Dark Harmony
Page 17
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After a moment, the Night King takes the scythe away from the man. “You’re going to answer some questions for us,” Des says, “or you’re going to die.”
I pull the charred marshmallow from the fire, assessing the blackened crisp.
Damnit. This is the fifth one I’ve burned. I officially suck at this S’mores thing. To be fair, I’m pretty sure Des’s iridescent fire burns hotter than the fires I’m used to.
I wait for it to cool before I remove it from my stick and grab another from the S’mores supplies Des had presented me with when he returned with his captive.
Pretty sure this is his attempt to keep me occupied while he interrogates his prisoner.
Ashamed to say that it’s totally working.
Meanwhile, several feet away, Des is well into his interrogation.
So far he’s folded the fairy’s weapon into an origami horse, taken away his voice briefly, and removed the last of the items the fairy had on him (a couple stones, a knife, some dried mystery meat, and a necklace made of fae hair—because heaven forbid we meet someone normal here).
“Who opened the tomb?” Des asks the fairy calmly.
The man spits at Des. The spittle never hits my mate. Instead it stops in midair, then reverses its trajectory, splashing against the fairy’s face.
“Who opened the tomb?” Des repeats.
“Suck on my prick!”
“Mmm, tempting,” Des says, cocking his head. “Is that a genuine offer?” His magic unlaces the man’s crudely-made breeches, then it begins tugging the cloth down.
The fairy’s eyes widen and he begins to yank the material back up, fruitlessly trying to keep his pants on. “What in the bloody ferking gods’ names!”
“Cherub,” Des says, glancing over at me, “I think the man’s shy. One moment he wants my attention, the next he’s being a coy minx.”
I pull my sixth marshmallow from the fire; it’s perfectly golden brown.
Success!
“Men give such mixed signals,” I say.
I admit it—I like to toy with my targets just as much as Des does. That was always one of my favorite parts of the PI business.
Grabbing a bar of Hershey’s chocolate and a graham cracker, I pull my marshmallow off its stick.
Get into my belly.
“They do, don’t they?” The Bargainer’s eyes brighten enough to let me know that he likes my brand of wicked. Turning back to the fairy, he taps on his lips. “No need to be bashful. I’m sure your prick will be everything I’ve ever dreamed a prick could be.”
Now the fairy’s bucking, wildly trying to pull his pants up with his legs. He’s failing abysmally at it. “You sick shite!” he shouts.
I begin to munch on my S’more and oh my God, it’s one of the great tragedies of the world that S’mores are only reserved for camping. These little bastards are delicious.
Des’s good humor collapses in an instant. His magic quits tugging at the fairy’s pants. Now that there’s no more magical resistance, the prisoner nearly gives himself a wedgie yanking his pants up.
The night darkens. “I’m done being coy as well,” Des says, his voice like polished steel. “Tell me what happened to the body resting in the cavern beneath that boulder,” he points to the unassuming grave markers in the distance, “or I’ll start killing you in increments.”
“I don’t know!” the fairy yowls.
“Have you ever died in increments?” Des asks. “It’s slow and—well, I don’t need to tell you that it’s painful.”
“I never saw anything! I swear it—”
I feel the brush of magic, and then the prisoner’s hand is jerked in front of him, his fingers splayed out.
“I like to start with the pinkie—begin small, you know,” Des says. Right now, he’s one hundred percent Bargainer. “I’ll remove it, knuckle by knuckle …”
“Godsdamnit! I don’t know where the body is!”
The fairy’s ruined scythe now unfolds, mending itself back together until it looks whole and untouched. It floats through the air, stopping dangerously close to the fairy’s hand.
The fairy lets out a little whimper as the blade caresses his little finger.
“After the pinkie …” Des continues, “well, there are nine other fingers to play with.
“If that doesn’t break you, there’s teeth and toes. Even those are just a taster. And the pain—it’s enough to drive a fairy to do almost anything. You’ll feel the centuries of your life draining away with each amputation, and—if you hold out long enough—you’ll beg me for death.
“Just when you think it’s bound to be over, you’ll realize you’re still alive and aware, and you’ll endure it for hours—days if need be—but it will feel like decades by the end.”
A sheen of sweat’s developed on the fairy’s upper lip. “You’ll never get away with this,” he swears, his voice high. “The king’s men will come for you both before then,” his eyes dart between us.
“The king,” Des says, looking like a teacher whose pupil finally answered a question correctly. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” Des sits down, propping his elbows on his legs. “Would the king know where the body went?”
“The king knows all.”
“Does he now?” The Bargainer raises his eyebrows.
The fairy should be worried. Des only uses that voice right before he kicks the hornet’s nest.
The scythe lifts from the fairy’s finger and circles the man.
Des stands. “Let me amend my terms: find me someone who can tell me who did this, and I’ll let you live.”
Chapter 11
I stare at the crevice in the ground. “This is where your king lives?” I say skeptically.
Just another hole in the earth.
“You’ll see …” Des’s prisoner says ominously.
Since directing us here, a flight that covered miles of arid, lifeless territory, this fairy has gained a lot more confidence.
We’re probably about to get shanked.
I shift my weight from foot to foot. “So, what, are we just supposed to wait around …” My words die off as someone blows a horn.
Just as my eyes scour the landscape for the fairy, the sound of dozens of footfalls echo from the hole. Not a minute later, armed fairies come pouring out of the opening, pointing their weapons at us and shouting orders.
“Hands at your backs! Hands at your backs!”
Des does as instructed, looking ever the compliant captive. Taking a cue from him, I move my own hands to my back.
The fairies clamor in close to us, all while ignoring our former prisoner. Not that I’m that surprised. His clothes are tattered and homespun and he looks like he’s been on the wrong end of one too many fists, which is about how these soldiers’ look. Des and I, however, are clothed in fine silks and we’re (relatively) clean.
“Found these two wandering around the plains,” Des’s former captive says. “King Henbane will want to see them. They’ve got magic in spades.”
The soldiers grunt, eyeing us appreciatively. “You’ll get your finder’s fee.”
“I look forward to it.”
I narrow my eyes at our former prisoner.
He gives me a toothy smile and a two-fingered salute. “Enjoy your stay,” he says, backing away. The fairy leaves us there, descending into the crevice until the earth swallows him completely.
I pull the charred marshmallow from the fire, assessing the blackened crisp.
Damnit. This is the fifth one I’ve burned. I officially suck at this S’mores thing. To be fair, I’m pretty sure Des’s iridescent fire burns hotter than the fires I’m used to.
I wait for it to cool before I remove it from my stick and grab another from the S’mores supplies Des had presented me with when he returned with his captive.
Pretty sure this is his attempt to keep me occupied while he interrogates his prisoner.
Ashamed to say that it’s totally working.
Meanwhile, several feet away, Des is well into his interrogation.
So far he’s folded the fairy’s weapon into an origami horse, taken away his voice briefly, and removed the last of the items the fairy had on him (a couple stones, a knife, some dried mystery meat, and a necklace made of fae hair—because heaven forbid we meet someone normal here).
“Who opened the tomb?” Des asks the fairy calmly.
The man spits at Des. The spittle never hits my mate. Instead it stops in midair, then reverses its trajectory, splashing against the fairy’s face.
“Who opened the tomb?” Des repeats.
“Suck on my prick!”
“Mmm, tempting,” Des says, cocking his head. “Is that a genuine offer?” His magic unlaces the man’s crudely-made breeches, then it begins tugging the cloth down.
The fairy’s eyes widen and he begins to yank the material back up, fruitlessly trying to keep his pants on. “What in the bloody ferking gods’ names!”
“Cherub,” Des says, glancing over at me, “I think the man’s shy. One moment he wants my attention, the next he’s being a coy minx.”
I pull my sixth marshmallow from the fire; it’s perfectly golden brown.
Success!
“Men give such mixed signals,” I say.
I admit it—I like to toy with my targets just as much as Des does. That was always one of my favorite parts of the PI business.
Grabbing a bar of Hershey’s chocolate and a graham cracker, I pull my marshmallow off its stick.
Get into my belly.
“They do, don’t they?” The Bargainer’s eyes brighten enough to let me know that he likes my brand of wicked. Turning back to the fairy, he taps on his lips. “No need to be bashful. I’m sure your prick will be everything I’ve ever dreamed a prick could be.”
Now the fairy’s bucking, wildly trying to pull his pants up with his legs. He’s failing abysmally at it. “You sick shite!” he shouts.
I begin to munch on my S’more and oh my God, it’s one of the great tragedies of the world that S’mores are only reserved for camping. These little bastards are delicious.
Des’s good humor collapses in an instant. His magic quits tugging at the fairy’s pants. Now that there’s no more magical resistance, the prisoner nearly gives himself a wedgie yanking his pants up.
The night darkens. “I’m done being coy as well,” Des says, his voice like polished steel. “Tell me what happened to the body resting in the cavern beneath that boulder,” he points to the unassuming grave markers in the distance, “or I’ll start killing you in increments.”
“I don’t know!” the fairy yowls.
“Have you ever died in increments?” Des asks. “It’s slow and—well, I don’t need to tell you that it’s painful.”
“I never saw anything! I swear it—”
I feel the brush of magic, and then the prisoner’s hand is jerked in front of him, his fingers splayed out.
“I like to start with the pinkie—begin small, you know,” Des says. Right now, he’s one hundred percent Bargainer. “I’ll remove it, knuckle by knuckle …”
“Godsdamnit! I don’t know where the body is!”
The fairy’s ruined scythe now unfolds, mending itself back together until it looks whole and untouched. It floats through the air, stopping dangerously close to the fairy’s hand.
The fairy lets out a little whimper as the blade caresses his little finger.
“After the pinkie …” Des continues, “well, there are nine other fingers to play with.
“If that doesn’t break you, there’s teeth and toes. Even those are just a taster. And the pain—it’s enough to drive a fairy to do almost anything. You’ll feel the centuries of your life draining away with each amputation, and—if you hold out long enough—you’ll beg me for death.
“Just when you think it’s bound to be over, you’ll realize you’re still alive and aware, and you’ll endure it for hours—days if need be—but it will feel like decades by the end.”
A sheen of sweat’s developed on the fairy’s upper lip. “You’ll never get away with this,” he swears, his voice high. “The king’s men will come for you both before then,” his eyes dart between us.
“The king,” Des says, looking like a teacher whose pupil finally answered a question correctly. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” Des sits down, propping his elbows on his legs. “Would the king know where the body went?”
“The king knows all.”
“Does he now?” The Bargainer raises his eyebrows.
The fairy should be worried. Des only uses that voice right before he kicks the hornet’s nest.
The scythe lifts from the fairy’s finger and circles the man.
Des stands. “Let me amend my terms: find me someone who can tell me who did this, and I’ll let you live.”
Chapter 11
I stare at the crevice in the ground. “This is where your king lives?” I say skeptically.
Just another hole in the earth.
“You’ll see …” Des’s prisoner says ominously.
Since directing us here, a flight that covered miles of arid, lifeless territory, this fairy has gained a lot more confidence.
We’re probably about to get shanked.
I shift my weight from foot to foot. “So, what, are we just supposed to wait around …” My words die off as someone blows a horn.
Just as my eyes scour the landscape for the fairy, the sound of dozens of footfalls echo from the hole. Not a minute later, armed fairies come pouring out of the opening, pointing their weapons at us and shouting orders.
“Hands at your backs! Hands at your backs!”
Des does as instructed, looking ever the compliant captive. Taking a cue from him, I move my own hands to my back.
The fairies clamor in close to us, all while ignoring our former prisoner. Not that I’m that surprised. His clothes are tattered and homespun and he looks like he’s been on the wrong end of one too many fists, which is about how these soldiers’ look. Des and I, however, are clothed in fine silks and we’re (relatively) clean.
“Found these two wandering around the plains,” Des’s former captive says. “King Henbane will want to see them. They’ve got magic in spades.”
The soldiers grunt, eyeing us appreciatively. “You’ll get your finder’s fee.”
“I look forward to it.”
I narrow my eyes at our former prisoner.
He gives me a toothy smile and a two-fingered salute. “Enjoy your stay,” he says, backing away. The fairy leaves us there, descending into the crevice until the earth swallows him completely.
