Thorn Queen (24 page)

And like the last time I’d fought these guys, the power required for that banishing took a lot out of me. Surveying the rest of the battle, I saw with pleasant surprise that one of Jasmine’s water demons had defeated a fire demon. That water demon had then joined his partner, and it appeared as though they would make quick work of their target. Kiyo and the other soldiers were doing a good job of killing or subduing the rest of the bandits. I turned back to the fire demons, assessing my next strategy.

One was unengaged and starting to move toward my soldiers. This banishment was going to be harsh. I drew up all my strength and repeated the process, calling out to Persephone and reciting the words to send the demon back to the Underworld. It distracted him from my soldiers, and he started lumbering toward me. Fuck.

“He. Is. Coming,” said Jasmine stiffly. I couldn’t see her face with my gun to her back but got the impression she was as strained as I was.

“Yeah, I kind of noticed.”

He was pushing back at me with his own strength of will. I clenched my teeth.
No, no. I am stronger. I am Storm King’s daughter.
I needed another distraction to slip him up, but everyone else was busy. Dorian’s attention was on the demon that Volusian battled. That demon was moderately stronger than my minion, but seeing that Volusian couldn’t really die…well, it made it hard to destroy him. So, neither was gaining ground until Dorian used some of his magic to attack the demon with a nearby chunk of rock, letting Volusian move in for the kill.

My demon was still approaching, and I needed a distraction of my own. Iron didn’t dampen my powers anywhere near as much as it did Jasmine’s, but it could sometimes affect me a little. I could still work my gentry powers while in contact with it, but it was easier without. In an act I was certain I’d regret, I dropped the gun and immediately called upon my storm magic. I would have given anything to blast this demon with lightning, but that was still beyond my control. Instead, I reached up toward the sky, calling on water and air. To my astonishment, I was able to bind them together. Thick, leaden clouds formed, whirling into a weak funnel cloud that descended on the demon. It was the most powerful force of weather I’d ever—consciously—summoned, and it knocked the demon over. I couldn’t maintain my hold on it, and the ministorm dissipated instantly. It was enough, though, and I sent out the banishing before he could respond. It felt like my insides were being ripped out, but I managed it, kicking him out of this world.

Gasping and woozy, I looked around, realizing there were no more demons left—well, no fire demons at least. The water demons, victorious, were still there—and they were charging toward us.
Shit
. I realized then what I’d potentially unleashed. I cuffed Jasmine on the shoulder, nearly knocking her over, and reached for my gun.

“I warned you not to try anything,” I cried, pointing the gun at her. “Send them away!”

“It’s not me,” she exclaimed back. “I can’t control them!”

Stepping forward, I got a good look at her face. She was covered in sweat, skin pale. Dorian had said demon summoning was hard, and the full weight of what I’d done hit me. She’d summoned them but no longer had the power to control them. I had no more strength left for banishing, but I could feel Jasmine still trying to work her magic, weak as it now was. It was impossible to sense every part of what someone else was doing with their magic, but I got a strong feel for hers. These creatures were bound to water. They were part of my domain. Doing my best to mimic her, I joined my strength to hers, sending commands through my magic, willing them to leave this world.

They were nearly on us, and I almost laughed at the irony as my own death approached. Then, suddenly, I felt my magic sync up perfectly with Jasmine’s. Control of the demons slipped into place, and they froze. Together, she and I ordered them back, and there was a tear in the fabric of space, an opening to the Underworld. It was almost like a banishing, but not quite. The demons were willingly—well, with our urging—returning, and our magic helped them with the passage. A moment later, they dissolved from our world.

After that, I felt like I’d run a marathon. Every part of me ached and was wearied. Yet, as bad as I was, Jasmine was worse. “I guess blood really is thicker than water,” she whispered in a very bad attempt at a joke. She swayed on her feet, eyes rolling back in her head, and then she collapsed. I barely managed to catch her in my own weakened state, but then stronger arms took hold. Kiyo.

He barely had a scratch, and relief poured through me. “Thanks.”

He lifted her easily into his arms. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I said, looking down at my sister—who hadn’t betrayed me after all. “She’s bad, though. Get her to a healer.”

Kiyo hesitated, not wanting to leave me. Then, he gave a quick nod and loped off in that way that was half-human and half-wild animal. Looking around, I saw that the others were rounding up the remaining rabble. My losses looked light. Rurik was leading a man who seemed to be in the same shape as Jasmine. The demon summoner. Dorian was with Rurik and gave me a quick glance. I knew what was in the look. Kill the summoner or not? I gave a sharp shake of my head. Dorian grimaced and then turned back to help Rurik with his prisoner.

No one seemed to notice or need me, and I sank gratefully to the ground, waiting for my strength to return. I wondered if I’d be able to call up the magic again that I had used with Jasmine. Trying to piece it together seemed like too much work now, and I contented myself with watching my people work.

Then, out of my peripheral vision, I saw movement. I stood up and looked far to my side, toward a stony bluff covered in cacti. A face peered out at me and then ducked back. I knew the face. It was the scarred gentry who’d come to my house the other night. With no further thought, I started to hurry after him. Then, to my astonishment, I paused and did what Rurik would have wanted. A couple of my soldiers were lingering nearby. “Hey, come here,” I called, gesturing. They immediately followed as I set off at a brisk pace, moving as fast as I could to reach the bluff. When I turned around the side of it, I saw no sign of the gentry warrior I sought.

The ground rose sharply here, beginning to turn into foothills reminiscent of the ones near my house in Tucson. The vegetation was thicker, though still a far cry from a true forest. It was mostly cacti, shrubs, and scraggly trees. Going up the small hill was a narrow path, and on impulse, I headed up it in search of my prey. The footsteps of my soldiers sounded behind me, their boots crunching in the gravel.

Who was that guy? And why was he here now? Was he one of the bandits? I hadn’t seen him in the fight. Was he some sort of spy, perhaps, which was why he’d come to my house and—

Snick. Snick
. Two arrows came out of nowhere as we reached the crest of a hill. Each one hit one of my soldiers in the chest, dropping them to the ground. I came to a screeching halt, waiting for my arrow, peering around the trees for the mystery gentry to reveal himself.

But he didn’t.

Art did.

He smiled, stepping forward. “Eugenie, nice to see you again. You’ve been very busy around here, I hear.” He waved vaguely toward where I’d come from, though my people were nowhere in sight.
Eugenie
, I thought,
you are a fucking moron
. Beyond Art, I saw the gentry I’d chased emerge from the cover, along with two others—all wearing leather armor like Jasmine had described. They carried bows and wore red shirts under the armor.

“Roland called me last night and nearly bit my head off about getting you involved in gentry politics.” Art shook his head, amused. “I wonder what he’d say if he only knew just how involved you were—your majesty.”

I was exhausted as hell and devoid of magic. But—I was still human and not without human implements. The gun was still in my hand, and I jerked it up toward him. I needed to distract him until some of my own people came. Fuck. I shouldn’t have come rushing up this hill, even if I had had the sense to bring some backup. The question now was, would the rest of my people notice I was gone? Usually, I could hardly step outside the castle’s door without a dozen people in tow.

Art tsked me. “Would you really do it? Would you really kill one of your own kind? Or are we even your own kind?”

Magic suddenly filled the air—familiar magic. Shamanic magic. It encircled me like fog, thick and heavy. Forgetting Art, I turned abruptly around, toward the sound of words being chanted—words I knew by heart. Abigail was standing there, wand in hand.

And so help me,
she was banishing me.

I felt her will shove up against mine, just as I’d grappled with the demons. The world around me began to tear open as a vortex started to pull my essence apart. I fought it, fought it with every ounce of strength I had—but there was just none left to give.

When it came to traveling the worlds, crossroads and gateways were the way to go. They made for a smooth transition. Or, one could travel like I often did, journeying to some item imbued with your essence, an item that couldn’t help but draw your soul to it.

And rarely, if you had the strength, you could tear open a gateway by force and shove your way into another world. That wasn’t recommended. It hurt like hell. And essentially, that’s what a banishing was—only it wasn’t your choice. It was someone ripping you out of the world and shoving you into another.

I felt the fabric of this world open up, felt the unstoppable pull of another. I couldn’t fight it. I tried. I kicked, I screamed, but I was too weak. I felt like I was shattering into a million pieces, sucked into a whirlwind…

…and then, I was gone.

I woke up with a headache even worse than the one I’d gotten shooting tequila on the night of Luisa’s birth. Pain thudded to a steady drumbeat in my head, though at the same time, my senses felt foggy as a boring plaster ceiling slowly came into focus above me. Nausea welled up in my stomach, and I worried I was going to get sick. It had happened the last time I’d come crashing through the worlds.

And speaking of the worlds…where was I? Easy enough to figure out, my groggy brain quickly realized. I’d been pulled out from the Otherworld, which meant I could either have been sent to the Underworld or the human world. The fact that I was still alive indicated I’d gone onto the latter. Why on earth would Abigail summon me to—fuck. There it was: the nausea again. I bit my lip and tried to sit up, not wanting to choke on my own vomit.

Only, when I tried to rise, I didn’t get very far. My hands were stretched above my head, tied to the headboard of the bed I lay on. No, not tied—cuffed. Cuffed with heavy steel, industrial-strength handcuffs. Bound or no, I did manage some semblance of sitting, just as my stomach betrayed me. A bowl got shoved under my face right at that moment, and I was grateful to spare the bedding and my clothes. I threw up twice before my benefactor gently asked, “Any more?”

“I don’t think so.”

I squinted up and found myself looking into the face of a young girl, heavily freckled and brown-haired, with a nose a bit too small for the rest of her facial features. She was still cute enough, though, and—she was a gentry. For a moment, I wondered if I’d gotten confused about the banishment. Was I still in the Otherworld? No. This was definitely the human world. I could sense it. There was a way that magic hung in the air—or, rather, didn’t hang in the air around here.

The girl took the bowl away and returned with a damp cloth. She wiped my face with it and then my mouth. A moment later, she returned with a glass of water, which I drank gratefully. All of her movements were gentle and graceful.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Cariena.”

“That’s really pretty. Where am I, Cariena?” I asked, tugging at the handcuffs. Those things weren’t going to budge.

The girl sat down on a chair in the corner. “In the world of the humans.”

“I know that.” I tried hard not to let my tone get harsh. My leather from the fight was gone; I wore a T-shirt and underwear. “But where? What is this place?”

She glanced around, as though the room might offer some secret insight. The walls were painted pale gray and matched the bedspread, a pattern of purple and grayish blue flowers. There was a small dresser in the corner, along with her chair, as well as the narrow twin bed I lay in. There wasn’t a lot of space here—and no windows at all.

“The Red Snake Man’s house.”

“The Red Snake—son of a bitch. Art.”

My mind was still fuzzy, and I had a hard time grasping all the details of what had happened. I remembered bits and pieces of the fight. I remembered chasing the soldier and then Abigail banishing me…

But it was all still disjointed, and I had no recollection of how I’d gotten here. It was possible that was simply from the trauma of tearing through the worlds. Someone could have smacked me upside the head too, but the pain throbbing in my skull wasn’t that type. As I’d noted earlier, it was more like the hangover type. Only worse.

“Where is he now?” I asked.

Cariena shook her head. “I don’t know. He doesn’t explain his activities to us.”

“Us? Are there…” Again, my addled brain tried to remember what I already knew. Why couldn’t I line up my thoughts? It was like I had both the buzz and the hangover from drinking, all wrapped up into one. Us. Art. Red Snake Man. “Are there…others like you here? Other girls?”

She nodded.

“How many?”

“Five—no, four. They took Fara yesterday. Isanna’s next.”

“They who?”

“One of the men. They come sometimes. They look at us. Sometimes they just…” She looked away, unwilling to meet my eyes. “Sometimes they just…visit. But sometimes they make a deal with the Red Snake Man to take one of us.”

“Art,” I murmured. “His name is Art. Red Snake Man seems to give him some semblance of respect.” I started to rub my eyes and then realized I couldn’t with the cuffs. “Are the other girls chained up too?”

“Only the ones who resist.”

“Well, yeah, I guess that would include me. I take it you’re not one?”

“Not anymore.”

“Why don’t you leave? You must have some magic…even a little.”

Cariena held up her hands. She didn’t have handcuffs like me, but snug iron bracelets hugged each wrist, each with a tiny lock. The skin was red and swollen where the iron touched.

“Jesus…so you’re blocked from your magic. But, I mean, can’t you just walk out the door?”

“There’s iron…iron everywhere. The windows, the doors. They’re all bound with iron and spells. And locks. Besides…” Her blue eyes widened slightly. “I don’t know where I would go…not in this world…”

“Home,” I said fiercely. “You’ll go home. I’ll take you there.”

She shook her head, face sad. “There’s no escape from here. Not even for you.”

I eyed her curiously. “Do you know who I am?”

“You are the Thorn Queen. Storm King’s daughter. You are my sovereign.” She gave a deferential nod of respect. “And I know you are a great warrior and magic user. But if the Red Snake Man caught even you, then there’s no hope for any of us. Moria tried to escape, and she died out there.”

“Moria
did
escape. She didn’t die, and—” I stopped.

Why was my brain such mush? Why was I thinking so slowly?
A great warrior and magic user
. I didn’t need my hands to get out of here. I had my magic. The iron and steel that stunted Cariena’s magic had hardly any effect on me, and I would have had enough time by now to rebuild my stores of power. I reached into myself and then to the world around, seeking water and air, though not certain what I’d do with them. Blow the headboard apart? Oxidize the handcuffs? The decision turned out not to matter.

Nothing happened.

I felt nothing. I felt…well, human. I felt as I had for years, long before I’d had any clue I could touch any sort of Otherworldly magic. I was cut off. My mind touched only empty space.

“What’s wrong with me?” I asked, true panic starting to unravel in me. “My magic’s gone. The steel shouldn’t affect me…”

“It’s not the steel,” a voice suddenly said. “It’s the nightshade. And I think you’re overdue.”

Art strolled into the room, looking as dashing as ever with his tanned skin and movie-star smile. I had nothing but contempt for him and instinctually tried to break the cuffs. Nightshade…nightshade. Where had I heard that before? Rurik, I realized. He’d advised something called a tincture of nightshade to completely cut off Jasmine from her magic. Was that what I’d been given? He’d said it was the most effective…but that it made those with human blood feel dazed and sick. All of a sudden, I knew this fuzzy hangover feeling didn’t have anything to do with me being banished.

There was no real purpose in discussing nightshade with Art, so I got right to the point. “I’m going to kill you.”

Art laughed that hearty, deep laugh I’d once found endearing. “Forgive me if I’m not scared.” He turned to Cariena. “Go get some more nightshade for Eugenie. And make sure Isanna is dressed and ready to go when Abigail returns.”

Cariena was practically out of the room before he finished speaking. “I can’t believe it,” I said. “It’s really true. When I first started putting together this fairy sex-trade theory, I thought it was as crazy as Roland thought it was. But it’s really true. Where’s this Isanna going? Is Abigail taking her to her new owner?”

He leaned back and crossed his legs. “I suppose you could say that. I like to think of it as her new loving home. The man who bought her is very eager to welcome her.”

“You’re a fucking bastard,” I growled. “Selling them like they’re property.”

“Might as well be. And if it makes you feel better, I don’t sell all of them. Cariena there…hmm, well, she’s not pretty enough to get a good price. Easier to keep her around for house calls.”

“House calls.” I started to feel sick again, and it had nothing to do with the nightshade. “Basically, you’re whoring her out. You sell sex slaves
and
run a brothel—and yet, all the while, you play hero shaman like you’re doing the world a good deed. Roland couldn’t say enough nice things about you.”

Art straightened up, feet hitting the floor as a flash of anger shone in his eyes. “I am doing the world a good deed—this world. Those girls? They’re nothing. They aren’t human. And you…” He shook his head. “You’re one to talk about image. You play hero shaman too, when in reality you’re off commanding gentry armies. Does Roland know? Does he know what you really are? I’m sure he has to know you’re a half-breed mongrel, but does he really know the extent of it?”

White-hot rage burned within the drug-induced haze of my mind. “I think you forgot the part where I’m going to kill you.”

“And you forgot the part where I said I’m not worried.”

Cariena returned holding a coffee mug. I eyed it warily.

“What are you going to do with me?” I demanded. “You would have killed me already if you could, yet you probably aren’t going to let me go now that I know your dirty secret. Are you going to sell me off too? Keep me for yourself since you don’t like gentry?”

Art shook his head and approached my bed. “Eugenie, you couldn’t pay me enough to keep you around. I’d take one of these idiot girls any day. Turn on the microwave, and they’re so scared that they’ll stay docile for weeks.”

He gestured Cariena to his side and reached down to hold my head in place. I realized what he was going to do and began thrashing. With one hand he tried to keep me still, and with the other he partially held my mouth open.

“Do it,” he said. Obediently, Cariena poured the liquid from the mug into my half-open mouth. As she did, she mouthed,
I’m sorry.
The stuff tasted horrible, and I gagged on it. I tried to spit it out, but Art promptly covered my mouth until I had to swallow. That bitterness flowed down my throat, and I could feel a new wave of numbness start to sweep over me.

“Yes,” said Art, almost cheerfully. “You’re trouble. I don’t want you. I don’t know any human who would. But fortunately, we got an offer from someone who isn’t.”

I think he was smiling that stupid smile again, but I could never say for sure. The force of the nightshade flooded through me, pulling me into fuzziness, then darkness, and then sleep.

I immediately noticed two things when I came to later. One was that Art was still in the room, though I think he’d just returned and hadn’t been watching me sleep.

The other thing I noticed was that I was uncuffed.

I didn’t waste any time. I promptly leapt out of the bed and charged him. Unfortunately, I didn’t really make it off the bed so well. The nightshade was chugging along in my system, and my limbs barely had the energy to stay upright. I fell off the bed and collapsed into an ungraceful pile on the floor. Cariena was there too, holding a bundle of clothing, and started to come help me. Art shook his head, and she froze.

“Looks like you won’t be killing me today,” he said.

“You fucking bastard,” I said, tossing one arm on the bed and attempting to pull myself up. “How long was I out?”

“Oh, an hour or so. That’s usually the worst part of it for humans. Now that you’re bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, Cariena’s going to help you look respectable.”

I glared at him. I didn’t know who’d stripped me down to this T-shirt and underwear, but if it had been him, he’d die extra slow. The scathing look he gave me suggested, however, that he found as little pleasure in me as I did in him.

“You can’t keep me here,” I warned, managing at last to sit back on the bed. “Someone’s going to come looking for me.”

“Who?” he asked. “You were the idiot who wandered off from your people. None of them saw you taken. None of them saw me or any of my companions—well, except for your two meager guards, and they won’t say anything to anyone ever again.”

With a sinking feeling, I knew he was right. Nobody knew what had happened to me. I’d mentioned the Yellow River theory off and on to a few of my friends, but none of them had any reason to suspect that was connected to my post-battle disappearance. If anything, they’d probably think there’d been another demon on the loose.

“Who the hell were your companions anyway?” I demanded, recalling the trained fighters. “Did you hire a mercenary army or something?”

Art only smiled. “Cariena, get her dressed.” To me, he said, “Cooperate, or she’ll be the one who suffers for your disobedience.”

He left, shutting the door behind him. I heard the snick of a lock. Across the room, Cariena watched me with big, terrified eyes. She feared both me and Art. I sighed. “It’s okay. I’ll get dressed. I don’t want to run around in my underwear anyway.”

Visibly relieved, she stepped forward and unfurled what she held: a dress. A gentry-style dress.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I said. “Isn’t there something else?”

Cariena cringed. “It’s all he gave me.”

I eyed the bedspread, almost wondering if I could go all Scarlett O’Hara and make something for myself. Then, seeing Cariena’s pale face, I yielded again. I wouldn’t let Art beat her or give her to some guy because of me. I took the dress from her but discovered I couldn’t put it on without help, not with my weak muscles and groggy motor control. Being in that state infuriated me. I hated being helpless. More upsetting still was that I was essentially free, unbound and able to move about…but I had no means to fight or defend myself. I could barely even stand. I was a prisoner in my own body.

The dress was a mix of lavender and pale blue. I guess you’d call it periwinkle, which I’d always thought was a dorky name. It was made of smooth, clingy velvet that hugged my body and laced up the back corset-style. The sleeves were long and form-fitting, and the scoop neckline was much lower than my usual style. I’d only wear something that showed that much cleavage if I was going on a date with Kiyo—or trying to coax a favor from Dorian.