Page 19 of Brutal Fae King
I turn to Gargamint and bark my order:
“Fetch the guards who can summon the witch! I need to talk to her at once about a certain rite.”
“You have figured out a solution, Sire?” Gargamint asks.
“I believe I have,” I answer. “But double the assigned guards around her and have the ones who can summon the witch come to me. You’re dismissed, Gargamint.”
He bows his head again. He spins on his heel and leaves as quickly as possible; he knows my tone, and he knows he needs to leave,now.
As soon as Gargamint closes the door behind him, I heave a huge breath. It feels as though that one breath drains almost every ounce of strength out of me.
It's always one thing after another…
I walk to the window in the war room and look out into the royal city of Eyston. As I look over it, I despair. When my parents ruled on the throne, this city was one of the grandest in the realm. It was once prosperous—but more importantly, it was once a happy place.
A happy place, with a happy king and queen ‘pon the throne.
Those days are gone. Faevea is now a miserable, cynical place, and such is a terrible cycle to attempt to break. In fact, I am wondering if it’s impossible. Once a war starts, who stops it? If we were to very suddenly stop sending soldiers, we would not be ushering in an era of peace; we’d be leaving ourselves open to attack.
Violence begets violence. It’s the way of the world. What is a king to do when we are in the throes of violence? Beget more, I suppose.
As I look over the horrid place that my home has become, I just have to wonder what the kings and queens of the past would think. Would my parents regret having passed the throne over to me? Would they understand the situation, or would they be ashamed of what a bloodthirsty reputation I have built for myself?
A sinking feeling in my stomach says they would consider it spitting on their legacy. They were proud of their peace, my parents, and they shared their successes and their philosophies with me when I was very young. They would despise me for the utterly heinous acts I’ve done…
But… there is no peace to be had in the midst of war. I don’t have the luxury of peace.
Even if it shreds what’s left of my reputation in the eyes of the people…
I sigh, but after that, I sweep my hair out of my face and steel over my expression.
That’s enough weakness. I have a witch to speak to.
Chapter 7 - Ebelor
It doesn’t take long before I am once again hauled out of my cell to perform some tedious task. But it’s one of the guards I met with before, and he just looks at me before settling himself in the corner of the room I’m supposed to be cleaning from top to bottom. It’s an unused room in the West wing of the castle—I’d be surprised if anyone has been in here for years. I’m just being set to clean this room just for the sake of cleaning it. It feels like that’s been the point of most of the tasks I’ve been given.
But this time, I have a friend in the corner of the room. He nods at me through his helmet, then leans against his spear as if he’s dozed off.
That’s my cue; I pick up and sprint as quickly as possible out of the room. I know he’s risking everything to support me, so the least I could do in return is to be there and be back as quickly as I can so there’s a chance he won’t be spotted “sleeping” and get in trouble.
I move like a cat through the castle—fast, near soundless—but the guards I pass seem to understand to just let me pass. Before long, I’m in the corridor I was dragged to when I saw the witch, and now that I know that it’s there, there is a conspicuous gap where the door is.
So I unravel the piece of paper with the spell on it and chant the words as quietly as I can:
“Friag na jehrinchia! Noree maleob na Herabug! Friag! Friag!”
I have no idea what it means, but as soon as the last word leaves my lips, the wall shudders. The stones very slowly seem to writhe, like I’m watching a cluster of maggots in abowl. After a short while of wriggling, the color starts bleeding out from between them. It fills out the shape of a doorway and then eventually solidifies into a real door, with the door handle swimming up through the magic, eventually coming to rest where a door handle should be.
I wait for a long moment, making sure there’s no more movement before I reach forward to touch the handle. The moment my fingers brush it, it snaps down and opens by itself. I recognize the swirling blackness.
And the silken voice that comes out, I recognize as well. “Welcome! Come in, My Queen!”
It feels like a soft wind starts pulling me in, my hair flowing toward the door. I take a moment to collect myself before I step in.
It's the same as it was the last time, so I’m not worried this time. Soon, the same woman ghosts out from the obscurity. Her piercing gaze and unsettling smile meet mine.
“I am pleased to see you have found your way to me again,” she purrs. “More good omens!”
