A Kingdom of Lies (Realm of Fey #2)

CHAPTER 21

I hoisted the heavy body of the Hunter up the winding staircase. My legs screamed with pain and my back was crying out with just as much agony. There was no denying my body needed rest. Whereas my mind was another story. By the time I had reached the final step I hardly cared for the man I trailed behind. I was more concerned with not giving up and dropping Duncan.

Just when I believed the stairs would never end, the floor levelled out into a narrow room with a low ceiling. Each inhale was filled with the thick scent of incense, spicy and strong, though there were no signs of smoke. It seemed the smell was absorbed in the walls of the church itself.

“Forgive my choice of room for you,” the man said, huffing from the climb. He was doubled over, cheeks flushed with red veins. “It would be best that your stay here is kept between us. If the people of Ayvbury find out their trusted priest is harbouring the likes of your kind within these walls, I would be driven out.”

“I thought you said the fey were welcome here,” I said.

“I wasn’t talking about you, dearest boy.”

I looked around the attic space of the church, absorbing the details. I almost collapsed at the sight. A room much like the one I had left behind in Grove waited before me. There was a single bed with sun-stained sheets in a bundle upon the mattress. Around it, piles of books and scrolls littered the floor, some in boxes, others in wonky stacks beside them.

A single round window stained with blues, reds and yellows gave view to the dark night beyond. The man hobbled around the room, lighting many candles with the one he’d carried with him. Once the glow spread my eyes were able to make out more details, the most obvious being the large brass bell which took up the middle of the room with greedy pride. Its presence surprised me. It hung from a rusted chain, a frayed cord waiting at its side. Pulling it would be one way of waking the entire town.

“Put Duncan down on the bed,” the man commanded through shaky breaths. “Then you will find some white cloths within the trunk over there. Get some out and bring them to me.”

Hesitation thrummed through me at entrusting Duncan’s care to a stranger, but I was tired and desperate to remove the added weight. Exhausted, the final steps towards the bed were the hardest. I had to peel Duncan from my side, our clothes stuck together with blood, dirt and melted snow. Duncan flopped down onto the bed, the glow of the candles highlighting just how pale his skin had become.

“Will he be okay?” I murmured, finally seeing just how terrible he looked.

“Just get the cloths, and we shall find out.”

I did as he commanded without further hesitation, obtaining the folded material from the trunk as requested, a layer of dust around my fingers; this room was covered in it.

As I got back to Duncan’s side, the old man was already waiting, perched on a short stool. He held the back of his swollen hand to Duncan’s head, expression pinched in concentration. “His temperature is rather high, although that would be no corelation to an infection since the wound is fresh. It’s too early to confirm if that would cause an issue. Likely a concussion, since the wound is superficial and the bleeding has already stopped. Praise the Creator that he still has a pulse. If you had arrived any later, he may have been far past the point of healing. It’s the frostbite I’m concerned about.”

The old man took a cloth from my shaking hands without thanks and pulled out an intricate glass jar from the folds of his robes, uncorking it with his teeth. I watched, helpless, as he poured the liquid onto the square of material until it was drenched through.

“Hold him up,” he demanded. “Slow and careful.”

I nodded, thankful to have something to do. It was impossible just sitting and watching as this stranger helped. Doing as he asked, I tugged at Duncan’s arms until he was sitting up, shoulders slumped as he leaned forward on himself.

His body was dense with muscle and stiff from cold. I wished I had the power over fire to warm him, so instead I opened myself up to my magic and encouraged the chill to leave his body and enter mine.

It was the least I could do.

The sting of strong spirits tickled my nose as the old man raised the cloth upwards and pressed it to the back of Duncan’s head. He held it there, mixing the strong concoction with the blood which had already dried within the strands of Duncan’s hair.

The old man sniffed, blinking back tears. “I am glad this wine has found its use. Never did like it, too strong and offensive. The sting alone should wake up dear Duncan here. It will help clean the area and fight off any infection. There is nothing stronger than the Creator’s blessed wine. Now, shall we discuss how this happened, my boy?” He spoke as though we were old friends, discussing mundane matters beside a fire with an ale in hand. “Starting with your name.”

Names where a powerful thing, I wasn’t about to go giving mine up until I knew his. “You first.” My voice was sharp – distrusting. The old man noticed, his smile an attempt to prove me wrong.

As if shaking himself from deep thoughts, he came to. “Abbot Nathanial, but you may call me by the latter as I trust you’re not a man of faith.”

“Nathanial,” I repeated carefully, as though his suggestion was a trick, and I was showing him great disrespect by ignoring his title. “How do you know Duncan?”

He looked back, a fatherly hand sweeping the strands of dark, blood-matted hair from Duncan’s face. A wave of what could have only been sadness creased his brows, making the lines of age more prominent around his eyes. “Many years ago, Duncan Rackley was a young boy who stayed here when he had nowhere else to go. Believe it or not, when I was younger and time was less painful, this church doubled as a housing facility for children without homes of their own. He was one of many who passed through these doors, and one I would never forget. And just as I had told him when he left, he would always find his way back. The most troubled ones always do.”

I looked back to the Hunter, body slumped over my hands as I held him from folding over. “He was an orphan?”

That was why Duncan knew this place existed.

“Indeed, he was. That very fact is the opening the cultists used to get their claws into him. And into him they did, deeper than his faith to the Creator ever reached.”

The Hand and his followers, that was who Nathanial spoke of when he mentioned cultists. I knew it without the need for further confirmation.

“Which leads me to a question for you. I have always hoped that Duncan would see the truth in their warped beliefs and return to me. But never did I imagine it would be in the arms of the very thing that he holds such distaste for.”

“Do you mean hate?” I asked, arms as numb as my mind. “Believe me, I never saw myself in this situation either.”

“The world works in mysterious ways,” Nathanial said. “Moved by the will of the Creator. Whereas you would see this moment as the outcome of an incident, I like to believe it is merely the Creator walking you down a path without you even realising He holds your hand.”

A sour taste filled my mouth, making my jaw tighten. Now was not the time to say the wrong thing, but I was tired and my patience thin. “Apologies if this comes across as rude, but you are truly barking up the wrong tree.”

That made the abbot laugh aloud, the sudden sound surprising me. “You are a peculiar one. How could I bark if I’m not a dog? If it is my chatter of the Creator that offends you, please do accept my sincerest apologies. I understand your kind hold belief for another but from years of my teachings and preachings, I say my god is truly ingrained within my daily language as though it’s no different from pleases and thank-yous.”

“I don’t follow a faith,” I whispered. But I do believe . In something at least. That much had been clear when Altar’s temple had crumbled around me when Erix had slain my father.

“How interesting,” he mused, smiling to himself. “You can lay him back down now. After morning mass, I shall venture into town in search of some better remedies. There will be all manner of herbs from apothecaries that will help aid Duncan in his healing, most of which I have not cared to house within my church since I do not get visitors for such physical ailments. Those who come knocking are usually in need of more spiritual healing, one that herbs and weeds are useless for. Now, until then, I shall keep our dear Duncan in my prayers tonight as I have since he left this place all those years ago.”

Before Duncan’s head had even hit the pillow, the abbot was standing.

“You are just going to leave?” I asked, paling at the idea of being left alone with no clue how to help him.

“What’s the matter? Duncan is sleeping, as you should be too. If there are any problems before dawn, you can simply call down for me.”

The abbot gave a final look down upon Duncan where he lay, his face softening as a thought overcame him. Then he walked towards me, waddling from side to side as his legs provided him discomfort with each step.

“House rules,” he said, voice deepening into a scorning, serious tone. “You do not leave this room unless permission is granted by me. Not everyone in Ayvbury will be happy knowing both a Hunter and a fey dwell beneath this roof.”

“I understand.” I nodded, swallowing what I truly wanted to say and replacing it with something gentler. “Thank you for your help.”

He waved off my thanks, large eyebrows wiggling in jest. “Just as the Creator’s arms are always open, so is my church, no matter the vagrant who comes knocking. Wait for me to return tomorrow, then we will organise for you both to get washed down and dressed before you offend the noses of the woodlice and mice who frequent this attic.”

I flinched as his hand found my head, resting it there so gently that it felt more like a whispered breeze. His touch was tender. If I had closed my eyes, it would have been no different to that of a father caressing his son; it instantly calmed me. “Bless you for seeing past his blackened heart to help him. I’m sure there is a story of how you have both found your way to my door and I look forward to hearing it.” He looked back to Duncan. “From both of you.”

I called after him as he took a step to leave. “My name,” I said. “Is Robin.”

Abbot Nathanial smiled, flashing neatly lined teeth, his face rounded and welcoming. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Robin. Even under such circumstances.”

I woke suddenly to a room bathed with bright light. It took me a moment and a handful of blinks to see more than just the blur of white. Finally, details came into view alongside the realisation of where I was, and more horrifically, why I was here.

Expecting to find Duncan unconscious, I snapped my head around. But what I found was a complete contrast. Duncan was sitting up in bed, glass bottle of wine to his lips as he tipped it backwards. That was the sound that woke me; rasping, glutinous chugs as he downed the wine. I stood from the dusty, ancient seat that I had curled up on, my body aching more than the night before.

“You’re awake.” My voice cracked, thick with sleep. He didn’t even look up from the wine as he carried on draining the bottle.

“I am.”

My back ached from the awkward position I’d fallen asleep in, muscles complaining as I stretched the pins and needles out. “You should have woken me.”

He tore the bottle from his lips, chin wet with liquid that had also spilt onto the thin sheet I’d covered him with. “If I am not mistaken, you are awake.”

If I thought saving him would’ve helped our relationship, I was wrong. Then again, I only saved him from a fate that I caused.

“Good morning to you too,” I groaned, annoyance curling in my stomach. Perhaps I should have asked how he was, but his thinned, wine-glistening lips and his pinched brows reminded me that he was far from helpless.

He winced, raising a hand to block the sunlight that cut through the dancing clouds of dust that filled the air. “I can’t tell what is worse, my head or my back thanks to this bed. Couldn’t be more different to the bed that I would have been waking in if your deranged ex-lover had not killed all my men. And an empty bed at that, how disappointing.”

“Well, he’s dead,” I snapped, hating the reality of the words.

Duncan silenced at that, casting narrowed eyes over me.

There was so much I could say back to him, but it would’ve been pointless. Arguing wouldn’t make being stuck in this room with him any better.

I could have sworn I heard the bones in my knees creak louder than the floorboards as I crossed the room to him. The only thing I wanted to do was steer the conversation away from Erix. I wasn’t strong enough to face it yet.

“How’s your head?” I asked offhandedly, pulling up the short stool that the abbot had sat on last night.

“If you care, it feels like it’s been kicked in by twenty scorned lovers who have hunted me down to wreak hell upon me,” Duncan said with one eye pinched closed and his forehead etched with lines. One hand still grasped the almost empty bottle of holy wine whilst the other reached for the back of his head. He hissed as his fingers came into contact with the mess of blood and hair. “But instead, it was all you. Powerful little creature you are.”

“I preferred you when you were unconscious,” I snapped, swiping the bottle from his hands, then taking a long swig. The moment the liquid cascaded down my throat, burning every inch of it on the way down, I realised why the abbot had chosen to use it on Duncan’s head instead.

It was hard to tell if the desire to vomit was from the sharp taste or the slosh of it in my very empty stomach.

“Pass it back here if you are not going to appreciate it,” Duncan said, flexing his fingers in request. “Strong as I remember. It will rid me of this bastard head pain whilst putting hairs on my chest.”

“Surely it will make the headache worse?” I cleared the dribbles from the corner of my mouth as Duncan snatched the bottle.

He lifted it to his lips, stopping only to answer me. “I suppose we will test that theory.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you have terrible taste?” I said, watching the dribbles of liquid run down his chin, his neck and over his rather sculptured chest.

“Eyes up, Robin.” Duncan said, his own eyes were bloodshot but brighter than they’d been the night prior. “And to answer your question, too many to remember.”

Embarrassment shifted to confusion as I heard the faint, monotone chant of a deep voice somewhere in the church beneath us. Until now I had been too occupied with Duncan to notice. “What was that?”

“Morning mass,” Duncan explained as though reading my thoughts. “The longest ceremony of the day. I used to dread it. Tried anything to get myself out of joining, whether that was pretending to have come down with sickness or simply ignoring the abbot when he came calling for us at dawn. Never could worm my way out of listening to his drawl.”

“He told me you used to live here.”

“Live?” Duncan laughed, pulling a face at the now empty bottle as though he could not understand where the wine had gone. “I wouldn’t call my stay here living . There was no choice in the matter. I was a child, left orphaned due to – may I remind you – your fellow kind’s actions. I existed, not lived. Go on, tell me what his reaction was to finding me on his doorstep once again. Was it as smug as I could imagine?”

I shook my head, witnessing as the alcohol seeped its claws into Duncan, turning his words sluggish and emotions slippery. How much had he drunk whilst I slept?

“You speak of the abbot as though he harbours no care for you,” I said. “The man I’d met clearly held a warmer emotion for you than you do him. He was concerned, slightly confused, but he looked at you as though you meant more to him than you make out.”

“Ha, don’t let the old man fool you!”

“You’re drunk,” I replied.

“Among other things.”

The sound of muffled speaking became the lull of singing far beneath us. From the sheer sound of the voices, I could only imagine how full the mass was.

Duncan swung his legs over the edge of the bed, wincing as he did so.

“What are you doing?”

He swatted away my hand. “Getting up and getting out of here.”

Duncan swayed as he stood, arse thumping back down upon the flattened mattress as though his legs knew better than to allow him to move.

“You are in no fit state to be going anywhere, Duncan. Look at you. What do you think will happen when the people of this village see a Hunter and a fey walking through the streets? Need I remind you that we are both covered in blood and smell like warmed horse shit?”

His dark, full brow raised inquisitively. “It would seem we have both bumped our heads. Need I remind you that you are my prisoner still, certainly not in a position to be commanding me as though our roles have reversed.”

I raised my wrists, both held together as though an invisible cord of iron bound them. “Would you like me to pretend I’m bound to please you?”

Duncan could hardly fight the urge to turn up the corner of his lip. “That does not sound like a terrible idea.”

Slapping my hands back down onto my thighs, I sucked my teeth in frustration. “Drunk and infuriating. A terrible mix. Perhaps you should sleep off the wine and concussion and we can discuss our next play when you are of sounder mind.”

“Are you sour with me because I didn’t leave you more wine?” He shook the empty bottle before me which I snatched from him in a blink.

I held the bottle by its neck, brandishing it like a weapon. “Do not give me a reason to put you back to sleep myself, Duncan. If we’re going to be stuck here for a while you need to either drop your sarcastic and – may I add – repulsive attitude. Or, easier than that, learn to keep quiet around me.”

“You find me repulsive?” he asked, leaning forward until his face was close to mine. His jade-green stare flickered between mine and my pursed lips which made holding my expression of concentration rather difficult.

The question hung between us.

I broke eye contact first, knowing that if I carried on my cheeks would have turned scarlet. “How about we discuss what happens next for us, rather than listening to my list of reasons as to why you are, in fact, repulsive.”

“It will not be long before the Hunters expecting our arrival in Lockinge realise that we have been unexpectedly delayed. I give it a few days before a search party is sent out, finds the bodies and notes that mine is missing among the dead, then they will come looking for me.”

“Us?” I asked, hesitantly correcting him.

“Oh, Robin, they wouldn’t care for your life as they would a general. Finding you alive, with me, would simply be a bonus.”

I scowled, unsure why I expected him to speak of me differently. “Then we are taken to Lockinge, and I get my audience with the Hand?”

I get my answers about the imprisoned fey and use everything in me to free them.

“If I was you, I’d be more concerned knowing the Berserker is still out there. What is to say he will not find us before the Hunters do?”

I paused, swallowing audibly. “I told you, he’s dead.”

“You could just be saying that.”

My eyes burned with tears, but I refused to let them fall. “Shut up.”

“Ah yes,” Duncan slurred. “You stopped me killing him, why should I believe you finished the job? Instead, you gave him another chance to hunt you down. And I was beginning to think you were stronger. I suppose my view of you was misplaced.”

“Because I did it,” I snapped, voice raising, no longer caring who heard. “I killed Erix.”

Intentionally or by mistake, it didn’t matter. Not anymore.

The wooden stool clattered to the ground as I stood abruptly. “I don’t care what you think of me, Duncan.”

“Do you not?” he asked, verdant eyes drinking me in. “Because your reaction suggests otherwise.”

It was easy to let my magic spill out of me, just a little, but enough to serve as a warning. An unseen breeze melted from my skin, tousling my hair as well as catching the loose papers and parchments along with it. Immediately, Duncan’s wine-sharp breath thickened in a cloud beyond his lips which stole the smug grin that had been creeping across his face.

“Don’t push your luck with me, Hunter,” I warned, standing firm before him. “Don’t make me regret saving your life, or I will correct that mistake and find my own way to Lockinge.”

Duncan tensed his jaw, trying everything to stop his teeth from chattering as the cold breeze left ice spreading across the floor and walls of the attic.

“How peculiar,” he mused, lip turned up at the corner.

I called the cold back, returning the magic into my bones. “What?”

“I almost believed you.” He kicked his legs back over the bed until he was lying down, arms behind his head. He attempted to act as though he was carefree, but I noticed the wince as his hands brushed the wound at the back of his head.

“Not quite, but almost,” Duncan continued, eyes closed as though he sleep-talked. “Keep it up and you may even make me fear you one day.”

“Do you have any coin?” I spat, unable to bite my tongue.

“Never had much care for it, nor need.”

“That’s a shame. How else am I going to buy the fucks to give you?”

Duncan barked a laugh. “Excellent, truly excellent. Who’d have thought that your kind could be such stimulating company? I’ve a feeling these next few days are going to pass by in a blur. Don’t you?”

Biting down on my bottom lip until copper filled my mouth, I stifled a response. I felt more like a prisoner, stuck in this attic with him, than I had during my time in Finstock.

The silence that followed allowed me to register my own feeling of drunkenness from the short swig I had taken of the holy wine. I would’ve preferred another mouthful – another ten mouthfuls – if it meant drowning out Duncan and what he had to say. But before long, the Hunter was snoring, mouth agape whilst the wine dragged him into sleep, leaving me to the chorus of his breathing and the people singing in the church below for company.

I contemplated smothering him with a pillow, but I knew now that death never brought peace.