Blood of Stone_A Shattered Magic Novel Read online

  But my life outside Faerie gave me some degree of freedom from Fae affairs and politics, which I strongly preferred to avoid. My job in the Earthly realm also gave me space from Marisol. If I’d lived in Faerie, I’d be at her beck and call. Hunting down criminal vamps was more important to me.

  Maxen’s eyes slipped down over my patched scabbard strap, torn jeans, and worn leather boots. “If you joined the Stone Order’s fighting legion, you’d have top-of-the-line equipment. Daily access to the best training facility. You’d be set up with everything you needed, and you wouldn’t have to worry about earning a paycheck.”

  This was our other little ongoing push and pull. When I sidestepped the obligation-to-your-people play, he always tried to persuade me to leave the Guild to join the battle ranks of the Stone Order.

  I shook my head. “Placing myself squarely under Marisol’s thumb for all eternity? No thanks.”

  He gave a sad smile that was very much meant to tug at my heart. “You’re one of the best fighters in Faerie, Petra. Your skills are wasted with the Guild. The future of the New Gargoyles hangs in the balance. Your people need you.”

  His plea seemed a bit dramatic, but there was some truth behind the seriousness of it. While Marisol was doing everything she could to strengthen the Stone Order’s position, several of the other Faerie rulers were working to oppose her efforts so they could absorb the New Gargs into their own kingdoms. She needed to show strength in every way possible.

  “You know what my work means to me,” I said. “I vowed a long time ago to get criminal vamps off the streets.”

  He pressed his lips together, seemingly holding back further attempts at persuasion.

  “Your turn to answer questions,” I said. “What brings you into a place like this?”

  “Business with King Sebastian,” he said. His hand moved to rest lightly on the pommel of his sword. The unconscious gesture suggested perhaps the visit wasn’t entirely amicable.

  My eyebrows rose. “Oh?”

  Any remnants of lightheartedness faded from Maxen’s face, and his eyes tightened. “Sebastian persuaded a small group of New Gargoyles, ones with some Spriggan blood, to leave the Order and swear fealty to him. I’m here to ask that he allow a Stone Order ambassador to reside in his court, seeing as how we now have this connection.”

  Maxen was being extremely diplomatic. Even as ignorant of politics as I was, I knew this wasn’t truly his aim, or at least not his only one. Marisol would want our people to retract their oath to Sebastian. Not that taking back an oath was a simple matter in Faerie, but it could be done, and I knew Marisol took it as a personal affront when a New Garg pledged to a different leader. It didn’t happen often, but as she always said, every New Gargoyle mattered, and our race needed to be united to have any hope of forming our own kingdom.

  “And how is the Spriggan king receiving you?” I asked wryly. I didn’t envy Maxen one bit. His mother had sent him on an impossible errand.

  “Actually, you can see for yourself,” he said. He pointed up to a roped-off area in the balcony. I scolded myself silently. How could I have missed those royal guards? I should have been paying better attention. “Sebastian is up there right now, and he sent me to ask you to join us.”

  I swallowed back a groan. “Can’t do it. Busy.” I lifted my palms and shrugged in a so-sorry gesture.

  The corner of Maxen’s mouth quirked a bit. “You know you can’t refuse the summons of a Fae king without causing an inter-kingdom uproar. C’mon, Maguire. Buck up.”

  He grabbed my wrist and began pulling me toward the staircase.

  “But I’m not dressed for a royal audience,” I protested, dragging my feet. “And he’ll blow my cover. My job depends on discretion!”

  As Maxen forced me upstairs and across the balcony, I caught a good view of the vamp at the VIP table just as a human kid wearing a ball cap pulled low over his eyes passed a wad of cash into the hand of one of the vamp’s entourage. The vamp, a stocky, swarthy guy with dark brown eyes, nodded. Then he stood, pulled on his jacket, and headed for the stairs. As soon as he was clear of the balcony, another of his entourage, a too-thin Fae girl with silver hair down to her waist, slipped a small glass vial of a clear liquid to the kid. Not VAMP3 blood, but it had to be some other drug.

  Damn it to Maeve, that vamp was likely my mark, and it looked like he was leaving.

  “Your sword, madam,” said a deep authoritative voice. It was one of Sebastian’s guards. A typical Spriggan, he was built like a muscle-bound oak. He held out one beefy hand and nodded at the grip of my broadsword. I lifted the scabbard strap over my head and reluctantly passed it to him.

  “Let me go, Maxen,” I hissed. “My mark is getting away.”

  “Petra Maguire, how delightful to see you here!” called a cultured voice. The guard shifted as he turned to set my sword aside, and I caught sight of Sebastian.

  “Too late,” Maxen whispered to me. He actually looked contrite.

  The Spriggan king beckoned to me. “Not to worry, my man Gerald will keep a watchful eye on your prized shadowsteel spellblade. Please do join us.” Sebastian’s mouth was relaxed into a pleasant smile, but his eyes were commanding. When I hesitated, his brows rose a fraction.

  Maxen was right. I couldn’t refuse an invitation of audience with a Fae king. It was just one of those Fae things there was no getting around.

  Before I was ushered past the velvet rope, I caught one last glance of the swarthy vamp. He appeared to be speaking to the head bartender or perhaps the owner, a Fae man with a close-cropped salt-and-pepper beard. If my mark got away while I was being forced to dance like a monkey for the king, I was going to wring Maxen’s neck.

  Irritation buzzed through me like a swarm of hornets. But I tamped it down, mustered up what I hoped passed as a smile, and faced the Spriggan king.

  Chapter 2

  BEING SEPARATED FROM Mort made me edgy, and it took all of my self-control to keep from glancing over at the spot where my scabbard was propped against the wall. The broadsword was imbued with my blood and therefore my magic, and I got a little twitchy when it was out of reach.

  Maxen, in contrast, was allowed to keep his sword and daggers in King Sebastian’s presence. Something to do with court protocol for diplomats, most likely. I only knew enough of Faerie court etiquette to keep from getting in too much trouble, but I had never bothered to learn the hundreds of finer points that were second nature for Maxen.

  I made an awkward curtsy in front of Sebastian, not an easy thing to do in skin-tight jeans. With no skirt to fan out, I just had to lift my arms at my sides as I put one ankle behind the other, bent my knees, and bowed my head. It was the proper practice for female Fae wearing pants, but there was really no graceful way to do it.

  With that little ritual out of the way, the king gestured to a couch, indicating that Maxen and I should both sit there.

  Rather than the traditional, showy finery and jewels that many Fae rulers favored, Sebastian was dressed in the human style of a rich businessman: a sleek-looking dark suit with a crisp white shirt and tastefully patterned tie. Only the chunky, bejeweled rings on his fingers gave away his love of sparkly things.

  “And how is your father?” the Spriggan king asked as he settled himself on a tall-backed, overstuffed chair that actually looked a bit like a throne.

  I blinked. “Oliver? He’s well,” I said.

  I’d been calling my father by his first name since I was about ten years old. He wasn’t the warm-and-fuzzy type, and even when I was a child it had felt more natural than calling him “Dad.”

  My brain chugged as I tried to work out how my father knew Sebastian and guess at how amicable—or not—their relationship was.

  “You’re surprised we’re acquainted?” Sebastian asked.

  “A bit, yes,” I admitted.

  “Ah. Well, I’m making it a point to try to get to know all of your people.” He shot me a knowing smile as if we shared a secret, and it made me want t
o back away.

  Okay, at least I had a clue about why he’d called me up here. I decided not to dance around it. I wanted to get back to work before this stupid visit cost me my assignment.

  I gave him a tight smile. “I’ve heard some New Gargoyles have sworn oaths to you. I hope you’re not counting on my fealty. I’d hate to cause you disappointment, Your Majesty.”

  Maxen shifted beside me, my directness obviously making him uneasy.

  “Perhaps it might help if you understood why several of your people feel the Spriggan kingdom is their rightful home and I’m their rightful king,” Sebastian said. He crossed his legs, visibly muscular even in dress pants.

  Fine, I’d bite. “What was their reason, Your Majesty?” I asked.

  “The Spriggan’s hedges in Ireland house by far the largest population of nesting Old World gargoyles in Faerie. The creatures from which your own people’s characteristics were derived.” He said it as if he’d made some sort of profound pronouncement that should end any doubt in my mind about swearing fealty to him right then and there.

  I snorted a laugh before I could control myself. Sebastian’s expression held, but I caught anger flashing in his eyes.

  “But Your Majesty, the Old World gargoyles are to us like the great apes are to humans. Or as a housecat is to a lion of the Serengeti,” I said. “Yes, there is some connection between those creatures in your hedge and the race of New Gargoyles that spontaneously emerged at the Cataclysm, but only in a vague sense. Those creatures don’t even possess sufficient intelligence to be subjects of your kingdom. Are you really implying that I should consider them my ancestors, and because they happen to nest in your hedge I should swear allegiance to the Spriggan kingdom?”

  It was beyond ridiculous. And if there were New Gargoyles who had actually bought Sebastian’s reasoning, I wanted nothing to do with them. Marisol should let them go as a favor to the Stone Order’s gene pool.

  But as I took in Sebastian’s face, I realized I’d pushed too far. I’d ridiculed him in front of Maxen and the other courtiers sitting nearby. Our corner of the balcony had gone so quiet I could hear the sound of my own pulse in my head. I slid a glance at Maxen, but he refused to look at me. His jaw muscles were bunched, and the tendon on the side of his neck was tight.

  I pushed my palms back and forth across the denim fabric that stretched over my thighs, mentally scrambling for some way I could smooth things a little.

  Before I could come up with anything useful, movement in my periphery drew my attention upward. Just as I tilted my head back to see what it was, a small person clad in black dropped on a cord from the ceiling like a giant spider from the rafters. Metal flashed.

  “Get down!” I shouted at Sebastian.

  I sprang to the side, rolling across the floor toward the wall where Mort was. I snatched the blade from its scabbard, whirled, and charged at the intruder.

  As I moved, I connected to Mort and activated the blood magic that made me one with my weapon. Violet-blue fire lit around my arm and surrounded the blade, extending the range of damage I could do with it.

  In the second or two I’d spent to grab Mort, two more compact black figures dropped from above, each about four feet tall. All three wore masks that obscured everything but their eyes.

  The first intruder hurled a throwing knife at Sebastian. One of Sebastian’s men shoved the king to the floor, both of them falling near Maxen’s feet. The knife stuck in the guard’s shoulder. Maxen had his sword in hand, and his own blue-black magic ignited. He rushed at one of the assassins.

  I charged one of the others, jabbing forward at the assassin’s torso with deadly intent. He jumped to the side, agile as a cat, and my blade grazed off his ribcage, tearing fabric and drawing blood but inflicting only a superficial wound.

  An agonized scream from the ground drew my attention, and a glance revealed that the knife in the guard’s shoulder was smoking. He clawed at it desperately, rolling off the king in an effort to stop the pain. His screams turned to foamy gurgles and then silenced.

  Just in time, I turned to see my own opponent fling two very short knives at my chest. In less than a blink, I focused on the magic coursing through my blood and drew it to the surface of my skin, where it formed a thin, stony layer. The knives pierced my shirt but pinged off my natural armor.

  The assassin tilted his head in confusion. I dropped to one knee, scooped up one of his knives, and flicked it back at him. It sank right into his heart. He clutched at it and then fell to the floor like a bag of rocks. Smoke began to rise around the blade.

  The third assassin had seen his opening, with the king exposed, and was going for Sebastian. I charged forward, my arm swinging, and Mort traced an arc that was only slightly interrupted by the would-be assassin’s neck. The blade, sharpened by my magic, passed through with hardly any friction. The violet flame instantly cauterized the neck opening, neatly keeping the gore inside. I was particularly proud of that trick—beheadings without the mess.

  The assassin’s head toppled across the floor and bumped against one leg of the sofa where Maxen and I had been sitting only a few seconds before.

  I looked over at him and then down at the body of the remaining assassin, which was face-down and still. Blood pooled from the chest wound and wetted the dark fabric on the back, indicating Maxen’s sword had gone clear through. He tapped the head with the toe of his boot and gave me a grim nod.

  I scanned the ceiling, and seeing no more attackers lurking, I released my magic. The violet flames around my arm and Mort disappeared. Aching pain bloomed across my torso where I’d activated my stone armor, and fatigue weakened my legs, but I shoved both aside.

  I went to Sebastian, who had pushed up on one hip and sat staring in horror at the twisted, tortured face of his dead guard. The knife was still steaming but had started to droop as the flesh around it began to melt away under a powerful poison.

  I squatted next to the king, partially blocking his view of the dead man. “Your Majesty?” I asked. “Are you hurt?”

  He looked up at me, his mouth open, and then blinked several times and swallowed.

  “No,” he said weakly. He cleared his throat. “No, I believe I’m unharmed.”

  Maxen came over and linked elbows with the king, pulling him to his feet. Maxen winced, but not because of the effort of getting Sebastian off the ground. It was the residual pain of having used stone armor, the price we paid for such protective magic.

  Sebastian pulled his jacket smooth and brushed a hand down one sleeve. “Gerald!” he called, looking around.

  He peered past me and flinched. I twisted around to see Gerald, the head of Sebastian’s security detail, slumped over with a smoking knife sticking out of the middle of his back. Another of the king’s men was sprawled face-up with a blade in his chest. Only one seemed to be still alive and was just coming to after apparently having been knocked unconscious.

  The house music was still pulsing, and no one seemed to have even noticed the attack.

  “Stay here and guard him,” Maxen said to me. “I’m going outside to move some of the king’s guards in here. With your permission, Your Majesty?”

  Maxen waited for Sebastian’s nod and then took off.

  “Any idea who would want to kill you?” I asked Sebastian, still scanning for more attackers.

  I glanced at the king just as he pushed his fingers through his short, fashionably spiked hair.

  “You mean besides the rulers of most of the Faerie kingdoms?” he said with a humorless little bark of a laugh. He was clearly still shaken. His joke fell flat, anyway, as Sebastian wasn’t powerful enough to be the target of all of the rulers in Faerie. He was known for his posturing.

  I bent and snatched the mask off the attacker that Maxen had killed. The guy’s nearly-white skin marked him Baen Sidhe, colloquially known as banshees. By his small stature and the narrow ears with pointed tips, I guessed he was also at least half dwarf. Odd combination, but not the strangest I’d
ever seen in Faerie. I checked the other two and found the same, except that one was a woman.

  I straightened. “Pissed off any dwarves or banshees lately?” I asked.

  “Not in particular.” Sebastian went to his chair and sagged down onto it, his hands propped onto his knees. His mouth hardened, and he cast a look down at the bar below. “My men secured this place. I don’t understand how this happened.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know, but that’s some nasty poison magic they used. Probably not banshee or dwarvish. Neither race is handy with potions. I’d have your investigators analyze those knives and the poison, and I bet you’ll find who was behind the attack.”

  He passed a hand over his eyes. “They were very swift. If not for you and Maxen, well . . . I might not still be breathing.”

  I shifted my feet uncomfortably. What he’d just said was dangerously close to “thank you.” In the Fae world, such an utterance was tricky for both the giver and the receiver, and I didn’t want that sort of vulnerability opened up between me and the Spriggan king.

  To my relief, Maxen charged up the stairs with half a dozen Spriggan guards on his heels, plus the man with the salt-and-pepper beard I’d seen my mark talking to.

  Four of the guards took up posts, and the other two set to work moving aside the bodies of the dead guards and assassins, hiding them behind one of the sofas.

  The bearded man bowed in front of Sebastian. “Your Majesty, I don’t know how this happened.”

  I figured he must be the owner of the bar.

  The king flicked his hand through the air as if waving away a fly. “Assassination attempts are one of the dangers of ruling a kingdom,” Sebastian said with a self-important tone. “We’ll have a full review of your security procedures, of course.”

  Sebastian’s cool outward confidence had returned full force, but I’d seen how shaken he was only moments before. He was playing it off for the bar owner, and also perhaps for his men who were nearby.