A Kingdom of Lies (Realm of Fey #2)

CHAPTER 14

Duncan Rackley’s skin was no stranger to scars.

His back was facing me as he tugged the dark tunic over his head, flexing the muscles across his shoulders and the constellation of marks upon them. He was covered in them from the base of his neck to the narrowed pinching of his waist.

I couldn’t do anything but watch as he undressed before the rising wall of steam that danced from the tub’s hot belly of water. I waited for him to say something. Anything. Instead, he treated me as though I was a ghost, stripping the items of clothing from his body until only the undershorts were left. Then he turned, looking over his broad shoulder at me as though he suddenly remembered my existence.

“Are you waiting for permission to sit?” His tone was dull and unbothered.

“I thought I’d been invited here for something to eat?” I retorted, trying to keep my gaze upon his instead of glancing down at his exposed skin.

“Help yourself, my leftovers are on the side board.”

He gestured pathetically to the side of the room where, in fact, a plate of cheese, meats and half-eaten bread lay waiting.

“I think I will pass,” I said, not wanting to move a muscle as Duncan continued to undress himself.

“Then the company will do,” Duncan said, kicking the pile of his clothing out of the way before reaching a hand for the brass tub’s edge. “And conversation. It’s not every day I get the chance to speak with a fey so freely. Usually, the circumstances of their stay here are… less fitting for idle chatter. So, sit, eat if you want, and let’s talk.”

I didn’t have to be told twice. Water sloshed as Duncan climbed into the tub, but I kept my focus on perching myself on the edge of the bed that waited on the other side of the room. Although I’d disregarded the offer of food, I took it anyway, inhaling the few bits left just to stifle the discomfort in my gut.

With each inhale I could taste the strong scents oozing from the bath, sweet lavender with a faint hint of something sharper. Sandalwood. I recognised the smell from an oil Father had used to tame his beard.

Duncan sighed slowly, lowering himself further into the brass tub, water sloshing over the lip until he was submerged up to his chin. His eyes were closed, the furrowed brow I’d grown used to seeing him with relaxed. The lack of him viewing me as a threat irked me more than it should, so did the concept I was only good enough for left overs. Once again, I waited for him to speak, to shatter this silence. It was clear that the quiet was something Duncan was used to, his own company enough to keep himself amused.

“You’re different to them,” I said with a mouth full of hard cheese. I was unable to sit in this awkward silence a moment longer. It was clear that Duncan wasn’t going to break first as he relaxed in the warmed waters.

“Oh, do tell me more.”

“I don’t think I need to.”

Duncan peered at me through one eye. “Is this because I don’t permit the murder of children?”

So the children would’ve died here, if he didn’t intervene.

I nodded, eyes falling upon Duncan’s undershorts that now rested upon the stone-slabbed flooring. “I would’ve thought you’d send them to the… Below, or whatever you called it.”

“The Below is a place for Fey with magic.” Heat flooded my cheeks as I quickly looked away. “Trust me when I say death would be a better outcome then ever reaching the Hand’s prison.”

I couldn’t imagine just how terrible of a place that was, if death was a kinder option.

“You didn’t join in with prayer during the rite last night either,” I said.

“So it’s my lack of outwards belief which causes distress, Robin?” Duncan asked, wet arms holding on to the tub’s edges as fat droplets of water fell from him. “The way I practice my faith does not make me any less of a believer than those who would wish to see blood spilled from innocents.”

“You see fey children as innocent? Even if they are the kind your fellow cultists have spent years hunting?”

“I see them as children, nothing more. When I spoke of innocents, I was referring to those who sacrificed their lives in the name of our God with the belief of providing that god sustenance in return for a blessing.” Duncan reached a hand towards a wooden stool that held jars filled with creamy liquids and bars of chopped soaps. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind passing me the soap.”

I almost choked on the picking of stale bread. “You’re joking.”

“Not at all,” Duncan replied, smirking. “Unless you are going to insist I climb back out of this tub and get it myself.”

I couldn’t believe what I was doing as I stood from the bed and moved towards the stool where the bar of soap rested. But the concept of seeing Duncan without an inch of clothing on him had me doing exactly as he requested.

“Careful you don’t drop it, Robin.”

My mouth dried as I swallowed, thrusting the square soap above the tub where I let it fall from my hand with a splash.

“Oops,” I muttered through a sickly sweet smile, returning to the seat at the end of the bed. My eyes fell on Duncan with distaste for a moment as he fished the bar out of the murky waters.

“If that’s all you require of me, then I ask to be returned to my friends,” I said. “The promise of dinner was rather disappointing.”

“I’m far from done with you. My journey today has given me a chance to form a rather impressive list of questions I have for you. When I am done, only then will you be permitted to leave.”

I leaned back on my hands, fingers clawing the material of the bed, as I regarded Duncan. “Then ask away.”

“You have pointed out my differences, but I must say yours are also rather alarming.” Duncan’s arms moved beneath the water. I dared imagine what he was doing but I hoped it was something innocent. “You are not a full-blooded fey, are you?”

I shrugged. “Disappointed? Does it lower my value with the Hand?”

“Yes,” Duncan replied. “And no.”

There was no time to work out what he was agreeing or disagreeing with.

“The differences are subtle. At first, I could hardly tell. But you move like a human. Speak like one. I would sit next to you in a tavern and hardly notice if your hood was drawn over your ears.”

His comment shouldn’t have felt like an insult, but it did.

I tugged at the cuff around my neck. “Take this off and I will show you just how fey I can be.”

“I don’t doubt that for a second. So how did a man, torn between two realms, choose which side he wanted to be on?”

A scowl pinched across my forehead, my jaw clenching until my teeth felt as though they would be stuck together for an eternity. “I’ve chosen no sides.”

“Well, you had me fooled. I thought you wanted to join us, work alongside the Hand in hopes he assists you with killing that fey king you’ve mentioned. Forgive me, but that seems to me as though you truly have picked a side. Unless your motivation suggests otherwise. So, are you ready to tell me why it is you wish to kill one of your own?”

“He is nothing like me.” A shuddering growl emanated from deep within me. If the iron cuff was not around my neck I would’ve devoured this entire room in cold winds with a mere thought.

Duncan waved a hand, flicking water onto the floor. “There’s a story there and I want to know it from beginning, middle, to end.”

We studied each other. Duncan the Hunter, and me his prey. I toyed with the idea of lying, telling him a tale that didn’t do justice to the truth. But what would have been the point? Although his company caused my skin to itch, I still needed him to trust me. For answers about the Below and the imprisoned fey, for one thing.

Duncan, in many ways, felt like the gatekeeper guarding what I desired most. If I wanted to make it to the Hand in one piece, with a lick of comfort for myself, Gyah and Althea, then I felt the truth was the best place to build foundations of trust. Or something close to it.

Duncan combed his fingers backwards through his length of dark hair until not a single strand covered his devilish face. “I am waiting…”

“The man I wish to see dead took the one important part of my life away from me. Stole it right in front of me.” A sudden, harsh sadness made my throat thick and shoulders heavy. I felt Duncan’s stare on me, but felt too cowardly to hold it now, as though the truth made me more vulnerable than the naked, unarmed Hunter before me. “He killed my father.”

Duncan visibly paled, the corners of his lips turning down.

“Then we share something in common,” Duncan said, voice quieter than it had been before. “The fey are also the reason behind my parents’ death. Seems we share similarities after all.”

Should I have apologised? It felt as though that was the right thing to say in that moment. But I swallowed that word down and kept it buried.

“So that is your motivation, the reason behind what you do?”

“Are my motivations not justified in comparison to yours?” Duncan sat up in the tub, the curves of his muscles etched into his frame like lines within stone. “Murder is murder, Robin. Your desire for it makes you a monster, just like me.”

“And have all the fey you’ve hurt had a hand in your parents’ death? Or do you just tell yourself that as you wash their blood from your hands?”

“I will give you some advice when speaking with me, Robin. Don’t ask questions you will not like the answers to.”

I scoffed. “That’s a cowardly response.”

“Says the man who cannot face a single person alone, who needs the support and aid of those he’d deem as enemies, just to complete a task that is seemingly impossible to do.” Duncan suddenly stood from the tub, not bothering to cover the swing of flesh between his legs. I hardly had the chance to snap my gaze upwards. I fixed my eyes to his, not wishing to see his vulnerability. It gave him a sense of power between us, one I didn’t like.

Duncan dripped a puddle of water onto the floor as he wrapped a towel around his waist. “Am I wrong, or right?”

“Doran is powerful.”

“Are you not powerful?” Duncan questioned, fingers resting upon his muscular hips. “Robin, let me tell you something. Be grateful you have his name to remember. To focus on. Knowing the names of my parents’ killers is not a luxury I’ve had. And a name is a powerful thing. I would give anything to know it. Instead, I’m left with nothing but choices, an unlimited list of potential names which I mark off with a bloody sword with each and every fey I kill.”

I watched, speechless, as Duncan stood before me, exposed from the waist up.

“I can see that you have been hurt in the process,” I said, eyes trailing the multitude of scars across his torso.

“Believe it or not, Robin, but the deepest scars are the ones you cannot see. And no, these are unrelated to what happened to my parents.” His long fingers traced a jagged mark beneath his strong chest. “A story, perhaps, for another day.”

A knock sounded at the door, snatching both our attentions. From the look on Duncan’s face, it was unexpected. Holding the towel in a fisted hand, Duncan moved for the door and opened it to reveal a veiled figure carrying a tray of food. More cheese and breads, meats and fruit, a medley of delicious items that had my mouth watering and my mind distracted from the conversation we were just having.

“Ah, look at that. More food for you, Robin. You can save some leftovers for me this time.” Duncan pushed the door wide, allowing the figure in. “Set it down upon the table, sister.”

The hooded figure nodded, entering in a long dress that swished outwards with each footfall. She didn’t jump, as I did, when the door slammed shut behind her. Even with her face covered in the light lace of the veil, I still felt her cold stare on me. Was she frightened, or did she hate me like the rest of the people in this fortress?

Duncan seemed unbothered by her presence as he wandered back towards the tub, pulling a new set of clothing from a pile as he began to dress himself.

“Thank you,” I muttered, trying to see past the veil. I kept thinking about the five veiled figures who had driven knives into their own chests. Was she destined to do the same? Take her life in the name of a god that was unheard of by most?

Her reply came as a tip of her head, before leaving the tray beside me and backing away.

I focused back on Duncan who ran a large hand through his dark, wet hair until it no longer obscured his face. His skin glistened from the remaining beads of water. He ran the towel up and down his arms, the sleeveless shirt he wore exposing the strength beneath his carved muscles.

For a monster, he’s undeniably beautiful.

The thought was only brief, lasting no more than a second before guilt sunk talons into my chest. A vision of Erix filled my mind, and by the time I looked back to Duncan it was with a gaze of dull and muted tones.

“Eat and bathe if you desire. Tomorrow will be our final day in Finstock before a long journey to Lockinge. I cannot promise comfort outside of these walls so enjoy it while it lasts.”

The veiled woman lingered at the door as if waiting for Duncan’s confirmation to leave.

“Is this not your room?” I asked.

“It is, on other nights, but tonight I have no use for it.”

“I cannot work you out, Duncan,” I said, feeling a swell within my chest.

Perhaps my honesty was paying off, making him trust me. If this was what was required of me, to get close to the Hand, then I would keep up this illusion for as long as required.

Duncan moved towards the woman by the door, replying proudly as though his words were meant for all to hear, “I’m not a puzzle to be pieced together.”

I went to reply when I caught a flash of silver and the scratch of metal against flesh. The woman, shadowed behind Duncan’s back, shifted her weight before he had the chance to act.

“I always thought you were fickle, but moving on so quickly, and with a Hunter no less, how scandalous ,” the veiled woman hissed.

The knife was held to Duncan’s throat, edge pressed into skin, leaving a trail of red. The veiled figure didn’t shake as she gripped the man, relying on the knife to keep him still and in place.

“Sister, is there a problem?” Duncan asked, far too calm for someone who had a knife held to his throat.

He could’ve broken free from her grasp with ease, until I realised that her other hand, hidden behind his back, also held a knife. Its sharp tip pressed against his spine. One wrong move and he would be left for dead, or immobilised.

“Not at all, sweetie,” she replied.

What caused me fear was not seeing him die before me. I was used to seeing death up close and personal. But it was the voice, the familiar tone that had haunted the dark shadows of night for days after my abduction from Farrador.

“Briar?”

I prayed to whatever god would listen that I’d be proven wrong. But gods cared little about me.

The voice I had wished to never hear again replied. “Hello, Robin. Did you miss me?”