A Kingdom of Lies (Realm of Fey #2)

CHAPTER 25

We grew complacent in the days which passed. Time moved in a blur of laughter, sex and connection. Duncan and I made a world for ourselves, hidden away from our responsibilities within the church’s walls. The attic became our haven. In that room we were nothing but two men, no past or future, only now.

There was no talk about what was to come after we left these walls. Or when that time would be. Our stay should’ve been only a few days, but that stretched on to close to a week. I didn’t bring it up, nor did he. In truth, during the time when Nathanial left us to his duties, we would clamber upon one another, limbs twisted and lips wet.

A flurry of snow had settled upon Ayvbury overnight, turning roofs white and hiding the roads beneath. We had watched from the window as fewer occupants joined for morning mass. With my hand pressed to the thin glass, I could sense just how cold it was outside. It had even invaded the room, affecting Duncan more than it did me. The chill felt like welcoming arms, wrapping around me and holding tight. Duncan didn’t feel the same, instead swearing through chattering teeth, the tip of his nose as red as his cheeks.

He used my body to warm himself up.

Abbot Nathanial had called for our help later that morning, promising that some good, honest labour would help warm Duncan from the inside out. Not that I needed it, but I was happy to help the old man.

Our task was simple. We moved through the church, collecting religious tomes and tidying the many items left from the morning service. For people who respected the Creator, they certainly didn’t respect his place of worship.

Duncan no longer seemed uncomfortable being here. In such a short time, something had changed within him. His patience no longer waned, as if he’d finally found the skill and clung to it. Even now he was captured in quiet conversation with Nathanial, helping the man as they discussed memories of his childhood. The tension that’d been strung out between them no longer lingered, cut clean by time and old wounds healed.

“Strange happenings indeed,” Nathanial chortled back to something Duncan said, patting him upon the shoulder as he passed with tomes piled in his hands. “One will have to send word for soldiers to find the thief of all that wine!”

“It could be the mice,” Duncan replied. “Thirsty little beasts. And I hear they’ve a liking for old, over-stewed wine. A cat would be more effective than a soldier for that matter.”

“Hmm. Mice you say? How odd. Those same mice must have been alongside you all those years ago, and have seemed to return to my door the very same day you did. Do you play the pipe, Duncan Rackley? For they follow you, I am sure of it.”

My cheeks warmed as Duncan winked across the pews at me. “What a mystery. I do hope you get to the bottom of it. Thieves or mice, the disappearing wine is a serious matter. Before long you will be without bottles.”

All it would take was for Nathanial to saunter up into the attic to see the pile of green, brown and deep maroon empty bottles. But he didn’t need to see them to know that we took them. Nor did he mind. It even seemed the old man enjoyed the banter, or perhaps it was just the smile across Duncan’s lips that made the Abbot content.

“What do you say about the matter, Robin? Your silence is deafening.”

I looked up, my own hands full of loose, torn scrolls that outlined the morning’s service. “If it’s mice, I’m sure they’re more than thankful. Nothing warms a belly better than wine.”

Nathanial looked between Duncan and me, smile beaming. “Then we shall let them enjoy themselves until their tastes move on to stronger spirits, or better places.”

That was Nathanial’s way of saying that he knew we’d leave sooner rather than later. I hoped it was the latter.

The abbot slipped into the back room of the church, clinking among stacks of books and cases of disappearing wine, his chortle still audible as he went about his business.

Duncan prowled over to me, arms straining against the dark leather jacket the abbot had obtained from the market the day prior. “You know, if you feel tired, I can tell the old man to finish the task alone. There’s a bed waiting for you upstairs which I am certain requires warming.”

I rolled my eyes, fighting the grin by looking to the books in my hands. “I would be careful of how loud your mind is, Duncan. I wouldn’t want the Creator punishing you for the dark thoughts you harbour.”

“My thoughts won’t be the reason he smites me down.” Duncan leaned down, pressing a kiss to my cheek that lingered for a moment longer than it should have. As he pulled back, he whispered, breath tickling my ear. “Are you going to make me wait? We could do it here. Quickly, before Nathanial hobbles back out.”

I thumped the books into his arms, driving the wind from him. “You’re a demon, Duncan. Have you ever been told that?”

“Many times,” he replied, face twisted in both a scowl and a grin.

A shadow passed over Duncan’s face. He looked up, focusing upon the large, stained-glass window behind me.

“That’s one big bird,” he said, brows furrowed. “Did you see it?”

I hadn’t, until it happened again. Another shadow, fast and large, cutting through the sky beyond the church.

Then another, and another.

That’s when the screaming began, high-pitched cries that clawed at my skin. I blinked, flashes of sharp teeth and blood-stained talons filling my mind.

“Duncan!” Abbot Nathanial shouted, bursting through the doors back into the room. “Get to the basement, we’re under attack.”

Books clattered to the ground, spreading across the tiles in a pile of broken spines and bent pages. Duncan had dropped them, hand instinctively reaching for a sword that did not wait at his hip.

“No,” Duncan said. “I want both of you to stay here and wait for me. Don’t leave until I come back.”

I didn’t need Duncan to investigate or want him to leave me. I knew these clawing screams as well as I knew my own name. My hand shot out, gripping Duncan by the jacket with a fistful of leather.

“Gryvern,” I said, breathless from horror.

Confusion deepened the scar down Duncan’s face as he grimaced. But it lasted only a moment. “Doran’s sent them for you.”

I swallowed, magic curling in my stomach. “It’s the likely answer.”

I’d told him the story of my parents’ death during one of our long nights. How Doran had plotted to end the line of the Icethorn Court to encourage war against the humans for the abduction of his wife and child, using twisted creatures to slay them and putting the blame on the humans.

Duncan had explained in all his years within the ranks of Hunters he’d never heard of nor seen a gryvern before. It just went to show how easily the fey were manipulated with false propaganda.

The humans had never been to blame for the monsters, of course I knew that now.

Duncan took a hold of me by my arms, fingers holding on tight. “You are not going anywhere. Not with the gryvern, nor whoever is sent next to retrieve you. We should have left days ago and been ahead of them. Fuck! This is my fault.”

“Stop it,” I spluttered, reaching for his face with a gentle touch. “Calm yourself down and focus. I’ve dealt with the creatures before and will not let them best me. Abbot.” I turned my attention to the old man where he stood. There was something strong about his stance, legs apart and arms in fists at his side. I could imagine that he had faced horrors before just from the expression of readiness. “We need weapons.”

“A man of God is never unprepared to face his foe,” he replied, feet thundering as he moved with haste from the room.

The screams beyond the church no longer belonged solely to the creatures. Humans cried, in horror or pain I couldn’t see from our haven. A horde of the beasts flew beyond the window, shapes no more than dark outlines that blotted out the light as they passed beyond. Glass shattered and wood snapped. But from all the sounds that scratched at my soul, it was those curdling screams of the humans that set fire to the anger within me.

“This needs to end,” I said, flinching as something heavy crashed into the church wall. “Doran will never stop coming for me. His obsession with my line has gone too far.”

I was furious, sick to death of being chased by a man who had already taken so much. There was nothing else for him to hurt me with, nothing more for him to take.

“Then we end it. Together,” Duncan replied as Abbot Nathanial burst back into the room.

Held in his shaking hands was a sheathed sword, bound in brown hide and a cream strip of material. Much like the weapon Duncan had left in the ruins of our party, it was broad and long, one that would require two hands to wield it.

“It’s been many a year since this blade last saw light.” Duncan took it from Nathanial, testing the weight of it in his hands. “But a blade is a blade, do with it what you must–”

The window shattered, glass cutting skin as it rained down upon us. I whipped my head to the side, throwing a hand up to save myself from the slicing agony. It happened quickly, too fast to act. Wind pulled at my hair, drifts of snow falling within the broken wall of the church. And blocking the chaos outside was a gryvern.

Shards of coloured glass embedded into its pale, grotesque skin. A stench so vile, pungent like rotting flesh, wafted through the church with each beat of the creature’s leathery wings. But it wasn’t the gryvern that made the bile burn up my throat, but what it held within the clasp of its talons.

“Nathanial,” Duncan bellowed the name just as my soul screamed it.

Abbot Nathanial hung within the gryvern’s grasp, feet kicking at open air. His mouth was split open in a scream, but no noise came out beside a raspy breath, tears streaming down his terrified face. Scarlet blood dripped from the wounds upon his arms, the gryvern’s talons cutting deep, through flesh and muscle. I was certain I had heard a bone snap.

Duncan was screaming beside me, aged and blunt sword free from its sheath.

His cries were useless.

We watched, helpless, as the gryvern tore Nathanial’s limbs apart with ease. The sound of flesh ripping had this morning’s food spilling out across the books and glass strewn over the ground. The wet smack of his body against tiles echoed, torn, bloodied arms following as the gryvern discarded them.

He was dead before his skull cracked against the ground, eyes wide, skin ashen.

All I saw was red, blood and anger joining as one. My ears thundered with the pounding of emotion as I studied the broken, ripped and shattered body of the abbot.

Duncan rushed forward, sword raised and shouting. The gryvern lunged to greet him. Steel passed through skin until black gore rained down upon Duncan who slid beneath the attacking beast. Head severed, the gryvern crashed into the altar, cracking its warped bones against the marble. Candles fell, flames catching within an instant against the dry walls of the church. In moments the fire demanded control. This was their place of worship, scorching fingers crawling as it spread itself hungrily across the skin of the gryvern and the building around it.

“We need to go!” I shouted over the chaos, another gryvern circling through the air in response to my cry. I could see them past the shattered window, maws bloodied and talons full of human meat.

Duncan was hunched over the abbot’s body, as still as a guarding statue. When he looked to me, skin sticky with gryvern blood, his eyes burned red. He looked as much the monster as the creature he had slaughtered.

“I’ll kill every fucking one of them,” he seethed, spit flying through his mouth, expression softening only when he looked back to the body of the abbot at his feet. “No mercy. They all die.”

“Together,” I repeated the sentiment he had shared before hell was unleashed upon us. I could not look at Abbot Nathanial. I did everything in my power to look away; ignoring his broken, bloodied body was the only thing keeping me safe from the guilt.

Another death because of me.

Wasted life.

Duncan took the hand I offered, his fingers slicked with dark gore from the gryvern. I had to urge him to his feet, coaxing him with a song of his name to look at me.

“I didn’t get a chance to tell him I was sorry,” Duncan said, voice a muted whisper.

“He knew,” I said, still fighting the urge to look at the body as the fire continued to devour the church.

“I should have said it to him. I had the fucking chance!”

Duncan pulled back against my hand, but I held firm as a cracking filled my chest.

“We will avenge him,” I said. “That is your apology. But for that, we need to survive this.”

My words snapped some sense into Duncan who no longer pulled against me. He stood straight, face contorting with sadness.

We left the burning church as one – magic readied and sword raised. There wasn’t a moment to look back as we ran out, not as the flames licked up the walls, ready to devour the haven we’d claimed.

A stabbing pain shot through my chest as I realised that I’d been wrong earlier. I had more to lose to Doran, something to fight for. Looking to Duncan, winds blowing his dark hair from his face as he roared like a warrior of old legends, sword raised to the sky in warning to the gryvern, I knew what I was ready to fight for.

And this time, Doran would understand what failure felt like.