A Strange Hymn (The Bargainer Book 2)

  The more we fight, the harder he makes me work for it, and the harder he makes me work for it, the more I want it. Blood. Sex. Fighting. Fucking. Any of it. All of it. His violence and his passion are mine to use. Mine to exploit. Mine to savor.

  I swipe low, my body rolling with the motion. As I follow through with the swing, I hear the whizz of Des’s blade, and then a snip. A lock of my dark hair tumbles to the ground.

  “Oops,” Des deadpans, looking remorseless.

  In response, I smile at him, and then I attack. I feint left, but then go right. Blocked. I kick out, aiming for his solar plexus. He dodges and spins away. Lunging forward, I strike again, aiming for his face.

  I miss his jaw by inches, but my blade sheers off a stray lock of his white blonde hair. The two of us pause, watching it flutter to the ground.

  Des’s expression is caught somewhere between shock and awe.

  “You got me,” he says. “You actually got me.”

  He straightens and smiles. “You know what this means, cherub?”

  Warily, I take a step back. I’m still high off of my small victory, but I’m not yet too prideful to know when I should retreat.

  “I need to make this harder.”

  He moves his weapon from his left hand to his right.

  Shit.

  I hadn’t even noticed.

  I back up, moving into the queen’s sacred oak forest. The leaves brush against me, whispering, whispering …

  Des comes at me, looking oh so eager.

  I move deeper into the forest, sap from an overhanging oak dripping onto my neck, then against my bare shoulder.

  “Evading me will do you no good,” Des says. One moment he’s standing in the middle of the garden, the sunlight brightening his pale features, the next, he’s gone.

  I rotate around, searching for him among the trees.

  “Looking for me?” His voice tickles my ear, but when I spin to face him, no one’s there.

  “You’re never going to find me if you’re looking for where I should be.” This comes from deeper in the wooded grove.

  “Come out and fight fair!” I call, my voice ethereal.

  “Fairies don’t like to play fair,” he says from directly above me.

  I glance up just in time to see Des crouched on one of the branches high above me, his body poised to spring.

  I tense, readying myself for attack, savoring the possibility of it. But it never comes.

  The Bargainer’s expression changes in an instant as he takes me in. “Callypso—” He disappears, materializing in front of me a moment later, his hands brushing away my hair. “You’re bleeding.”

  My skin dims at the concern in his voice.

  I’m bleeding?

  My hand goes to where his eyes are trained. Immediately I feel warm wetness.

  The sap that dripped on me.

  Except, when I pull my hand away and stare at my crimson coated fingers, it looks less like sap and a helluva lot more like blood.

  “Ugh,” I say, wiping it off as the last of my siren slips away. “It’s not mine.”

  “Then who’s is it?”

  “It came from the tree.” It only takes a couple of seconds for my words to register.

  Trees don’t bleed.

  Des is already two steps ahead of me, scouring the oaks for more signs of blood.

  Speckled around several nearby trees are dark spots on the ground, glistening stains that I’d assumed were sap. But are they?

  Des scuffs a patch with his boot, then glances up at the tree’s canopy. I follow his gaze up, now noticing the strange rivulets of the dark liquid running down the tree trunk.

  The Bargainer vanishes, reappearing on a branch above us before disappearing again. Higher and higher he moves.

  Less than a minute later, he’s back at my side, wiping his hands off.

  “No body and no signs of an attack,” he says. “The fluid seems to be coming from the tree itself.”

  I think that makes me feel better.

  “So … it’s sap,” I say.

  Des shakes his head, his mouth a thin line. “No, it’s blood.”

  Chapter 25

  The trees are bleeding.

  I suppress a shudder.

  “Is that normal?” I ask, wiping what I can of the—cringe—blood off of me as the two of us exit the oak forest.

  It wasn’t just that one tree. Several more surrounding oaks had bits of blood trickling from their trunks.

  Des shakes his head, his brow furrowed. “No.”

  Why would a tree bleed? And is it just the oak trees right where we were training, or is it the whole forest of them?

  I think back to last night, when Des had me pressed up against another oak. That one had been just fine …

  One of Des’s guards comes striding out to us, his eyes wide. “Your Majesty—” His voice cuts off abruptly when he sees me.

  “You may speak freely,” Des commands.

  The guard’s attention returns to Des. “Two of our soldiers are missing.”

  Two soldiers are missing?

  Des raises an eyebrow. “It’s well past noon. Why am I being informed of this now?” Des demands.

  The guard shakes his head. “The festivities … they had the morning off … They were supposed to check in for roll call at twelve. When they didn’t, several soldiers went looking for them. Their beds are still made, their bags still packed. We don’t think they made it back from the celebration last night.

  Des’s mouth tightens. His gaze briefly moves to me, his expression inscrutable.

  “Continue searching for the men,” he finally says. “There’s still a chance they’re sleeping off the effects of last night.”

  Des’s grim gaze meets mine, and his eyes say what his mouth won’t: there’s still a chance, but it’s an infinitesimally small one.

  Bleeding trees and missing men.

  And we haven’t even been here a day yet.

  Training for the rest of the day is canceled. Des and I part ways at the garden, him to check on his men, and me to take a shower. Wearily I climb up the staircase that wraps around the giant cedar, passing room after room.

  Going to have buns of steel before this week is through.

  Des and I are on something like the thirty-seventh floor.

  I pause when I see Temper’s room ahead of me, giving myself a moment to catch my breath. As I lean against the railing, enjoying the view, the door to my friend’s room opens.

  I raise my eyebrows when I see Malaki slipping out.

  Whelp. Temper bagged the Lord of Dreams alright.

  As soon as he sees me, he ducks his head, running his hand along the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable.

  I raise my hands. “None of my business.”

  But it’s going to become my business the moment Temper corners me. She loves divulging all the juicy details of her sexploits.

  He clears his throat, then nods sheepishly as he passes me.

  His footsteps are fading down the stairs when I think of something.

  “Wait,” I swivel around, “Malaki—”

  He stops on the stairs below me and turns around, his eyepatch glinting in sunlight. In the harsh light of day, the scar that stretches out from beneath the patch is even more gruesome.

  “Is there any way I could see the Flora Kingdom’s sleeping women?”

  His brows furrow. “I could ask …”

  I suck in my lower lip. “Would you?”

  He studies me for a moment longer. Finally, he nods. “Consider it done.”

  By late afternoon, Malaki’s made good on his promise.

  I stand inside one of the Flora Kingdom’s expansive greenhouses, Temper at my side. The hot conservatory is filled to the brim with sleeping women, each one laid out in her glass coffin. Like in the Kingdom of Night, there are hundreds, if not thousands, of them, their caskets spread throughout the building.

  “This shit is motherfucking disturbing,” Temper says
next to me, “and I’ve seen my share of disturbing.”

  Considering that solving cases is what she and I do best, and an idle Temper is never a good thing, I brought her along to help me, filling her in on the mystery during our walk over here.

  I nod, my gaze moving from woman to woman. I’m still not used to the sight even after all this time. It’s the little details that get to me—how one’s pointed ears peak through her hair, how another looks like she might have dimples if she were to wake up and smile.

  I still remember Karnon’s terrible kisses, how he’d force his dark magic down my throat. Being a lowly slave had benefitted me then. Whatever tainted spell he’d put these women under, I’d escaped it.

  The door to the conservatory opens, and in strides the Green Man.

  “I heard I’d find you here,” he says, his footsteps echoing throughout the room.

  “What’s this frilly little pipsqueak up to?” Temper asks under her breath, watching Flora fae head our way.

  I shrug. “I think he finds us curious.”

  “Hmph.”

  The Green Man reaches our side, introducing himself to Temper, who looks less than impressed.

  “So, you plan on solving the mystery?” he says, turning to me.

  I can hear the subtle scorn in his voice. Why wouldn’t he be scornful? Ten years this mystery has plagued the Otherworld, and all the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t stop the disappearances from happening again—and again and again.

  “I plan on trying.”

  His eyes move over the women around us. “I knew some of these women … personally.”

  The way he says this makes me want to scrunch my nose. I think that he was more than just friends with some of these soldiers.

  Temper and I share a knowing look. God, I love having my best friend here with me.

  “Where are the children?” I ask, turning my attention back to the Green Man.

  “They are sleeping a different sort of sleep,” he says cryptically.

  My brows furrow in confusion.

  “Mara has them killed,” he explains.

  “Damn son,” Temper says.

  You know shit’s bad when Temper’s impressed by the mercilessness of it.

  “‘Poisoned fruit’—that’s what she calls them,” the Green Man elaborates. “They’re removed as soon as they enter the kingdom—rot spreads quickly.”

  I fold my arms across my chest. “The queen’s trees seem to be rotting as well—why aren’t they too being removed?” I ask.

  The Green Man assess me. “What are you talking about?”

  “The sacred oak grove. The trees are bleeding.”

  “Fucking hell,” Temper says under her breath.

  “You must be imagining things,” he says. “The oaks are fine.”

  Imagining things?

  “No, I’m not—”

  Temper puts a hand on my arm. “Ain’t no use trying to talk sense to this dude’s crazy ass. He and his wife kill kids.”

  The Green Man’s expression turns patronizing as he looks between the two of us. “Don’t tell me you have a bleeding heart when it comes to those creatures?”

  “It just seems hypocritical,” I say. To protect a plant but smother a fae life.

  “It would be hypocritical if the trees were afflicted the same way those children are,” the Green Man says.

  Ugh, why did I even bring this up? Fairies can be so tedious to talk to.

  “Forget about it,” I say. I bump Temper’s shoulder. “There’s nothing here to see.”

  We move between the aisles of coffins, heading for the door.

  “Even if the trees have developed rot, they didn’t start out that way,” he says to our backs, “the children did. You can cure an illness, not a permanent state of existence.”

  I ignore him.

  “They say a specter haunts this place,” he adds, changing the subject.

  I stop.

  “He’s just tryin’ to reel you in, girl,” Temper says, grabbing my arm and urging me on. “Be better than his tricks.”

  But I’m remembering something I heard a month ago, about a shadow watching over the children in the Night Kingdom’s nursery.

  I turn around. “What do you know?”

  He smiles. “The slaves are usually the ones who see him. They say that during a full moon you can see him move about the coffins.”

  “‘Him’?” I say, stepping a bit closer. “How do you know it’s a man?”

  He tilts his head. “Because there’s only one person who attends these women now—

  “The Thief of Souls.”

  Chapter 26

  I stare up at the stars, Des next to me, the two of us quiet.

  Both of us have been plagued by worry, him for the Night soldiers, who still haven’t turned up, and me for what the Green Man told me.

  “The creep’s just trying to get a rise out of you,” Temper said when we left.

  Maybe he was, and maybe he wasn’t. I haven’t yet been able to figure out the motives of fairies. Not even those of the one who lays next to me.

  The King of the Night and I have returned to the Sacred Gardens. Last night this section of the palace grounds was teeming with activity. Now it’s utterly abandoned, the only evidence of the previous evening’s revelries is the wine-stained ground and the piles of ash where the bonfires burned out.

  Des reaches out for my hand. Wordlessly, he brings it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the skin there.

  “I’ll be happy to leave this place,” he says.

  I sigh. “Me too.”

  My eyes move from star to star. The constellations are foreign to me but no less beautiful than they are on earth.

  Out of nowhere, one of the stars begins to fall from the sky. I blink a few times, just to make sure I’m seeing things correctly. One moment it sat up in the heavens, the next it begins to descend, dropping from the sky as though gravity were pulling it to the horizon.

  I’m still trying to make sense of the falling star when another one slips from its perch, leaving a faint, shimmery trail of light in its wake.

  “Des!”

  “Hmmm?” he responds lazily.

  Then another star falls … and another and another, each one leaving its place in the canopy above us, each one dropping to where sky meets earth.

  “The stars are falling from the sky!” That’s definitely a phrase I never imagined saying.

  Now dozens are dropping from the cosmos, making the night look as though it’s crying the most exquisite tears.

  I sit up, not able to tear my gaze away.

  Just before any of them hit the horizon, they alter their trajectory, moving … towards us.

  My brows knit. I glance over at Des, who still hasn’t responded.

  He’s watching the sky too, but he doesn’t look alarmed or surprised. He reaches out for the heavens, the air wavering a little with his magic.

  Then, perhaps the strangest thing I’ve ever seen, the fallen stars gather one by one into Des’s outstretched hand, looking just as tiny there in his palm as they did in the canopy above us.

  I don’t breathe as he lowers his arm then holds his hand out to me. Cupped in his hand is starlight. I know stars aren’t this small. I reach out and touch them with my finger. They feel like grains of sand, and they’re warm to the touch.

  I still can’t contain my surprise. “How did you … ?”

  “I borrowed their light for an evening,” Des explains, starlight reflecting in his eyes.

  I let out a surprised laugh, remembering our late night conversation on Phyllia, the Land of Dreams.

  I would steal the stars from the sky for you.

  You wouldn’t have to steal them Des.

  “You made a deal with the stars?” I ask, incredulous.

  “I asked nicely.” He says that as though there’s some distinction.

  Now I throw my head back and laugh. He talked the stars out of the sky.

&nbsp
; When my laughter finally dies away, Des is still staring intensely at me. “I told you I’d give you the stars for that laugh.”

  He did.

  He leans forward, bringing his cupped hand to the top of my head.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, beginning to lean away.

  “Be still, cherub.”

  Reluctantly, I do as he asks, my body motionless.

  All at once he pours the starlight onto the crown of my head.

  I raise my eyebrows, still not moving. “Why did you just do that?” I ask, afraid of what will happen if I shake out my hair.

  “The stars agreed that for an evening they’d hang the night sky in your hair.”

  He’s still giving me that intense look. It makes me want to shyly tuck my hair behind my ear.

  A small handheld mirror shimmers out of the ether and into Des’s palm. He hands it to me, and I take it, tentatively glancing down at my reflection.

  I suck in a breath.

  Hundreds of pinpricks of light glitter from my hair, the starlight clustered into constellations. I shake my head, and the starlight moves with it. It really does look like I’m wearing the night sky in my hair.

  “It’s beautiful,” I say, tearing my eyes away from my reflection to look at Des.

  It’s more than beautiful. It’s breathtaking, surreal. I glance above us, just to make sure I’m not imagining this, but I’m not. The dark sky overhead is missing its twinkling companions.

  Des leans forward and kisses me, just the softest brush of his lips, before he stands. He straightens his fitted shirt, picking off a stray blade of grass. “I hate to cut the evening short, love, but we ought to get going. We do, after all, have another dance to attend.”

  Chapter 27

  Apparently, there will be dances every day and night, each one called some fancy name that distinguishes it from the others. There’s the Solar Celebration, the Midsummer Eve Ball, and, oh, my personal favorite, the Fecundity Formal. If that doesn’t make you cringe, then I just don’t know what will.

  I’m not exactly surprised by all the balls—I sort of figured as much—but the true horror of a week’s worth of dancing, drinking, and schmoozing with fairies is finally starting to set in.

  Not to mention the fact that for seven days straight I’m going to have to wear heels.