The Unseelie King (The Kings Book 6) (17 page)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

When he and Minerva had made love, their magic had mingled. She now possessed a part of his, and he a part of hers. He had no idea how long that would last, but it had lasted up to now, and that was all that mattered.

He used his share of her power then and there, pulling it all together in a mass of nearly combustible magic that swelled within his chest to the point of pain. And then, as he noticed his brother and the others approach once more behind the entity that now faced him, he muttered a single wish, making sure to word it just right.

“I wish that Minerva would now know fully the terrible destruction she caused in the Massacre Between Realms.”

Because he possessed a piece of her within himself, and because he simply knew his queen to the deepest levels, he knew that her immense Wisher power came at the price of immense empathy. The more you felt, the more you truly understood, and the more willing you were to fix what was wrong. This empathy was the fuel of Wisher power.

The problem was, there were so many things that could not be fixed, but were felt anyway. The mortal realm was full of them: countless battles, rapes, diseases, tortures, disasters.

Minerva was different from her sister. As the dark side of the moon, she was more powerful. That much was clear to Caliban now. She did not have to cast spells in vengeance to work her magic, nor did her more powerful magic contain itself in the time of her transformation. She would always be able to cast it, and it would always be strong.

But the empathy she felt for the worlds around her was part of the price she would continue to pay. And that was the part he was depending on now.

Long ago, humans believed that “possession” of a human by a demonic force could be cured by making the human vessel so uncomfortable, the demon would have no choice but to leave it. They would then torture the “possessed” human mercilessly, sometimes to the point of death. It was utter and sheer nonsense, of course, completely unnecessary, and amounted to cruel and unusual punishment for nothing. Torture, plain and simple. What humans at that time considered possession actually amounted to no more than physical sickness, fevers, mental illnesses, and in some cases, a misplaced desire for attention.

However, Caliban knew good and well that no entity with the desire to possess another being would
ever
stoop so low as to do so with a mortal. Hence, no human to date had ever actually been possessed, no matter what history had written down.

Still, humans happened to be right about
one
thing. It was a combination of lucky guessing and the simple human, psychopathic desire to cause suffering to another, but the fact was, they were right about needing to make the vessel uncomfortable.

Sometimes, even the psychopaths earned a win.

If Caliban’s wish worked, and Minerva suddenly knew the full extent of the damage she had caused when her power got away from her several nights ago, the entity that possessed her would suddenly be overrun with so much pain, it would suffer sensations it had never before suffered.

So he cast the spell and hoped.

The black in Minerva’s eyes retreated for a moment, and Caliban saw a hint of blue flame. His hope swelled.

But then she closed her eyes and a furrow appeared in her forehead. The breeze around her that lifted her up and blew through her hair, picked up in fury. The ground began to clear as debris tumbled and skittered away. The trees at the edge of the clearing rocked back and forth in strong agitation.

Cal felt something abrasive brush against his aura. It was painful and dark. Even darker than he was.

The wish was working, and the knowledge that Minerva was inside there somewhere, suffering pain that he’d given her, was cold and unforgiving. It gnawed at his insides, making them raw. But he didn’t stop there. Now was no time for any show of weakness. He pressed on with the second part of his plan.

For some reason, cold iron had no effect on Wishers, which was one of the many mysteries they’d never had a chance to figure out, because most Wish Fae had been destroyed long ago. However, while he’d been granted Wisher powers, Minerva had been saddled with those of a Tuath, and Tuath fae were very much affected by iron.

He didn’t have any of Minerva’s wish magic left, so Caliban used a bit of his own magic to contact his brother mentally.

We need iron. Now.

Avery didn’t bother responding. Instead, he nodded. Then he turned to his wife.

He must have spoken with her in the same manner, because Selene curled her hands into fists, and her ice blue eyes began to burn like Minerva’s. She squared the entity with a look of pure, searing hatred, and said, “I wish you were wrapped in iron chains.”

The chains appeared like whips in the air, tentacles of menacing metal, covered in cuffs and spikes of cruel, inescapable design. They floated on either side of the entity, flailing and glowing.

The entity looked from one side to the other, and real fear erupted on its features.

The chains struck like a living animal, fierce and terrible. They slammed into Minerva’s form, causing Caliban’s gut to clench so hard, he fell to one knee. They wrapped around her, just like the coils of a whip hugging tight, and Minerva’s flesh began to smoke.

She screamed, and a wail of unimaginable pain echoed through the Twixt. Cal’s heart skipped, stopped beating, and started back up again.

“Oh gods!” he bellowed. Avery once more held him back. Cal hadn’t even known he was struggling to reach her. He felt a wetness on his cheeks.

“Hold him!”

Someone else was there. Flashes of light erupted throughout the clearing. The smell of fae magic filled the night like star dust and witch’s brew. There was the sound of running, and there were more shouts.

But overriding it all like the dying cry of a monstrous beast was the ear-splitting sound of the Unseelie Queen being cooked alive.

Caliban felt a hundred hands on him. Their grips bruised. He was even bleeding. He tasted it in his mouth, felt it on his upper lip. And then he looked up, to peer through the haze of blurry eyes, and watch one final, telling flash of light.

This one was black. Black light. It was unmistakable, and there would have been no other way to describe it. Minerva’s writhing, wailing, sizzling, screaming form finally flashed – like dark lightning.

And then she fell.

At once, the chains were gone. But not far from her still, fallen form, a miasma of evil churned and bubbled and stretched out, until it had once more assumed the shape of a sickeningly tall and thin man.

This man stepped forward from the shadows to stand over the unconscious Unseelie Queen. “A pity,” he said softly, in the most unnaturally normal voice. He shrugged. And sighed. “But it was worth a shot.”

Caliban watched as the thin man stepped back into the shadows – and vanished altogether.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Cal crawled on hands and knees to his bride’s side. She lay prone, and so still, he wondered if she were breathing. A very large part of him was afraid to check. It didn’t
dare
check.

Her clothing had been singed and melted, and parts of it were obviously burned into her body. The smell of cooked meat permeated the space near her. Caliban heard crying, and realized that despite his pain, it wasn’t him.

It was Selene. He saw her in the periphery of his vision as she crashed onto her knees beside him.

“What have I done….” It was the softest, most desperate whisper.

But it was Caliban who had done this. It had been his idea. “Give me a blade,” he choked, his voice all gravel and pain. He’d saved his brother once by giving Avery his blood. Maybe it would work for Minerva, despite the fact that she was neither Tuath nor officially the queen. She had not yet mentally accepted her place at his side. She’d run from him.

And he couldn’t blame her.

“That won’t be necessary.”

This voice, Caliban recognized at once. It was ancient and scratchy and beyond powerful. It filled the clearing with authority, and purpose. Cal turned to glance at the old witch over his shoulder.

“As our friend Pi suggested, I brought help.” Lalura held up her hand, where a flame danced nervously. It seemed to perform a bow of sorts before Caliban, then continued dancing in the witch’s outstretched hand.

Lalura stepped back, moved to the side, and Cal found himself looking up at the last of the Sidhe kings, Damon Chroi.

And his wife, Diana. Who was very obviously no longer pregnant.

Diana Chroi, the Goblin Queen, was a healer. So far, she was one of only two known gems amongst the magical kingdoms.

Diana strode to Minerva’s side and nodded respectfully at Caliban. Hope rushed in to fill the crack in Caliban’s heart like superglue. “Can you save her?”

“The physical wounds she’s endured are life threatening, but she can heal them herself with a little help,” she said. “The scars will take longer.” She squared him with a hard look. “But they’re nothing compared to what she is suffering –
here
.” Diana touched her own head and then her heart to symbolize the emotional attack Minerva had undergone.

“You will need to remedy that with great swiftness, your majesty,” said Lalura firmly, where she stood still holding the flickering fire elemental. “He was right, after all. The Tuath woman told her only half the story.”

“How long have you been standing there?” Avery asked Lalura.

Diana faced Minerva’s fallen form again, and nodded at Caliban. “Help me turn her over,” she instructed.

Lalura addressed Avery’s question by glancing at Titania. The two exchanged a secret look. “Just long enough,” she replied. “You’re all bleeding, by the way,” she added as she leaned a little on her cane and made her wobbly way to a large boulder that Cal was certain wasn’t there before.

He knew the old witch was referring to the fact that they all had nose bleeds; he could taste his own and he saw them on everyone else’s faces. But he couldn’t have cared less. He all but ignored the conversation going on around him. His gut clenched for the thousandth time in the last seventy-two hours, and his breath stilled in his lungs. His fingers gently curled around Minerva’s shoulders, grasping for that hold that was tight enough but not too tight.

So fragile.

She felt like a China doll. How much more could she take before those cracks in her split open and she shattered there before him?

Once more, his cheeks were wet, but he ignored it like the blood on his upper lip. His entire being was focused on Minerva’s face as she was rolled gently over onto her back.

Her hair had returned to its white blonde, and by some great fortune, none of the iron had touched her face, leaving it unmarred. It was the face of an angel. But there was a hollow darkness beneath her closed eyes. Caliban would have given his right hand just then for her to open those eyes and let him see her blue fire.

He bent over her form, instinct driving him to do what he both needed to do and what needed to be done. He closed his eyes and placed the gentlest of kisses upon her lips.

As he did so, a trickle of his magic entered her battered form. Caliban opened his eyes; he could actually
see
the power, a sparkling blue-black darkness that settled over her and began to sink into her body.

Diana pressed her hand to Minerva’s chest, and that power redirected itself to the glowing white beneath Diana’s magical touch. The sparkling black expanded, infused with Diana’s healing magic, and spread to encompass Minerva’s entire form.

Now Caliban allowed himself to view the rest of his queen’s body. He’d been afraid to do it before. But the burned welts and blackened scars and dried blood were not so frightening, not nearly so traumatic when they were smoothed over by the infusion of healing-fae power, which little by little closed up the still-bleeding wounds, mended torn flesh, and repaired what had been damaged.

Within seconds, the outward signs of her struggle had been reduced to countless red, puffy scars of all shapes and sizes. Diana lowered her head in healing exhaustion. She removed her hand from Minerva’s chest as Damon Chroi came up behind her and placed his palm gently upon her back. She turned to look up at him.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She nodded, and he helped her stand. They stepped back together as Caliban tenderly cupped Minerva’s sleeping face. At his touch, her eyelashes fluttered.

His heart and his gaze flared with hope.

Her eyes came open to reveal the deep, midnight blue he would have given his kingdom away to see again. At their centers flickered small, steady blue flames.

“I have to admit, that was quick thinking on your part,” Lalura told him from where she now sat on the very conveniently chair-shaped boulder that even more conveniently possessed several inches of thick moss in its seat. “Using that emotional attack. I’m not certain it would have worked on anyone else.” She made a small, contemplative sound. “But I’m afraid you can’t take all the credit for her freedom.”

Cal listened, but he couldn’t take his eyes from his queen’s gaze. She’d trapped him there the moment she’d opened her eyes, and she wasn’t letting go any time soon. There was incredible strength in the depths of those flames.

“She used a wish of her own,” supplied Titania, who had been silently standing to the side until that moment. She came forward, knelt on the other side of Minerva, and sighed a pretty, proud little sigh. “She’s already strong enough to cast her wishes without speaking. And that’s what she did. When she was trapped by the entity, she cast a wish.” She looked up at Caliban, and finally he found the will to pull his gaze away and meet the fairy’s. “I could hear it because it was what she desired in that moment more than anything else. Her wish was that whatever you decided to do to help her would work.”

Caliban stared at the fairy. Her words ran through him a second time. But it wasn’t until he processed them a third time that the reality of what she’d just said hit him: He hadn’t saved his queen. She’d saved herself.

In awe, he once more peered down at his beautiful, amazing, brilliant mate. Minerva smiled, but it was a sad smile filled with the pain of a hundred deaths.

She truly was more powerful than he was. Which meant she had taken her place at his side.

“Hi Moonbeam,” he whispered, as he gently brushed his knuckles across her cheek. They were words meant for her alone.

She blinked her response, and the corners of her mouth curled up just a touch more.

She was alive. She was free of the entity. She was going to heal. And now it was time for him to tell her the whole truth that Dahlia had not told her about the Massacre Between Realms.

And hopefully ease away most of the pain he saw in her eyes.