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Indigo
THE QUEEN LEADS ME through the entrance and into a great hall. There are rugs on the stone floor, and conversation areas with chairs set up in front of fires burning in several grates around the edge of the room. Despite the grandeur of the mini-palace, the effect is somewhat cozy.
And yet still, my skin crawls as we enter. Something evil lurks here, and I don’t know what it is.
“Very nice, Your Majesty,” I murmur, staring around for any hint of what might be giving me the heebie jeebies. “Is this your home?”
“This? Oh, no.” She removes my hand from her arm and turns to face me. “This is merely temporary. My rightful home was stolen from me, but I intend to take it back.”
At those last words, it is as if a veil drops away from her features and the lurking darkness takes the fore. I step back, unable to help the recoil. She smiles as if she sees and enjoys my discomfort.
“You are the exiled Winter Queen, then,” I confirm, though there can be hardly any doubt. I can’t think of another royal fae who might consider their rightful place “stolen”, nor who would be hiding out in a place so filled with obviously malicious intent.
She must have done something pretty seriously bad to be exiled, and from the malicious feel of her, it probably came naturally, whatever it was. For the first time, I wish I’d made more of an effort to learn the ways of the fae, and to understand a little more about my mother’s people.
Her eyes flash at my statement. “I am Queen Rhiannon of the Winter Court, and as a banshee and member of my Court, you must bow to me.”
Despite using all of my willpower, I can’t stop myself dropping to my knees. I want to shriek at the sense of powerlessness she evokes in me. This is as bad as being caught in the call of the banshee, only worse. At least, the banshee cry is a natural phenomenon when you’re actually half-banshee. This control she has over my body—and my emotions—is infuriating.
When I’m finally grovelling at her feet, whether I want to or not, her gaze turns sweetly curious once again. “What is your name, child?”
Oh, my God. This again?
“Indigo, Your Majesty.” No way am I giving her the long version. Indigosturianawella, I think was what Mother told me, all those years ago. I tried it out a few times after she left, staring into the mirror in my bathroom, but my mouth could hardly wrap itself around the syllables and I felt too stupid to persist. In the end I decided Indigo—or Indie as my mostly human friends call me—would suffice.
The robed brigade from outside have crowded into the large domed room with us and I cringe, expecting another backhand. Nothing happens, until the queen bends forward and thrusts her face right into mine.
The dark thing dancing behind her icy gaze sends a quiver of terror right through me. “It will not matter whether or not you give us your true name. We can do this without it, but it will certainly be easier on you if you share your power through name rather than blood.”
Um... “Blood?” That doesn’t sound promising.
Tarrien, my mind screams. If you want to protect me, now would be an awesome time to show up.
Instead, the queen grabs my chin in an unforgiving pincer-like grip as the robed men and creatures draw closer around us.
“You’re a hybrid, one of Renna’s brats. Your voice as a banshee carries both life and death within its song. Do you not know that, girl?”
I do. If my heart weren’t pounding so fiercely in my chest I might take the time to query her. What the hell does my banshee voice have to do with my name, or my blood? In the end, I keep quiet. I sense my time might be up very soon, and I don’t want to die. Not here, not now, and not like this.
The queen’s top lip curves up in a derisive snarl. “On second thoughts, do not provide your name. It will give me great pleasure to use blood from that banshee bitch’s bloodline, to enact my plan.”
She releases my chin and straightens, glaring around at our audience until she finds the man who was in charge before she arrived.
“Take her, and prepare her for the ritual. I will return in two hours and I expect her—and all of you—to be ready.” With that she turns away in a swirl of silver and disappears into the ether.
I’ll have to get Tarrien to teach me that one. If I survive past the next two hours. Would have been quite handy to disappear right about now.
The absence of the queen means the hold she had over my body is gone, and I stagger to my feet and face the leader of the robed group.
“Want me? Then you’ll have to come and get me.” I open my mouth and scream at them as loudly as I can.
Everyone in the room staggers back, clapping their hands over their ears. I keep the scream going, using everything innate within me, on top of everything I’ve been taught as a singer, to control the note until I hear glass shattering in the background. Good! When the groans of pain around me become audible—even through the scream—I turn and begin to run.
***
I ACHIEVE AN EMBARRASSINGLY short distance before one of the loups knocks into me from behind. I topple to the ground. It sits on top of my back, crushing my lungs with its weight, and sniffs greedily at the back of my neck with its disgusting wet muzzle. I almost retch right here on the fancy rug when a hot wet tongue licks my skin.
“You can have her after the ritual. If there’s anything left.” The voice above me is that of the lead necromancer. He is addressing the abomination on my back, but clearly, his words are designed to fill me with dread.
Instead of dread, hatred for him and his cronies suffuses my whole body. I have never felt more helpless, and never felt more motivated to hurt another human being. Even kill them, if I can, despite the fact that I will no doubt have to endure the banshee call of death. I am willing to put up with that, to rid the world of beings as evil as this bunch of monsters.
I might be fired up to hatred, but my situation doesn’t bode well for being able to act upon it. Instead, the weight disappears off my back and I am unceremoniously hauled to my feet by a clawed hand. A woman I hadn’t noticed among the crowd steps forward and gestures to the abomination to bring me to her.
She is dark-haired and robed, like the men, and when she tosses back her hair, I notice her ears are rounded. She’s not fae, then. Perhaps she is human, or part-human, like me. A witch? Whoever she is, I sense no avenue of assistance will be forthcoming. She exudes the same oily feel as the others.
She leads the way through the castle hallways and the abomination drags me along in her wake. The clawed grip on my upper arm remains unrelenting and provides no opportunity for escape. We head down a narrow set of stairs and through a large wooden door at the base, and then along more winding hallways until we reach a large, columned room in which a sunken pool sits in the middle. Purple-tinged steam rises from the water, and I almost choke at the cloying humidity. Two women, obviously servants by their submissive demeanor, are waiting by the edge of the pool with towels in their arms.
“Leave us now,” the woman instructs the loup. “The room is protected and she cannot leave unless I provide permission.”
It still seems strange to refer to the creature as a loup, even in my own thoughts. Loups are by definition supernatural creatures who have gone mad, and generally, they display no control or reason whatsoever. I notice a strangely patterned medallion around its neck and wonder if that has anything to do with its apparent obedience to these necromancers.
The loup who attacked me in the apartment building was wearing one of these... If I were to rip it off...
If it is the necklace keeping the loup obedient to its master or mistress, then me removing it would probably just result in my instant death, and probably the deaths of everyone else in this room, given what a normal loup is like.
Before I can fully decide one way or the other what to do, the loup is gone, and the woman moves to the door and barks instructions over my head.
“Bathe and clean her from top to toe, and then dress her ready for the ritual,” the woman says to the other two. Then she turns her gaze on me. “If you resist, I will have these servants killed, and bring in two vampire loups to finish the job of bathing you. Either way it will be done, but if you resist, their deaths are on you. Do you understand?”
I glance at the two serving women, who are staring at me in fear. They know their fate lies in my hands, and now, I know it, too.
“Yes,” I say through clenched teeth. “I understand.”
“Good. Now hurry along and bathe. We don’t have much time before Her Majesty will return, and you need to be ready.”
Ready for what? What the hell is this ritual they keep speaking of? I have no opportunity to ask her any questions, because she disappears out the door and then slams it behind her.
I lunge at the door and wrestle with the handle, but it is locked. I stare wildly around, looking for another door, or a window, but there is nothing.
“Come, my lady.” One of the women steps forward. “It is enchanted. You won’t escape this room. Not unless they want you to. Now, why don’t you undress and climb into this nice warm bath?”
As if in response to her words, the scent of lavender, and other herbs, and that underlying oily smell that permeates the very air we are all breathing, rises up like a creeping mist and curls its tendrils around me.
Despite the warmth in the room, I shiver. The last thing I want to do is immerse myself in that purple-tinted water, but it seems like I don’t have any choice in the matter.
What the devil has that evil ex-queen planned for me?
***
Tarrien
WE ARRIVE BACK AT RENNA’S quarters in the royal palace and I disentangle my hand from hers. She has brought us directly to her spell room, which should save us precious time.
To her credit, Renna moves quickly through the room toward a row of cupboards, and I begin to see that she is, in fact, concerned for her daughter. I am still annoyed by her threat to have my family killed, but I must put that aside for now if we are to do this, together.
“Tell me what you need,” I say, staring around at the shelves of strange containers and old books. Fae magic is innate within us, though there are some, like Renna, who have also taken on more human practises such as those of witches or wizards. Or even necromancers. I scan the room, searching for any trace of purple, but nothing jumps out.
She pushes me aside and rushes to a wooden cupboard, withdrawing a container covered in strange markings.
“I only need this, and your power to amplify it,” she says, bringing the container to a bench in the center of the room. “Come.”
She beckons and I hurry across. She opens the container and tips it up, and a smooth gray stone drops to the bench. It is innocuous looking, though almost as big as her palm. When she picks it up and holds it, the stone begins to glow with a pale blue light.
“It’s a tracing spell. I bought it from a witch many years ago, but have never had the need to use it, before now. Place your palm over the top, Tarrien.”
I do as I am told.
“Good. Now that it is cradled within our palms, I need you to concentrate. Do what you would normally do when seeking out someone’s whereabouts. I will channel my magics through the stone at the same time, and together, we should be able to find Indigo. If she is still...”
Renna swallows, and for the first time ever, pity stirs within my breast when I look at her. She does care. Not in the way a normal mother should. Not in the way my mother has always cared for my sister and me. But it seems that I was wrong. Renna really does want Indie to be okay.
“We’ll find her in time, Renna. I promise.” I send out my magic, feeling the boost from her power through the stone, like a rush right through my veins. Does she feel the same, from me?
Renna’s lips move as she whispers an incantation, and then, out of nowhere, I sense Indie’s essence. It whispers through the ether, faint and nebulous, but it is there. I suck in my breath at the same moment Renna gasps and drops the stone.
“She’s alive. I felt her, but...” I frown, unable to pinpoint exactly where she is. “I don’t understand. It didn’t feel like Faerie, and yet... it did. How is that possible?”
Renna rubs her palm, over and over, until I lean forward and gently stop the movement. She raises her eyes to mine, worry etched deep in their green depths.
“I felt her, too. She’s in... the Badlands,” she whispers, and my heart jumps.
No.
“They took her to the Badlands?” The halfway place, right on the edge between Faerie and the Nothing. Ruled by monsters and outlaws, of the worst kind.
Nausea rushes through me. I can’t imagine a world—any world—in which Indie is snuffed out to nothing. And yet, if she takes a step in the wrong direction, trying to escape by herself...
“If she tries to get away from her captors, she could cross over into the Nothing, and cease to exist.” Renna voices my concern and then grips the edge of the bench, hunching forward.
Against my instinct, I round the table and put my arm awkwardly across her shoulders. “I won’t let her. Do you hear me? I will not let that happen, Renna.”
She nods but doesn’t meet my gaze. “I am sorry for what I threatened earlier. About your mother and sister.”
Shock sends my eyebrows soaring skyward. Renna apologizing? That’s a first. It shows the extent of her worry. Have I gotten her completely wrong, all these years? I am beginning to doubt my own views on everything, thanks to these contrary banshee women.
I squeeze her a little. “I will get her back.”
I have to. The alternative is unthinkable.
“Once you are in the Badlands, you will sense where she is. You will be able to find her, Tarrien. But you need to hurry. Please.”
I release Renna and reach for my ring. I am going to require assistance for this search and rescue mission. I will need several of my fellow winter warriors on board—those with the greatest power to resist the call of evil. Especially if we’re heading into the Badlands.
Time to go to war.
