Page 117 of A Fae in Finance
Lene reached over, stuck her fingers under mine, and yanked.
I sucked in a breath to scream but had already landed in Sahir’s arms. He’d somehow caught me in a princess carry, despite my falling down feetfirst.
“That took longer than I expected,” he observed, carrying me away from the opening. Lene landed where we’d just stood, unfazed, and Gaheris followed her so fast I was surprised they didn’t tumble over together.
“The human required reassurance,” Lene said, examining her extended claws.
“Okay, Scar,” I muttered, but she ignored me. Sahir set me down.
“Miri is right,” Gaheris said. “We do not know about human anatomy. I still think she might grow horns if fed enough enchanted cake.”
May I live long enough for us to try, I thought.
I kept a hand on Sahir’s shoulder as I looked around the dim subterranean space. We’d landed at the end of a corridor, and clearly the entrance to the Queen’s Court. God only knew why they couldn’t just put in a set of stairs or a ladder like normal people.
The corridor was at its narrowest about thirty feet from where we stood.Defensive point, I thought, like a warrior and not like a short American woman whose father described her soccer days as “an exercise in picking dandelions.”
But itwasa defensive point. The entire setup was—the narrow and inconvenient entrance with no means of egress; the corridor that would require us to walk single file. It was a far cry from the open entrance and wide hallway of the Princeling’s Court.
“Let us continue our journey,” Kamare said, interrupting my thoughts. I glanced around. Apparently none of her faerie guard were coming with us.
She took point once again, giving Lene her back in a show of bravado. Since Lene showed about as many violent tendencies as Doctor Kitten, who I’d once caught stealing a slice of cheese from my plate to share with our resident kitchen mouse, Kamare had really hedged her bets there.
When Kamare reached the narrowest part of the corridor, she turned sideways to get through. Lene and Gaheris followed, and then I sucked in my stomach and copied them. The rough stone protrusions scraped me on both sides, and my left boob got caught for a second, but I made it.
On the other side, the corridor widened enough to fit five people. I glanced back to see Sahir wiggle through as well, the gray stone catching at his green tunic. The tug of stone pulled the fabric tight against his shoulders, his sculpted chest.
He stuck for a moment, his mouth a priceless O of absolute shock, and then propelled himself through the gap on the strength of mortification alone.
Unlike the Princeling’s Court, the Queen’s Court didn’t open into a residential wing. There were no doors on either side, just long walls of rough striated gray and black stone. I looked around for the will-o’-the-wisps I’d become accustomed to, but the corridor was lit by long glowing strings pressed into the crevices in the stone and ceiling. They suffused the hallway with a comforting golden light.
Stay vigilant, I reminded myself. Anything could happen, and probably would.
Sahir strode along at my side, his face solemn. The fact that he could turn into a mass of angry vines at willdidsoothe me a bit. Though, if pressed, I wouldn’t have been able to describe a single useful thing that a mass of angry vines could do in a fight.
The corridor ended in a large stone archway, which opened into the throne room.
Kamare stopped at the threshold, and I looked over her shoulder, unsure of what to expect.
Not much, was the answer.
The throne room was small, and darker than the corridor, lit by a central fire that crackled and guttered and smoked. The Queen sat on the far side of the fire, staring into the flames with glowing, slit-pupiled eyes. Her left hand moved in impossible contortions, and shapes appeared and dissolved in the smoke above her head.
The shadows played on her dark skin, and a glowing golden diadem lay on the thin braids in her black hair. She rested her head in her right hand, elbow on the arm of a similarly golden throne.
She looked… bored.
On either side of her, two faeries stood, all four holding giant-ass spears. Like, really big. Like, two faerie-sized hands couldn’t wrap around the hafts. This seemed excessive, given the number of magic users about.
“My Queen,” Kamare said, sweeping a bow.
I couldn’t stop looking at the faeries on either side. This must be the Queen’s entourage: her equivalent of the Gray, Red, and Blue Knights, and the Crone.
Why did they need the spears?
They were, honestly, comically large.
I tried to imagine one of the faeries sweeping the spear down and impaling someone with it. I couldn’t. There was no way they’d have the requisite control.
