A Kingdom of Lies (Realm of Fey #2)

CHAPTER 35

I came out of the darkness slowly. It was a sluggish, painful dragging of my consciousness as it fought back from the brink. My hearing was the first of my senses that returned to me. I recognised the sound of dripping, gentle splatters as though a bowl caught droplets of slow-falling rain. The drip, drip, drip , quickly became torturous as it was without rhythm or pacing; even if there were other sounds, it was impossible to know as I fixated on the dripping.

Soon enough I could smell again. I half expected the stinging scent that’d coated the cloth to still cling within my nose, but it was the sharp tang of copper that greeted me. Pungent and undeniable, I wanted to hold my breath to rid myself of the disgusting smell that soon became a taste at the back of my mouth as that sense returned.

Then I could see again. Desperation had me crying out as I opened my eyes. That cry soon spluttered as the shock of light had me gasping and clamping my eyes shut again for relief from the brightness.

“Do not worry, Robin Icethorn, it will be over soon.” The person who spoke was close enough that they only needed to whisper for me to hear.

My body stiffened in response. I could feel that I sat in a chair with armrests that held my arms up at my sides at an odd angle. Only when I tried to pull away did I realise I couldn’t move – not because my body refused, but thanks to the strappings that kept my arms and my legs pinned in place.

I squinted, straining against the light to see who it was that spoke. Before me sat a man – a fey; the twin points of his ears revealed as much. A helmet of silver hair, wild and untamed, haloed his aged face. A messy beard covered his jaw. His eyes were hooded by heavy loose skin that did well to hide their dull green. A film of smoke seemed to cover them, catching the orange-flame light strangely. He too was sitting on a chair, an arm’s length away.

“Struggling will not set you free,” he said, voice gruff and expression bordering on annoyance. “It is best you keep yourself calm. Every drop spilled beyond the container is classed as a waste which will only prolong the letting of your blood. Let the creatures fill their bellies, and then it will be over.”

Creatures?

I looked down to my forearm, mouth dry and still filled with the taste of copper. Dark leeches clung to my skin, plump bodies wriggling as they sucked at my blood. Droplets trickled down my arm, falling over my fingers like water over rocks, where it splashed onto the ground beneath me. The sound torturous to my ear. There were a few other wounds upon my arm, small but angry. No doubt more leeches had been drinking their fill, and it wasn’t long until I found them, writhing in a ceramic bowl next to my boots.

Disgust rolled like an incoming storm within me.

“Are they… so desperate they must do this whilst I am incoherent?” I said through gritted teeth. “Is this how it always happens?”

The fey man looked down, shirt rolled up to his elbow to reveal the wounds that we shared; his arm was covered in the brown splotches that usually peppered an older person’s skin. Like me, fat leeches slithered against his skin, full to bursting. If someone didn’t come in and remove them soon, they would pop. “Depends on the person. Bloodletting can be a discomforting process. The more one does it, the less it is bothersome. But the little buggers love it. For the leeches, it’s a grand feast.”

Turning as much as the chair and my restraints allowed, I made sense of the large room we were kept within. A towering ceiling, walls carved from a white stone with veins of darker stone throughout, lit mainly by the burning fire that leaked warmth and the countless pillar candles that stood erect on metal holders along each of the four walls.

The two chairs we sat upon seemed completely out of place. There was not much furniture to compare them to, but what few dressers and cupboards I could see were crafted from a white-stained wood. My chair, and the one he sat upon, were darker and older, with worn, scuffed red material that pulled apart in clumps across the armrests, likely a result of nails that scratched away at it. I could see the marks beneath my hands, gouges torn from the wood from other fey who had likely sat upon the chair over the many years of their captivity.

“Looking for someone?” the old man asked.

“I expected to be speaking with the Hand, not strapped to a chair and bleeding,” I replied, lightheaded from the blood loss. The bowl was nowhere near full, but I could see that I’d been bleeding for a while.

He sighed, clenching his fist over and over as though attempting to locate feeling in the tips of his fingers. “It is payment. Even I have given blood for many years. Be grateful for the company, it is not usual to share this room during the process of giving up one’s blood.”

I winced, starting to register the cold discomfort of pain in my arm. Even my own hands were becoming numb at their tips. “Then I suppose it would be rude of me not to ask your name whilst we sit through this.”

Conversation would at least take my mind off the discomforting lap of the leeches sucking my blood.

“Aldrick,” he replied, eyes bloodshot and tired.

I waited for him to ask mine in return, but he didn’t. Remembering Father’s teachings of respecting elders, I swallowed the disconcerting feeling that revealed itself and decided to ask another question. “Do they only tie down the new arrivals?”

I’d noticed that his arms were free from the constraints I had. Perhaps he had been captured a long while ago and had grown complacent, allowing them to take his blood without any resistance.

“Yes. Since you’re new blood, how you react is unknown and frankly a waste of time. It is less painful for all if the blood is taken without resistance. In time you will grow used to it.”

I wondered if he noticed my recoiling at his response. It was defensive and harsh, reminding me of how my old teachers spoke to me when reprimanding me for something I had done.

Aldrick stood up. The sudden movement caught me off guard. From his back pocket he pulled forth a cloth and held it above his wound to staunch the bleeding, then tore the leech from his arm and deposited it in the bowl beside him. “All this way and these are the questions you have for me. When are you going to get to the more pressing matters, Robin?”

“I–” My heart filled my mouth, silencing me. I watched the fey man walk with confidence that did not belong to a prisoner. It was the second time he’d used it, only now my mind latched onto that fact. “I didn’t tell you my name.”

“You did not need to.”

I gripped the armrests, body tensing as I watched Aldrick stand behind his chair. I had not noticed it before, but a jacket was draped across it. He plucked it off, and with a dramatic sweep, threaded himself into it one arm at a time.

“Who are you?”

His lips didn’t lift from their hard, straight line, but his glazed eyes seemed to smile from within. Aldrick was entertained by my surprise, that much was clear. “Have a guess.”

I shook the chair, legs clattering as I kicked upwards. “I’m not playing games with you. You are one of the Hand’s acolytes. Like the Twins. Where is he? I demand to speak with him.”

That was when I noticed one great difference between us both. His neck. An iron cuff was absent, unlike mine which seemed to strangle and pinch at my skin.

He raised both hands as though he welcomed my shouts – enjoyed them. “I can assure you this is very serious. Do you truly hold such shock and disbelief that you cannot see that it is I whom you speak with? Yes, you have known of me by one name, but you may refer to me as Aldrick… unless you prefer the Hand as a title.”

“Liar,” I hissed, not caring for the blood that spilt across the floor as I struggled to break free from the leather straps.

“Oh, do come on, Robin.” Aldrick almost sagged in on himself. His old, tired body struggled to stay upright. “I know your story. You have seen many things that you would never have believed possible. Yet you look at me and cannot imagine it a reality that I am the very man you have sought?”

My eyes narrowed in burning incredulity. “But you are fey. You can’t be the Hand.”

The man who inspired hate against the fey.

“And why can’t I?” he retorted, tilting his head to the side as he scrutinised me. “How is it you have come to believe you know so much about me? Remind me, have we met before? No.” Aldrick straightened, as much as his aged figure allowed. “Your first lesson, Robin, is never to assume anything. Assuming leads to stupidity. And you have not struck me as one who suffers from idiocy, up until this moment at least.”

I couldn’t believe it, that or I didn’t want to. The Hand was fey, which was the last truth I would have ever believed. Even from his mouth, I still couldn’t trust he was telling the truth.

“Then tell me,” I sneered, tugging forward at my restraints. “Help me understand why you would condemn your own kind. What has driven you to do what you have?”

“Condemn my kind,” he repeated, contemplating the question as he ran fingers through his beard. “Have you not traversed this realm for my help in killing a man? Is he not the same as you?”

Doran Oakstorm. Aldrick didn’t mention him by name, but I knew exactly who he spoke about. “I have my reasoning.”

“As do I.”

I couldn’t catch a breath. My chest heaved, cheeks reddening as I replied, “Then tell me.”

Fury thrummed through me. If I was without the iron band around my throat, I would’ve exhaled such force across the room it would have broken through stone and flesh. From the look of teetering pleasure, Aldrick knew it too.

“I, like you, do not solely belong to one realm. It is that truth that has led me here, and you to me,” Aldrick began, clearing his throat as though it was cluttered with cobwebs. “We are merely products of the world around us. It causes us to act in certain ways. Some may call it desperate and deranged, where others would see us simply changing ourselves to find a place to fit in.”

“That is an awfully long way of telling me you are half human and fey,” I said, lip curling in disgust.

How could a man so old and frail inspire such demanding hate in a group of people? Duwar . The answer was at the tip of my tongue before I finished thinking. “Which of those halves causes you to inspire such bloodthirst? That is why you are doing this, isn’t it? Blood.”

Aldrick limped slightly, edging his way back around the chair until he could lower himself into it. Seeing his fragile nature stole all fear I had for him. Instead, I felt only pity. That was until a voice echoed through my mind. His voice.

“There was a time when fey would construct walls within their minds. I see those teachings have been forgotten with my absence.”

I shook my head, feeling as though I bathed in filth with his presence in my mind. “How are you doing that?”

“It was a gift which was passed through blood from my father,” he replied. “ Imagine the fey’s distaste when a half-breed displayed such powers. How jealous they became. What they did because of that very jealousy.”

“Stop it!” I cried out, skin shivering as the voice tore through me. When Aldrick spoke, his voice reflected his age. Feeble and pathetic. Yet the inner voice was brimming with strength and vitality; it was loud and demanding, echoing slightly with each word.

“You wanted to know, did you not?”

Gritting my teeth I did my best to keep a hold of his glassy gaze, feeling how soaked my head was becoming with sweat. “So, they treated you like shit. You have harboured such hate for so many years and I can see how it has changed you.”

“Assumptions,” Aldrick spoke aloud. “Did you not heed my warning? It matters not why I do as I do, but you should be asking how. That is a question which I would perhaps answer. Tell me what it is you want of me, Robin.” Again, his voice shifted to the pits of my skull. “ You wish for me to help you kill a king.”

I winced, his voice slicing like a knife across my mind.

“I sense that you feel as though you have made a mistake.”

“Get out of my head.”

“It could be done.” Aldrick continued, ignoring my growling demand. “ Doran Oakstorm is, as the fey are, the epitome of delusion and selfishness. If his head is what you desire, then so be it. But there is a cost that comes with seeking revenge. Would you be willing to pay it?”

“I changed my mind,” I cried, feeling the mental pain of his claw-like presence. “Please, stop.”

Aldrick retreated his presence from within me like a serrated blade being withdrawn from a fresh wound. “All this way for you to change your mind. Surely there is something you desire from me?”

Perhaps it was my exhaustion, or deliria from his horrific power that had me spluttering my deep, burning want. “Duncan, I want Duncan to be spared.”

“General Rackley,” Aldrick spoke, drawing out his name as though he thumbed through a list in his mind, trying to locate Duncan upon it. “Ah yes, the man accused of sinning. Forgetting his mission for our God and defiling himself, well, with you .”

“Yes,” I said, jaw tense and hands clutching the chair. “That’s what I desire.”

It was only half a lie.

“Do you truly care for him more than killing the man who stole not one, but both of your parents? That is an interesting priority. Not one I personally can understand.”

“Too many lives have been taken in your authority. It would be wrong for me to add another to your list.”

That amused Aldrick. He barked a laugh which soon turned to a barrage of hacking coughs. He clutched his chest, eyes bulging and bloodshot. I could do nothing but watch as he struggled to catch his breath, fighting for some control as if his aged and tired body was at war.

I spotted small flecks of blood around the corners of his mouth, staining his grey beard in places. He had coughed it up, noticeable by the splattering across his fist which he lowered quickly to his side.

“You’re dying,” I said, knowing it wholeheartedly.

“We all die. Doran will die whether you hold the knife or not. You will die. Duncan, the man you hold so terribly dear to your heart, will die.”

I scowled, not caring for his distraction. “That is not what I asked.”

“You did not ask, you assumed. Which will promptly end this conversation you have so desperately requested if it happens again.” Aldrick’s face was flushed red, from anger or his previous coughing, I could not tell. Speaking with him was no different than being scorned by a parent; it irked me.

“Spare Duncan,” I said again, choosing to leave the man’s pending death for another conversation. I cared little. Hell, he could have keeled over now and stopped breathing, and I would not have cared. “Surely your god will not care if one is forgiven. I hear you make all the decisions on Duwar’s behalf.”

“Duwar makes its own decisions,” Aldrick said, rolling the letters down his tongue as though the name was not from his language, or any other I had heard before. “Duncan will require payment for his forgiveness. Are you willing to pay the tithe on his behalf?”

“I am.” Anything.

“ As I thought so .” Aldrick rolled his eyes, pushing himself back to standing with a chorus of bones clicking and creaking. “Do you wish to know the price before throwing yourself before Duwar’s judgement?”

“From my understanding, Duwar is imprisoned and kept away. I do not fear the demon, only crazed fools who idolise false gods. You lead your Hunters blindly, with the promise of this Duwar. But what is it going to do? Long gone are the days of gods; you should realise that better than anyone.”

“Sharp tongue for someone powerless and imprisoned in my care.” Aldrick turned his back on me, taking careful steps towards a chest of drawers across the room. As he spoke, his voice echoed, amplified by the towering, barren chamber. “The world will soon remember Duwar. I cannot blame you for your insolence for you are not alone within it. I pity you, but do not blame you.”

Aldrick withdrew a cloak from the drawer. It was midnight black, plain and hooded. I watched as he struggled to put it on, tying it around his waist with a grey cord and lifting the hood across his head to cover his distinguishing features. Suddenly he was simply an old man, crooked and unimportant.

“Tonight, you will make your payment for Duncan Rackley’s pardon. Even I understand that if I desire you to work with me, not against me, I must earn your trust.”

Aldrick was preparing to leave me; I knew it from his lack of attention as he shrouded himself in the cloak. Before he reached the door he paused, age-spotted hand hovering above the handle as though he had suddenly remembered somehing. That was when he looked back to me, his face completely concealed. From within the folds of heavy material he spoke. “I almost forgot the most important thing.”

He limped towards me. I gripped onto the chair, kicking down at the ground to try and break free as his inner presence crept up my mind like a snake cornering a mouse. There was nothing I could say to him. No words that would affect him. Aldrick was so detached from this world, lost to his age and delusion, that I knew no words would reach him. He had likely heard them all before.

So, instead, I spat, a gob of thick saliva that splattered by his feet.

“With the years that have passed I have been in the company of many kings and many queens. I have shared an equal distaste for them all and yet I admit not one has ever been like you. Worthless, spitting like an animal without grace and decorum. Admittedly I had put you on a pedestal, understanding our similarities. Meeting you, Robin Icethorn, has been one of my life’s greatest disappointments”.

I gasped as though his words slapped me physically. If my hands were not strapped to the chair I would have scratched at my head, tearing through skin and bone to rip his presence out.

“Fuck…” My mind filled with images for a moment. The room fell away and in the shadows that replaced it were flashing views of lands riddled with fire. Skies awash with lightning and pregnant clouds. Sunless, dark and horrific. Red . Droplets of scarlet fell from the heavens and covered the ground. Blood . It was everywhere.

“A time of reckoning is upon us.” My vision returned and with it came the roaring of screams that filled my ears. It was me – my throat aching as I unleashed the keening cry inside of me.

“What did you do? Get out of my head!”

“I showed you the future. Not tomorrow, nor the day after and the weeks after that. But soon. A time that is not far off from this very moment.” Aldrick lowered himself with a symphony of audible groans, picked up the bowl of my blood from beside me, and held it before him. He was careful with it, while I struggled and thrashed as much as the strappings allowed. Not a drop of blood was wasted.

“You are nothing but an old, forgotten madman ,” I shouted, spit flicking onto my chin as I watched Aldrick turn back towards the door.

He didn’t flinch or show signs that he could hear me as he opened the door with a yawning creak.

“Do you hear me, you bastard?” The chair almost toppled back in the chaos of my thrashing limbs. “Heed me. I will stop you. I will. I will !”

Aldrick closed me in the room without another word spoken aloud. The sounds that tore out of me no longer made sense. My throat grew hoarse, my chest feeling as though it burned with each breathless cry. Then that dreaded, scratching presence returned as strong as it had been when Aldrick had stood before me.

“It would seem, Robin Icethorn, that you are the mad one now.”