The Empty Throne. Cayla Kluver
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slung across my shoulder to fish out the necessary funds. I tossed the coins on the table, then pushed past the big fellow and through the cellar door. The smoke clouding the top of the steps brought an immediate rush to my head, and I took several deep breaths, savoring my descent into the dim green cave. I took my place among the other users, my ears seeming to plug and my eyes stinging, though the tears that leaked from them felt good. With coherency dissipating to tendrils, I relaxed, releasing my guilt, worry, and pain.
* * *
I was picked up by the back of my cloak and thrown outdoors before the sun rose. I skidded across the rough ground and felt something hot and wet on my cheek. Blood? I smiled. It made the air feel less cold.
I’d been conveniently deposited in an alley. Still entranced by the drug, I rolled until I was tucked against a wall, and closed my eyes, desiring only to reimmerse myself. Soon I was floating off the stone, flying as I hadn’t done in months. I dipped in the air, free-falling a few meters before I spread my wings. The wind buffeted me back up, and my heart swelled, my body tingling all the way to my fingertips. I could have died, then and there, and died happy. Only the dream shifted and changed, the drug joining with my subconscious to conspire against me.
* * *
I sat in the corner of the room, my eyes on my mother where she lay in her bed sweating and moaning, her muscles cramping. Although she had no awareness of my presence, I was convinced she would not die while I was on watch; that she would not leave the Faerie Realm if she were reminded she had a daughter.
I fought the drooping of my eyelids but fell asleep nonetheless, waking to the sound of muffled voices. My father, the medicine mage, and Queen Ubiqua were gathered near the bed.
“There doesn’t seem to be any improvement,” my aunt noted, her tone betraying her sadness over her sister’s condition.
“None of our medicinal approaches are working, including Sale,” the mage replied. “I have never seen symptoms like these before and have no idea what malady has struck.”
“Malady? Do you suspect something other than illness?” asked the Queen.
The mage hesitated, clearly wanting to choose just the right words. “Either a never-before-seen illness has emerged or something else is the cause. Since a new illness would spread to others, the latter is more plausible.”
My father glanced at me; then he abruptly joined the conversation. The pitch of his voice was higher than usual, as though something was squeezing his vocal cords.
“Does this malady have no antidote?”
“Since it is unknown to me, I have no antidote. And I have already tried all the plant-based remedies in our Realm.”
The Queen, apparently having been reminded of my presence by my father, stepped closer to the mage before quietly asking, “So the source of her malady is not plant based?”
“I don’t believe so.”
A long silence followed the mage’s statement, then Ubiqua asked one more question, a note of anger that I did not understand punctuating her words.
“Is it from the human world?”
“That seems likely.”
My father muttered something under his breath, then strode toward the door.
“Be careful, Cyandro, we don’t know anything for certain,” Ubiqua cautioned, and I wondered what she thought he was about to do.
His exit interrupted, my father turned to face the Queen, his jaw clenched.
“We all know he has long carried a grudge against Incarnadine. And we have foolishly chosen to ignore his abhorrent behaviors, unwilling to face the reality that he is neither a good father nor a good Fae.”
“You are my Lord of the Law. You know we cannot proceed without proof. Bring me the proof, and I will deal most harshly with him—on that you have my word. But until I am presented with evidence, I will not take action against him, and neither should you. You have a daughter to think about, and she is going to need you in the days and years to come.”
With a curt nod, my father stalked from the room, leaving me shaking in the corner, alone, bewildered, and terribly afraid.
* * *
I jerked upright, then slammed my palms on the cobblestone, swaying like a passenger in a fast-moving carriage. I pried my eyelids open. Where was I? In an alley. Why was I here? Because you failed to save your cousin and took the coward’s way out.
Groaning, I sat up straighter, and my eyes landed on a gargoyle hunched nearby. No, not a gargoyle, but a young boy perhaps eight or nine years of age, wearing a coat so big it covered his legs and feet. He was examining me, munching on an apple.
“You a’right?” he asked, a grin lighting up his brown eyes and dirty face.
I rubbed my temples to clear my head, my royal upbringing producing a twinge of shame at the circumstances in which this young stranger had found me.
“Yes, I’m fine. How long have you been sitting there?”
“Don’ know exactly. Hour or two, I ’spect. Long enough to keep the vultures off a’ you.”
“What do you mean?” Alarm penetrated me like the blade of a knife, and I scanned the area.
“They ain’t here no more, but some nasty types prowl these alleys.” Pointing to the royal ring on my hand, he continued, “Wouldn’t wear that if I were you. If I ’adn’t come along, you’d be wakin’ one finger short.”
I scrambled to my knees in preparation for flight, only to tip backward against the wall, my balance still off. How could I have been so stupid, so careless? When I’d been trying to find Evangeline, I’d been accosted in these alleyways by thieves after the very same prize.
The boy chuckled at my clumsiness, and a touch of irritation flared.
“Why would you help me?” I grumbled, fixing my gaze on him.
He shrugged. “Looks like you’ve ’ad it rough, what with that beat-up face an’ all.” He pointed to my swollen eye in case I’d forgotten the injury. “Wasn’t right to ’ave to deal with more.”
Shame again washed over me—had I become so jaded I couldn’t accept that another person would do me a kindness? Though I remained dubious of the boy’s interest and intentions, I found the words to express some gratitude.
“Thank you, then, for what you’ve done. But tell me, how did you...?”
“Stop ’em?” He smirked and pulled a slingshot from one of the pockets of his enormous coat. “Aim’s pretty good.”
I laughed. “Remind me not to cross you.”
“Good thing to ’member. I’m pretty famous in these parts.”
Though I tried to stifle another laugh, the remnants of the drug I’d used, combined with tiredness and stress, pushed the sound up from my belly. The idea of this boy and his slingshot being a threat to anything other than birds or rats struck me as gut-splittingly hilarious. He watched me, smile firmly in place, waiting for me to regain control.
“I’m sorry,” I gasped. “I’m not trying to make fun of you, it’s just...”
“It takes some adjustin’, I know. But smart people learn.”
“All right, I believe you. And I like to think I’m smart.”
He raised his eyebrows, and my cheeks grew hot, the point he was making effectively driven