Page 63 of Consort

“That’s madness,” I scoff. “If she shares her magic with them, lost to the bloodlust or not, they can rise up together and use it against her.”

“No. She’s not foolish enough to do that,” he says shaking his head repetitively. “That’s not what magic she’s storing in them. The queen has more than just battle magic. She also has a form of timeless magic. Magic that lets her life stretch on indefinitely. That’s what she’s using the mixed fae for.”

“How could you possibly know that?” I ask, crossing my arms. She would never share such sensitive information with anyone.

“Alchemists can sense the pulse of life. Everything living has its own unique vibration,” he says.

He moves to the side wall and pours a glass of water from a jug. A potted calantar sits on the table beside the jug. Kahras brings both the glass and the plant over and sets them on the table.

With one hand, he cradles the flower’s petals with his fingers. With the other, he touches the rim of the glass. I watch intently as the surface of the water gently ripples. It’s soft, like a pixie delicately dipping its toes into the liquid before darting away. As long as he’s touching the flower, the tiny ripples continue.

“The difference in the mixed fae’s life pulse before and aftershe visits them makes it very clear to me what she’s doing,” Kahras says. He withdraws his hand from the flower and rests it on my forearm. “It’s like this.”

The instant his fingers touch my skin, the water begins to stir. Larger ripples spread out from the center, morphing into miniature tidal waves that crash against the glass. Bubbles form at the bottom, racing to the surface and sloshing water over the rim and Kahras’s hand.

In mere seconds, the glass is empty, its contents gone, leaving only the vessel behind.

“Thank you. That was very helpful,” I tell him, truly impressed by the demonstration. “But it doesn’t explain why she would need to store her timeless magic. Magic doesn’t just run out.”

“Perhaps it does when you’ve lived as long as she has,” he says as he dries his hands. “In any case, something is wrong with that particular magic. She’s still beautiful, but have you noticed her voice?”

“I have. Who could miss it?” I ask, curling my lip in disgust.

“She visits the mixed fae at each season’s end and passes some of her magic along to them. She leaves looking depleted, uglier. But the mixed fae she passes it to tremble with the higher levels of vitality inside them. The next time I see her, she looks mysteriously rejuvenated. But it fades as the weeks pass, and she comes to reclaim some of the magic, restoring her appearance and energy. Her voice, however, rarely changes.”

Kahras closes his eyes and sighs. “The mixed fae she draws from go back to their former states once she’s taken her power back. At least she doesn’t take any of their own life force. Only what she transferred in the first place. Though, I’m sure she would if she were able.”

“She visits them at the end of each season?” I ask, running my hands through my hair. “What is with her and the seasons?”

“What do you mean?” he asks, clasping his hands together.

It’s no longer a secret that I’m her consort. I shouldn’t feel ashamed to bring up those particular duties, but I do. Knowing I’ve been forced into this role doesn’t do anything to lessen the shame, though. It only fuels my anger.

But anger won’t do us any good. I decide to bury the rage and shame inside and just tell him.

“She only requires her consort’s attention at each season’s change. Also, Leah heard that she goes into the forest to commune with Faerie at those times as well.”

“I wasn’t aware of any of that,” he says, grabbing a parchment from the table and scribbling on it. “Perhaps I should venture out of the dungeon more… I’ll have to think on it. There’s definitely a connection.”

“I’ll do the same.” I turn and open his door, a little nervous being down here for so long. “Before I go, can I see them?”

I don’t really want to. I’ll just picture my pup being in there. I should really know the layout, though.

“Of course. But they may not be happy you’re there, even if I tell them you’re safe.”

I nod and follow him out into the hallway. I don’t need them to like me. I just need to see the dungeon. I’m not a fan of surprises.

He leads me farther down the corridor to a large, bolted door at the end. He slides the bolt away and drags the heavy door open. I hear soft growling and shuffling footsteps from inside, but nothing like the crazed sounds from the throne room.

I step into the dungeon, surprised by how bright it is. It’s not damp and musty like I’d expected, either. It actually smells clean, likely thanks to the small windows on either side that let fresh air flow through.

The room is divided into two sections–one for the mixed fae lost to the bloodlust and one for those who haven’t succumbed toit yet. About twenty unaffected ones share a giant cell with three stone walls and a front wall made of iron bars.

There are small sleeping pallets along one side, a seating area in the middle, and a bathing area in the corner. The floor is covered by a soft moss, cushioning their bare feet from the hard stone. The seating area has a large table cluttered with books, weaving and sewing materials like vines and yarn, and a few small musical instruments.

Calantars grow in pots along the edges of the large cell, casting a warm glow over the space. They sit calmly, shifting their eyes between Kahras and me. The mixed fae look well, content as anyone can be in a dungeon. It doesn’t fit with what I know of the queen.

The cells for the fae lost to the bloodlust match her hateful nature better. They’re separated from each other by stone walls, probably for their own protection. Their cells are small, equipped only with a sleeping mat and a chamber pot, many of which are overturned or damaged. Runes line the walls of the cells, glowing faintly with what I’d assume to be containment wards.

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