Seven Black Diamonds (4 page)
Roan waited in the alley behind the Paragon hotel for his closest friend and ally. If anyone asked, he was her date. It was a convenient cover for their meetings—and for the fact that he had about as much interest in girls as he had in joining a country club. Roan had given his heart away several years ago, and the only people who believed otherwise were the ones who didn’t know him at all. Violet Lamb knew him as well as anyone in either world could.
He shivered a little. The filthy water pooled in gutters behind the hotel made him feel vaguely queasy. There was no way around it though: meeting Violet in the lobby was sure to lead to other problems. She was here filming some sort of action film, and the photographers and fans were all but camped out in the lobby. The hotel allowed it tonight,
which gave her a better shot at slipping out through the service elevator without being seen.
It was a familiar routine. Roan waited until he spied her sidling along the building. Her flame-red hair was tightly bound in a braid, and she had a long leather coat with an oversized hood pulled up to further hide the spill of red curls that everyone thought came from a salon. Like him, Violet was fae—specifically, born of the Seelie. Those of the so-called “better” fae court were what was traditionally called “sun-burnished.” For centuries, the descendants of the Seelie fae had been mistaken for African Americans, Latin Americans, or people with Middle Eastern ancestry. Violet’s mother was from the Southern Continent, so she played up the illusion of Hispanic blood whereas Roan and Creed both had human families who were visibly African American. Being even slightly fae-blood would result in imprisonment, so they all had been raised to encourage not only the misconception that they were simply darker-skinned humans, but also that they made themselves appear more attractive by way of cosmetics or other chemicals.
All fae or fae-blood—those who were descendants of the fae, but not true fae—had to simply pretend to be shallow enough to care about appearance. Some, like Violet, had an easier time of it because of the role they took in this world. Vi was an actress, one who loved her job and the primping that came with it. Tonight, though, she was dressed to hide in the shadows: over-large black sunglasses,
her standard tall leather boots, black jeans, and her black leather coat. He teased her once about the leather, but she pointed out that everything else held the scent of smoke too easily.
He took her hand when she was in reach and led her toward the car he’d left in the next street over. No words were spoken until they were both inside the nondescript dark sedan he’d borrowed for the weekend.
“Are you okay?” she said once they were safely out of range of any possible listeners.
“Is there another choice?” he asked. If he were to tell her he couldn’t handle the job, she’d do it for him. She
had
done so, more than a few times, but there was a limit to how much he was willing to let her take on for him. The fact that they were cheating by doing his mission together was enough risk.
“You know there is.” Her tiny hand landed on his, and he could feel the heat even though she was containing it. Violet’s affinity was fire, the precise opposite of his. She had great control over it—at least she did when there was a crisis—so he wouldn’t want anyone else at his back.
He turned his hand over and squeezed hers briefly. “Not this time. You’ve done more than enough for me . . . and for Will.”
She shrugged. “Family, right?”
“Always.” With Violet or Will, Roan could let his guard down. He could admit that he wasn’t as laissez-faire as everyone believed. With them, he could admit that he
hated what they were tasked with doing, hated the way it made him feel, and sometimes in words never spoken
too
overtly, he admitted that he hated the Queen of Blood and Rage. With Violet or Will, Roan didn’t need to be anything but honest.
“I’m glad Will isn’t here,” he murmured.
“One of these days . . .” Violet let the words die before she spoke them. Some of the Sleepers had been tasked with easier things, but both Violet and Roan had gone on several missions that ended with human deaths. Will, Creed, and Alkamy had all been spared that awful experience so far.
Both Roan and Violet lapsed into silence as he drove them to the train station. There were times when he’d been able to pretend, to try to keep up some sort of banter as they set out to commit murder. After two years of such missions, his ability to feign indifference was no longer worth the energy it stole—and Vi didn’t require it of him.
Once they arrived at the station, Roan pulled into the lot and cut the engine. They sat in continued silence for several more moments.
“Let me do this,” she urged.
“No. Smoke only,” he stressed. “That’s what we agreed. If they’re unconscious, maybe the water won’t . . .” His words faded. He didn’t know whether it would hurt less to die of drowning or smoke inhalation. Being burned sounded like the worst option. That much he was fairly sure of.
Violet said nothing as she opened her door and stepped into the lot. The upside of her career was that it provided
cover and alibis. The downside was that she was far too recognizable. Alkamy, who was just as beautiful, coped with the issue of recognition by only releasing one album—and avoiding tour. It gave her
some
ability to hide.
Creed simply didn’t care if he was killed or caught; he was all but taunting death these days. Violet, on the other hand, genuinely loved acting and didn’t
want
to get caught—but she couldn’t refuse orders. None of them could.
Roan closed the car door softly. The order wasn’t
hers
. This was his mission, his responsibility.
“Maybe you should stay here,” he blurted when he reached her side.
“As if.” Violet bumped into him lightly. “Come on. We’ve got this.”
The walk toward the metro station was silent, but when they started descending, she looked over her shoulder and reminded him, “I need electrical shortages. No video footage, just in case it’s live feed.”
They were halfway down the escalator when he started pulling droplets of water from the air and dowsing electronics. The escalator shuddered to a stop when they were two-thirds of the way to the bottom. Violet didn’t miss a beat. She continued walking forward as if the escalator had always been mere steps.
He followed, barely pausing when the escalator erupted in flames behind him. It was necessary, if cruel. There would be no retreat that way, not for any of the people in the
tunnel ahead of them currently awaiting trains.
Her hands seem to glow as if embers writhed under the surface. Trickles of flames slid over her skin, as if she was coaxing them out. Clouds of smoke grew and billowed from her body and rolled forward. The air grew thicker and thicker with smoke.
Roan could see people in the tunnel as the smoke engulfed them. He told himself that they were all monsters, actively destroying the earth, poisoners who would kill him for his heritage. He told himself they deserved to die. He tried to recall every cruel thing that his childhood handler had taught him about humanity, to summon every reason why the queen’s war was just and good.
Then people began yelling.
“We need to reach the other opening of the tunnel before they escape that way,” Violet said, spurring him forward, reminding him that this was
planned
chaos.
“I know.” Even opening his mouth to speak those two words made his throat burn. The fog-like air had the tinge of wood fires and ash, and Roan tried not to cough at the taste in his mouth. Minutes passed as they walked forward in silence. When they reached the other end of the platform, Violet sent a wave of fire to close off the mouth of the tunnel. No train could enter. No one could exit.
Then, the screams began in earnest.
Roan reached out with his affinity, not to pull droplets of water from the quickly drying air, but to find the pipes
that he knew ran nearby.
People started running toward them, passing them as they tried to reach the wall of fire. Others tried to run toward the escalator. Both exits were sealed.
Reflexively, he started to warn them, “Wait, you can’t—”
“Don’t,” Violet snapped, cutting him off, reminding him of his mission. Saving them wasn’t it.
The heat from her body grew stronger, and sweat trickled down the back of his shirt.
“Focus, Roan,” she said in a less harsh tone.
“I . . .”
He heard the yelling, the screams, grow louder, and he must’ve said something else because Violet started to glow brighter. She gripped his hand in hers tightly enough that he winced. He knew that if he didn’t act that wall of fire would surge toward them. Everyone not being touched by Violet would be incinerated.
“I have this,” he insisted, as he summoned the water, the force of his call breaking the pipes and driving the water toward the people on the platform, drowning them as they tried to flee the smoke and flames.
He didn’t look at them. He didn’t listen to them. He did his job.
Violet’s fire retracted at some point when he was concentrating. All that was left was haze and ash. “We need to go,” she said, her voice rough in that way that told him that the smoke was covering tears.
He nodded, but couldn’t speak.
“Just don’t look,” she said.
And then her hand was in his, and they were walking toward the charred mouth of the tunnel.
Eilidh slipped back into the Hidden Lands. She’d been moving between worlds since she was old enough to walk. Back then, she didn’t know that it was not authorized for the fae to travel. Back then, she didn’t know that the queen had ordered an end to all contact between the worlds. She knew now, and it made her cautious.
. . . but obviously not cautious enough. Her only true friend among the fae sat on the branch of a dead tree. He was twice her age, but among the fae—whose lives lasted for centuries—that made them both children.
“You’ll get caught one of these times, Patches,” Torquil said. His tone wasn’t quite lecturing, but it was close enough that she made a rude gesture.
He laughed and dropped to the ground in front of her, close enough that she felt the warmth radiating from his
skin. Even though he was as dark as the night itself, Torquil still glimmered in the shadows of the Hidden Lands like a small star made flesh. Hair so pale it was merely a moment darker than white framed a face that sculptors could only dream of. Some fae could never walk among humans, could never hide their Otherness. Torquil was one of them. Sometimes Eilidh thought it was part of why he seemed so young, despite the years he’d lived before her birth.
She scanned the area, although she knew he undoubtedly had already done so. “I’m as careful as you.”
“Careful isn’t the same for you, now is it?” His voice felt like music to her after the harsh sounds of the mortal world.
“Because I’m so memorable?” Eilidh twisted her hair up to expose the myriad lines and fractures that earned her the nickname only Torquil and Lilywhite ever used.
“No.” He traced a finger over her wrist, following one of the lines to her elbow. If she was any other fae, she’d think it was flirtatious, but Torquil was her childhood friend—despite the dreams she often had of him. “Because the queen worries about you.”
Eilidh rolled her eyes. “Mother worries because I’m her heir. She worries that Father won’t manage to gift her with a healthy child to replace me. She
worries
that she’ll have to hand the throne over to a broken princess instead of the baby who was lost to the sea.”
“So where were you?” He leaned close, sniffing the ashy scent that clung to her skin and hair.
She debated not telling him, knew that she shouldn’t,
but Torquil already had enough of her secrets in his hands to have her locked inside the glass tower forever. One more was no extra risk. “I went to check on someone.”
“You can’t keep going to their world,” Torquil continued. “They kill our kind.”
She brushed the truth away with a sweep of her hands. “And
we
kill theirs. It doesn’t have to be war between us. There has to be a way—”
“The queen asked me to watch you more closely,” Torquil confessed suddenly. “If she knew that you were going over there, she’d see me punished. She’d see you locked away under guard. You know that.”
“So tell her.” Eilidh folded her arms and met his eyes. It was harder than when she was a child. Back then, she hadn’t realized how ugly she was, how scarred, how pitiful to the beautiful ones. Even the least of the fae were stunning.
Once, many centuries before the war began, humans had thought the fae were gods. It was easy to understand why when she looked at Torquil. He was of one of the purest bloodlines, a family close to the regent of the Seelie Court.
Why the queen agreed to allow him to be her playmate, Eilidh would never know. Perhaps her father had insisted. Eilidh never asked outright, but it was common knowledge that Torquil’s birth loyalty wasn’t to the Unseelie Court. The unification of the courts didn’t change history. His father was devoted to
her
father, the Seelie King, not to the Unseelie Queen. The regents’ ruling together
was new, only a few decades, but the rivalry between the courts stretched as far back as there had been fae courts.
“Eilidh?” He touched her shoulder, drawing her attention to him. “The humans would cage you. They cage anyone who has fae blood.”
“And we
kill
them,” she reiterated. “So much blood has already been shed. If Mother would—”
“Eilidh,” he said, drawing her name out slowly. “You cannot keep going over there.”
“She suspects something, then,” Eilidh said, hearing the words he wasn’t saying. She wasn’t ready to deal with her mother. She needed time before she could utilize the secrets she’d collected. “She wants you to watch me because she has doubts about what I’m doing.”
Torquil dropped his arm around her shoulders. “You know I’ve always tried to keep your secrets, but the queen knows
that
too.”
Eilidh nodded and let him lead her deeper into the shadows of the Hidden Lands. The degree of purity in fae blood determined the ability to lie. Pure lines like his—and hers—felt extreme physical pain upon lying. The Sleepers were able to lie, to a degree at least. That was one of the reasons they’d been created. They could blend, and they could lie. She and Torquil couldn’t have done what the Sleepers were sent to do.
“Just walk with me,” she said. “I’m not asking you to suffer for me.”
“I have. Willingly,” he reminded her.
“But I’ve never
asked
you to.”
He kept pace with her, shortening his stride so he was matching her much shorter one. Torquil wasn’t unusually tall, just under six and a half feet. Like the light that radiated from his dark skin, his height marked him as belonging to one of the oldest, purest families.
When he finally decided on a bride, he would have his pick of them. Truth be told, even those who were promised already would probably say yes if he chose them. If he desired a man, no one would care—as long as he had a surrogate to carry his ancestry forward. Only someone who sought heartbreak would be foolish enough to seriously fantasize about him. Despite the embarrassing dreams she often had, Eilidh didn’t seek to have her heart broken as her body once was.
Eilidh knew Torquil was as out of her reach as the stars are to the soil. She’d known it since she’d been old enough to realize that no other fae, Seelie or Unseelie, looked like her. The maze of scars that covered her body like a madman’s map assured that no fae looked on her with longing. Only Torquil had ever looked at her with genuine pleasure. How was she to avoid caring for him? How could she
not
imagine that his friendship was the precursor to love?
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“For?”
“You being in this position with the queen.” They’d reached the caves where tunnels honeycombed out into routes that led either to disasters or to their homes. Only
those who knew the way could safely navigate the tunnels. It was one of the many safety measures the king and queen had instituted to keep the fae safe should humans figure out how to access the Hidden Lands.
Torquil’s luminous skin, as with most fae, lit their way as they stepped into the perpetual gloaming inside the passageways. Despite everything, she still took comfort in that—in their nature, in their very being. She didn’t agree with the war, wouldn’t ever believe that the death of one person legitimized the slaughter of millions. She did, however, understand her mother’s need to save their people.
“The queen tells me you’re to be looking for a bride soon,” she said as they turned from one tunnel into the next. “She warned me that I’d need to find a new playmate once you’re betrothed.”
Torquil snorted, an indelicate sound she’d only ever heard when they were alone. “Playmate? Did you remind her that we’re well past the edge of make-believe in the garden?”
“No.” Eilidh smothered a smile.
“Afraid she’ll put you on the market too?” he teased.
She was quiet long enough that he glanced her way, prompting her to answer, “That won’t happen.”
“Because?”
“Marriage would mean childbirth, and my mother would not risk my death that way.” Eilidh paused, weighing out her words, rejecting and selecting the ones that would sound calmest before continuing, “The healers were
shocked that I lived at all. None of the other children after me have. Our queen will order Father to have a daughter who will be raised to bed with Rhys before she agrees to risk me in that way.”
Eilidh’s voice was steady as she outlined the obvious. The king had two sons, Nacton and Calder; the queen had one son, Rhys. Since the queen couldn’t carry another child, logically, the king would have to take Seelie women to his bed until he had a daughter, who—once old enough—would be given to Rhys. The child of
their
union would then be a child of both courts. Such a child would be able to take the Hidden Throne and rule.
When the two courts had set aside an eternity of conflict, they had agreed that either children of both courts
or
an heir with blood of both the Seelie and Unseelie would rule. There was no other option. It was the one inviolable term of the unification.
“Right now, Mother fears that something is wrong with me inside,” Eilidh said softly. “She wouldn’t want an even
more
broken child to take the throne, and she wouldn’t want her only child with Leith to die. I will not have children unless Mother has no other options.”
“Eilidh,” he started.
“Hush.” She looked up at him. “Lying hurts, Torquil. Don’t do it to spare my feelings. I know what my mother thinks. I know what she fears. The broken daughter is only a stand-in until a new heir is born.”
“I don’t think you’re broken.”
Eilidh shook her head and pressed her lips tightly together.
“Are you considering anyone in particular for your bride?” she asked after a time. “I assume you’re selecting a bride, not a groom?”
Torquil tensed. “I’m not considering
any
one.”
“No one caught your eye yet, then?” she persisted, perversely needing to hear that there was someone, someone other than her, he truly looked upon with interest.
Coolly, Torquil said, “In exchange for my loyalty, the queen has given me free rein to choose anyone, no restrictions other than not taking a wife who still has young children.”
That was the sort of open choice that was usually only reserved for royals or those to whom the queen felt indebted or deemed so pure as to need every incentive possible to wed. Marriage wasn’t forever among the fae; even when the two courts were separate, the idea of permanent liaisons was odd. The first nearly permanent marriage between the Unseelie Queen and Seelie King would end when their heir took the Hidden Throne.
Eilidh couldn’t say she was surprised. Torquil was among the purest of the fae, and he was trusted by both king and queen. She hoped that the king had given him other restrictions, but it was unlikely. Leith rarely disputed the queen’s choices. Luckily, Torquil wasn’t cruel. He wouldn’t attempt to separate a couple in love.
“What generosity,” Eilidh said mildly. “All of both courts
open to you for the low price of selling me out.”
“It’s not only for that, Eilidh. You know that as well as I do. She wants more strong fae, and I’ve not shown any interest in breeding. She’s trying to bring me to heel.” He tried to pull her near him, catching her hand in his and tugging.
She didn’t resist. He spun her to face him, and slid his hand from her wrist to her elbow.
“I don’t intend to tell her anything about your actions,” he said, holding on to her with both hands now. “You can trust me to keep your secrets.”
“I won’t ask you to lie,” Eilidh countered. If it came to it, she’d live in the human world. She had connections there who could shelter her. It would be horrible to leave the fae, to not see them, to be surrounded by the toxic environment humanity had created. It would be worse to be imprisoned in the tower. “You’ll need to choose soon, I suspect.”
He didn’t meet her eyes. “Soon is relative when you live for centuries. Until she sets a deadline, I am ignoring it. If she sets one”—he shrugged one shoulder—“my father still has close ties to our king.”
“The king would have to owe your family quite a favor to stand up to Endellion.”
“True,” Torquil admitted, as much as saying aloud that the favor was, indeed, worthy of such actions.
She pulled out of his grasp finally and resumed walking. It was pitiful that her greatest joy was in being held prisoner by him for a few scant moments. Sometimes she was
so hungry for the touch of another person that she considered starting a quarrel just for the hope to be touched. Being the broken heir was a lonely state. It was part of why she’d cherished the years she played with Lilywhite. They’d hugged and laughed, played tag and fallen into a jumble of limbs. None of those were experiences she’d known here in the Hidden Lands.
Torquil walked with Eilidh in silence the rest of the way through the tunnels and into the land where all the fae now lived. Usually she enjoyed seeing the beauty of their home, but not today. Today, she stared at the glass tower that she shared with no one. It rose up into the sky like a beacon, glistening like a jewel in even the dimmest light.
The tower had been built for another child, a baby who was lost to the sea, a daughter whose absence started a war. Neither the king nor queen lived in it. In all of Eilidh’s life, she didn’t recall her mother even visiting. Her father had periodically, but he could barely stand the sight of her. The Seelie Court was the court of beauty and light, and his daughter was not beautiful.
Waves surged against the tower, leaving behind dried salt that only added to the glitter of the tall building. Torquil walked her to the door, as he had so many times. Now, though, it felt like there were stares heavy on her skin. There was no doubt that word of his orders from the queen had begun to spread, and prospective brides were watching. More eyes on Eilidh would make her secret tasks even harder.
“Maybe you should pick a bride now,” she blurted. It wasn’t what she wanted, but a distraction would decrease his attention to her comings and goings. An announced bride would mean that the prospects wouldn’t be studying her, trying to decide if she was competition or a way to reach him.
Torquil opened the door to the winding stairwell that twisted halfway up the tower. This part of the tower was transparent, allowing any and all to see her approach so they could offer respect or flee her presence. The top, fortunately, was mostly opaque. The only other section of the tower that enabled watchers to see her was the uppermost floor. There, she moved like a wraith, not clearly visible, but a shape whose movement could be tracked through translucent glass.
