A Strange Hymn
Page 9

Taking a deep breath, I head towards the window. Des is right at my side, his heavy boots clinking with each step, his jaw tight.
“You came back,” one of the children says, her back to me.
I falter for a moment before pulling myself together. “I did.”
“You weren’t supposed to,” another says.
I’d forgotten that these kids act as a single unit.
As one, they turn, watching me with wary eyes as I approach them.
Des steps in front of me, and I hear several of them hiss at him.
“Any of you touch my mate like last time,” he says, speaking over their hisses, “you’ll find yourselves banished.”
Surprisingly, the threat works, and their hisses die off.
I catch Des’s eye as he steps aside, and I give him a look. Threatening kids, even creepy ones, is not kosher.
He meets my gaze with a steely one of his own.
Alright. Banishment it is.
The children split their attention between cagily watching Des and shrewdly studying me.
I crouch in front of the closest child, a girl with flaming red hair, my eyes scouring her features. No horns, no claws, no slitted pupils. She looks nothing like Karnon, save for the fangs she must have in order to drink blood.
“Slaves live such sort lives,” she tells me as I assess her.
Slaves, the official classification of most humans living in the Otherworld.
Ever heard those stories of human babies being swapped with fae changelings? Ever wonder what happened to all those human babies? Slavery is what happened to them.
The Night Kingdom deemed the practice illegal some time ago, but the other kingdoms still allow it.
“Why do you say that?” I ask the girl, trying to hide the fact that I’m majorly creeped out.
“They are dirty and weak and ugly,” the boy next to her says.
I’m acutely aware of the fact that in these children’s eyes, I am one of the slaves they’re degrading.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see wispy, curling shadows form at the edges of the room, a clear indication of Des’s rising anger.
I focus on the boy. “Who told you that?”
“My father,” he replies. His mouth curves into a small, secretive smile. “He’s coming for you.”
I straighten, taking a step back, my eyes glued to his face. I can hear the blood rushing between my ears.
They’re just words. They don’t mean anything.
But my bones believe they do mean something. As do my instincts. As does that little voice in the back of my head. They’re all telling me what I feared the moment I woke from that nightmare: it’s not over.
I feel Des’s hand on my stomach, gently backing me away from the children. Dazedly, I let him do so, all the while I stare at the boy. He and the rest of the children follow us with their eyes, and I get the distinct impression they’re tracking me the same way predators track prey. Finally, I turn away from the boy, making a beeline for the exit.
I can feel myself trembling. How absurd, that a child could frighten me so much.
Des and I are just about to the door when I hear the boy’s voice at my back. “These are dark times.”
My wings tense, hiking up, and thank goodness the castle is full of large doors, otherwise I’d be wrestling with my unwieldly wings to get out of that room.
As soon as the door clicks shut behind me, I draw in a shuddering breath.
How could that boy know to say that line? It’s the same line I heard whispered in the air when I visited the sleeping women weeks ago.
“Karnon’s dead,” Des says.
I nod. “I know.” I run a hand over my mouth.
My fear doesn’t abate. If anything, it grows. The thing is, I didn’t come to see these kids because I was afraid Karnon was alive.
I came here for another reason altogether.
“Do all Fauna fae have animal features?” I ask as we leave the nursery.
My jailers had animal features. As did Karnon. As did the unfortunate Fauna messenger I saw yesterday.
Des stops. “Most do.”
“And Karnon’s children?” I say. “Would they share his features?”
The Bargainer’s mouth tightens. “At least some of them would, yes.”
“Those children didn’t share any of his features,” I say.
By Des’s expression I see that he’s already come to the same conclusion I just have—
Karnon is not their father.
Chapter 7
Karnon is not their father.
Karnon is not their father.
But … how?
He was the one imprisoning those women. He was the one sexually assaulting them.
Beside me, Des begins walking again, like this revelation doesn’t change everything.
That’s when I realize—
“You knew,” I accuse him as we head down his palace halls.
Rather than appearing surprised or guilty or ashamed by my accusation—rather than any of those normal responses—Des appraises me with one of his typical devil-may-care looks.
He lifts a shoulder. “So what if I did?”
So what if I … ?
I slap a palm to his sculpted chest and halt him in the middle of the hall. “Oh no, amigo, our relationship doesn’t work like that.”
He glances down at my hand, and I can tell I’m getting close to riling up the King of Night.
“Our relationship doesn’t work like what precisely, cherub?” he asks, his gaze going shrewd.
“You can’t just keep secrets like that from me.”
He has the audacity to look amused, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I assure you, I can.”
My eyes slit. “Des,” I warn.
He removes my hand from his chest. “Is that supposed to be a threatening tone?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. He clucks his tongue and brings my hand up to his mouth. “Because if it is,” he continues, “then you’ve got to work on your intimidation game,” he continues. “I mean, you gave it a decent try, but I’m more turned on than anything else.”
Des proceeds to kiss the tips of my fingers, which is totally distracting. Who knew fingertip kisses were even a thing? Because they so are. I’m declaring it here and now.
Focus, Callie.
“Let me show you something,” he says softly.
So much for focusing. Rather than picking up our argument where we left off, I let Des lead me through his palace. We eventually enter what looks like a grand library, the arches of it inlaid with decorative tile. Between several bronze chandeliers hang a myriad of colorful lamps. And that’s not even mentioning the books.
Shelves and shelves of them line the walls and fill aisles of the room, each one bound in cloth or leather. There are also heaps of scrolls stacked along the shelves, the handles they’re wound around made of carved wood and bone, some even inlaid with mother of pearl and semi-precious stones.
I spend a solid minute turning in a circle and taking the whole place in.
“Wow,” I finally say.
It smells like leather and paper and something else that I’d say was cedar, but who knows. I have the urge to walk up to each shelf and pull out the books and scrolls one by one, letting my hands trail over the dried ink and soft paper. This place feels like magic and wisdom, and I might be having a spiritual experience right now.
I can feel Des’s eyes on my face. Eventually he peels his gaze away to take in the place as well.
“Is this the royal library?” I ask.
The corner of Des’s mouth curves upwards. “One of them.”