Dark Harmony by Laura Thalassa

Chapter 28

“Congratulations to the new bride.”

I turn and face the Thief of Souls.

He reclines on a chair made of gold, the metal worked into strange and twisting spires that arch far above the headrest. I glance around, and I realize I’m back in the room made of pale stone. The same blood red, flowering vine grows up the wall, and the humming pool sits off to the side of the throne, even now vibrating with power.

All around me, the columns look like bones, and there’s a faint smell here, like soured wine …

“Where are we?” I ask.

“You know, I never understood the point of small weddings. Why go to the trouble of marrying someone if no one’s there to see it?”

Guess I know the Thief’s answer to the question, “If a tree falls in the woods …”

“Apparently you saw,” I say.

He lifts a shoulder. “In a manner.”

I narrow my eyes at him.

He leans forward, the leather he wears creaking a bit at the motion. “Have you figured out who I am yet?”

No.

I stare at him.

“Ah.” He pulls the answer from my face—or maybe he knew it already. “You may have your wiles, enchantress, but you are not one for puzzles. A shame, really,” his eyes turn sly, “when your mate so clearly is.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

The Thief looks so self-satisfied when he lounges in his seat. “He’s figured out quite a bit more than you have.”

It’s just one more lie to add to the rest.

“What have you been doing now that you don’t have women to rape and soldiers to kidnap?” I ask.

The smile he gives me is downright spooky.

“Don’t you know, enchantress? I’ve been preparing for you.”

A short while ago, a confession like that would’ve undone me. But I’ve been changing in some subtle yet fundamental way.

“That makes two of us.”

His eyes flicker with dark excitement. “How very intriguing. I do await our true reunion.”

He leans forward, steepling his fingers. “Tell me, does knowing I’m cobound to Galleghar in any way diminish my mystery?”

I almost take a step back. How does he know that?

The Thief’s eyes sharpen on me. “Truly, I’m disappointed at how magnificently you’ve underestimated me. I have spies more thorough than the Night King’s pixies. I thought you would’ve been aware of that by now.

“I know what you ate for breakfast, how many times you spread your pretty thighs for your mate in the last day. I know that fool Galleghar attacked you on your way to capturing him. I know he wants to do it again. I know that you are not nearly so worthy of destruction as the fallen king seems to think you are. In fact, I just might keep you.”

This is … alarming. He’s been watching me like a hawk tracking prey.

I glance down at the thin shift I wear and finger the thin material. The dress is white and gauzy and leaves precious little to the imagination.

“It seems unfair,” I say, looking up at the Thief.

He rests his chin on his fist. “What seems so?”

I walk towards him, the action causing the fairy to arch an eyebrow. Not many fae who know of his true nature would willingly approach him.

“If we’re playing a game, how am I ever supposed to truly engage with you if you know so much of me, and I know so very little of you?”

His fingers idly tap against his gold armrest. “Impatient human. I thought you made a career for yourself in deduction?” His fingers still. “But I do have an unfair advantage—and well, we can’t have that now, can we?” The Thief settles back in his seat and lifts a hand. “By all means, voice your questions.”

This is just another game within a game, but it doesn’t stop me from asking anyway.

I glance around. “Is this a real place?”

“It’s real enough.”

I have a feeling that sideways answers like this one are the best I’m going to get out of him.

“Where are we?”

“Three guesses,” he says.

I step closer to him. I don’t really want to. I’m not an idiot; this thing that’s after me is about as evil as they come, but my siren is oddly intrigued. He makes me want to sharpen my claws and finger-paint with his blood.

“You’re sitting on a throne …”

“I am.”

I’ve now visited all the kingdoms and seen all the palaces. This looks like none of them.

“Are you a king?” I ask.

“A king?” he scoffs. “Come now, enchantress, let’s think bigger than kings.”

This dude is such a megalomaniac.

“What is your real name?”

The Thief of Souls cocks his head. “And if I tell you, what then? Will you come storming my castle, seeking to batter down my doors as my soldiers did yours?”

Yes.

He glances away from me, his muscles tensing as he looks off in the distance. The corner of his mouth curls up in amusement.

The Thief relaxes and faces me once more.

“One day I’ll tell you my name,” he says. “When it’s too late.”

Again the Thief’s attention is drawn away. His fingers resume tapping on his armrest. “Someone’s trying to get in,” the Thief says idly. “Why don’t we invite them inside?”

For a moment I see him, like a mirage on the horizon.

“Malaki?”

The general’s form wavers as his gaze moves in my direction. He stares blindly about.

“Callypso? Are you alright?” he asks.

“She was, until now.”

One instant the Thief is sitting on his throne, and in the next he’s in front of me, lifting me by the throat.

“Callypso!” I hear the slide of steel as Malaki unsheathes his sword.

I kick out at the Thief, my claws extending. I don’t bother trying to shred apart the hand choking me; instead I swipe at the Thief’s eyes, ready to gouge them out. My nails sink into soft skin, and warm, black blood begins to pour out.

Cursing, the Thief tosses me aside.

I laugh, and I’m not ashamed to admit that it sounds creepy as fuck with my glamour riding it.

“The Thief’s hurting worse than I am,” I call out to Malaki, who seems blind to us both.

“You’re going to pay for that,” the Thief says, and the surety in his voice should scare me witless.

Whatever wits I had, they’re long gone now.

I get up, my skin aglow. The siren is riding me hard, and God how we’ve wanted this moment.

Sword brandished, Malaki moves towards me, his eyes still unseeing. “You’ll have to go through me to get to Callypso,” he says to the room.

I get up as the Thief begins to approach Malaki.

“Dreamweaver,” the Thief says, “this is no place for you. Your sentiments might be sweet, but you cannot possibly protect your precious queen. You don’t even know where she is.”

My wings come out and my golden scales ripple to life across my forearms. I’m as Otherworldly as I ever get.

With a powerful beat of my wings, I leap into the sky, and when I land, it’s in front of the general.

I flare my wings wide, blocking him from the Thief. “This is our game,” I say, getting a little thrill at the sight of the Thief’s bloody face. “Leave him out of it.”

“I intend to,” the Thief says. There’s malicious glee in his expression, and I can see that whatever suffering he tends to inflict, it’s all for me.

“Are you trying to protect me, Callypso?” Malaki asks. I feel the brush of a hand against my wings. “Step aside. Let me gut this monster.”

The Thief laughs. “And how might you do that? You are blind to us, and it is by my grace alone that you’re uninjured.”

As I watch, the Thief’s eye repairs itself.

Jesus. How am I supposed to kill this thing if he can heal that fast?

“To think they call you Lord of Dreams,” the Thief continues, his gaze focused on Malaki. “Your bloodlines are weak these days.”

Behind me, the general says, “You will—”

Like a candle snuffing out, Malaki’s presence is suddenly gone.

It feels colder here. I hadn’t realized that even in dreams, the Thief’s magic carries traces of his depravity.

“He was getting tedious, I’m afraid.” The Thief dabs at his face, his fingers coming away bloody. “You got me in a mood. Don’t think I’ll forget this, Callypso.”

“I hope you don’t.”

I want him to remember how I hurt him.

He turns from me, heading back to his throne. When he sits and faces me again, the strange, black blood is gone, all evidence of my aggression wiped away like it never was.

I fold my wings behind me and approach him once more.

“You are either very foolish or very brave to come so close to me.”

Aetherial had said something similar to me once … back when we were this man’s prisoner.

“What do you want?” I ask, my skin dimming. “I mean, what do you really want?”

The Thief lounges in his chair. “What does any creature want? To live.”

Forgive me if I state the obvious, but—

“You are living.”

He shakes his head. “No-no-no, enchantress, I am surviving.”

If all the carnage he’s wrought is his version of surviving, then I cannot imagine what living entails. Only that it simply cannot happen.

I eye the Thief up and down. He appears normal enough, but he’s an oddity even amongst fae.

“Where are you from?”

He gives me an enigmatic smile. “Far, far away, enchantress. Far, far away.”

When I wake up, Des is gone.

I sit up in bed, my hair cascading around me. For a moment, I can’t place where I am. Earth or Otherworld? My house, or Des’s?

It’s only when I catch sight of the arched windows that I remember we came back to Somnia. A balmy evening breeze blows in from outside, carrying with it the scent of flowers.

My hand slides over the empty space next to me.

“Des?” I call out.

The lamps are dimmed. I don’t have a clock to go by, but I’m pretty sure this is the Witching Hour, a time when good little supernaturals are all fast asleep.

Probably why I’m not asleep.

I get up, slipping on one of the least elaborate dresses I can find. Moving from room to room, I look for the Bargainer in our chambers, playing with my wedding ring as I do so. He’s nowhere to be found.

I could simply call on him. I know the words.

Bargainer, I would like to make a deal.

He’d be here in an instant.

But I don’t necessarily want to pull him away from whatever he’s doing.

At least, that’s what I tell myself. I ignore the ball of worry that sits in the pit of my stomach.

I’m imagining things. This is what I always do when life gets too sweet. I assume the worst—and rightfully so, the way my life’s been so far.

Closing my eyes, I focus inward. Right where my heart is, I can feel the glow of my bond. It’s the magical tether that connects me to Des, the thing that physically makes us soulmates. I’ve pulled his power through our connection, but I’ve never tried to simply find him through it. I know enough about supernaturals to know that it can be done.

I could try.

My breathing slows. The smells and sounds and sensations, all of that fades as I search down that magical bond.

And … nothing.

I open my eyes, feeling ridiculous.

Where is Des?

A knock on the door interrupts my thoughts. I stride over to it and, grabbing the knob, swing it open.

Malaki stares down at me, looking more ferocious than ever. “I think it’s time we talked.”

“Where is Des?” I ask.

The two of us are sitting in some side room I’ve never been in before. On the wall is an intricate mosaic depicting some great battle taking place among the heavens.

“Busy being a king.” Gone is Malaki’s good humor. And here I thought we’d bonded last night over that champagne.

I lean back in my chair.

“And Temper?” I ask.

“I am not her keeper.”

Could’ve fooled me …

Just then a fairy comes in carrying a tray with an assortment of coffee and pastries on it. Malaki and I are quiet as he lays it out. It’s only after the fairy leaves and the two of us are alone once more that we speak again.

“Why were you knocking at Des’s door in the middle of the night?” On our wedding night, no less.

I look around, trying to figure out why I’m here, having a conversation with Malaki, instead of in bed with Des.

Seriously, where the hell is the Bargainer?

“How long have you been having dreams of the Thief of Souls?”

I focus on Malaki once more. “Since Solstice. Why?”

“You haven’t talked about them,” he says, leaning back in his seat.

Now that I get a good moment to study Des’s friend, I realize how out of place he looks here in the palace. He’s a hulking, massive man, and with that eyepatch he looks more like a pirate than some dainty fairy.

“Should I have?” I say. “They’re dreams.”

But I know better than that. Dreams are never just dreams, especially not these ones I’m having.

Malaki curses under his breath. “How long has Des known about them?”

“Since Solstice.”

The general rises from his seat, looking utterly terrifying.

“That fool,” he says darkly.

I don’t move, but my claws extend and my scales appear, my skin brightening just a touch. “Careful what you say about my mate.” My voice is soft and dangerous.

A slight to our mate is a slight to us.

Malaki stares down at me, his gaze growing distracted as he takes me in. “Do you know why they call me Lord of Dreams?” he asks.

Dreamweaver the Thief had called him.

“It’s because I am the best at what I do.” He doesn’t say this like he’s bragging. He states it like it’s a simple fact.

My skin dims back down. “And what is it you do?”

“I can spin dreams.”

His dark gaze pierces mine. “I design the setting, I bring in the people, I orchestrate the activities. I can pick an enemy’s mind apart this way—learn his weaknesses, discover his plans.

“Last night, for the first time ever, I met a force more powerful than my own. And not just slightly more powerful. My magic was all but useless against the Thief’s.”

The Thief of Souls told me small death was his realm.

Malaki rubs a hand down his face. “The Thief has an unhealthy obsession with you, Callypso. I didn’t understand the depth of it until tonight.”

Hearing those words come out of another’s mouth makes my flesh prick.

“Desmond admitted to me yesterday that Galleghar and the Thief of Souls share power,” Malaki says. “That they’re cobound.”

He pauses.

I wait for him to continue. The suspense has me tensing.

“Galleghar was an extremely powerful king, but from what I understand, he could never control dreams, much less slip into them. His magic lay in other, more tactical areas.”

I search Malaki’s face. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Galleghar couldn’t control dreams, he couldn’t put fairies to sleep, he couldn’t wear the skins of the dead. Whatever powers the former Night King bequeathed to the Thief, they don’t hold a candle to the ones the Thief already has.”

My heart is beating loudly. I can hear it like a drumbeat.

“We already knew the Thief of Souls was powerful,” I say.

Malaki shakes his head. “You’re not following. The Thief of Souls’ power eclipses mine—and it eclipses that of a king, a powerful one. And I fear—”

Commotion outside the room interrupts us. A moment later, the door bursts open and a royal guard steps inside.

“Your Majesty, My Lord,” the breathless guard says, nodding to each of us. “We can’t find the king, and—”

Wait, Des is not on the palace grounds at all?

“What is it?” the general asks, standing.

I stand too. I have a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. At my back, my wings itch to come out.

“Sleeping soldiers,” the guard says. “More of them have broken through our portal, and now, they’re headed for the gates.”