threat that would have sliced deep no matter how he said it. It was as if he dove into my mind and retrieved thoughts I believed I hid from him.

Duncan didn’t wait for my reply. He guided me away from the ominous chanting, back out into the fresh air. As I inhaled lungs full of air, riding the stench of incense and the taste of blood from the back of my throat, I couldn’t help but cling to one important fact.

Duncan hadn’t joined in with the prayers. He hadn’t uttered a single word.

It was as if he was warning me of the nest of vipers before I stuck my hand in. But why?