Dark Harmony by Laura Thalassa

Chapter 39

“All hail the Queen of the Night.”

I stride into the throne room, Temper trailing behind me. A chorus of cheers rise up as fairies watch me file in, their gazes drawn to my glowing skin. My power still hasn’t settled down, not since yesterday. At this point, I’m not sure it ever will.

Not until I get my mate back.

I take a seat on Des’s throne, Temper stopping just off to my side. Hours ago I filled my friend in on all that I knew about the Thief and the kingdom he rules—and then I told her my idea. Now, all that’s left is executing it.

The room goes quiet, people waiting on me for further instruction.

I don’t wear a crown, and I’m not here by choice, but for once, I feel … queenly.

Too late for Des to see it.

I glance at one of the Night soldiers guarding the doors at the back of the room. “Bring the traitor in.”

The soldier ducks his head and slips out. In his wake, the silence seems to deepen.

We wait, the minutes ticking by.

All at once the double doors swing open, and two guards dressed in black escort a white-haired fairy down the aisle.

Galleghar smirks at me, clearly pleased at himself despite the situation—pleased that his last remaining child is dead.

At the sight of him, I squeeze the armrests, my claws puncturing through the velvet.

We will tear into him and make ribbons of his flesh.

The soldiers lead Des’s father to the end of the aisle.

“Release him,” I say to the guards.

Immediately they step away from Galleghar, moving to take their posts nearby.

The former king glances down at his iron cuffs, a smile twisting his mouth. “How does it feel to lose what you loved most, slave?” he asks, peering up at me.

The room sucks in a collective breath at the slur.

I watch him, tapping a claw against my armrest.

Let’s taste his flesh as he begs for mercy, my siren whispers. Bring him closer.

“All my life, I’ve never truly understood my power,” I begin. “Why must the nature of sirens be to entice men?”

Galleghar’s brows furrow. Not the response he was expecting, and he has no idea where I’m going with this.

But I do.

“I don’t understand,” he says, forced to answer because of the glamour in my voice.

Whatever wards protected him from my magic back on Barbos, they’re gone now.

We have him in our clutches.

I study him. “You will.”

Why does my power draw others in?

I always wondered about that. About how much of my alluring nature was to blame for my stepfather’s sick assaults. Obviously, that’s incorrect thinking—my stepfather was to blame for his actions, not my power—but at the time I didn’t know it. And then an instructor at Peel Academy touched me inappropriately, and suddenly the abuse felt like a pattern, and I wondered all over again—why? Why did I have to be this way? If I blended in more, could I have escaped the abuse I endured?

No.

No, I could not have.

There will always be bad men, and they will take and take and take.

But so will I.

People like us are not victims. We’re someone’s nightmare.

I finally understand why my power draws others in.

“There are two kinds of predators,” I say softly. “One who chases after prey, and one who coaxes their prey to them.”

Galleghar hasn’t lost his smug expression.

He will in a moment.

“What do you see when you look at me?” I ask.

“My mortal enemy,” he says. “You must be destroyed.”

“What else?”

Again his brows draw together.

“A slave,” he says, compelled to answer by my magic.

“What else?”

He frowns, but his eyes drink me in, fascinated. “… An enchantress,” he finally says.

“A siren,” I correct him.

There are aspects of my magic that I’ve unconsciously dulled over the years. The ability to ensnare my victims with a look alone—that is one of them.

The same part of me that resented my nature also feared this part of me. The sinister, powerful, punishing part of me. I already disliked the attention I received. I didn’t want any more of it.

That’s why, even at Peel Academy, I was a loner. I willed myself to be overlooked. I didn’t realize then that’s what I was doing, but I did it nonetheless.

And I continued doing it.

Until now.

All at once I unleash the full force of my magic on the room. My skin brightens a touch, and my power fills the air.

Dozens of fairies stand, their eyes glazing over as they look at me. Many begin to clamber over chairs, trying to get closer to me. Even Temper cuts towards my throne.

“Everyone, stay where you are.” My audience stops where they stand, bound by my order.

I gaze down at the former Night King. Abruptly, I stand. Stair by stair, I descend the dais, until I’m only a couple yards from him.

“What do you see now?” I ask.

This is what it’s like for a siren to hunt.

He takes a step forward, his eyes bright, his gaze ensnared.

“There … aren’t words,” he breathes, his vendetta forgotten. He shakes his head wondrously. “In all my years I have never beheld one such as yourself.” He takes another step forward. “Why should my son receive such a prize from the gods, but not me?”

A moment ago I was a slave. Now I am a prize. Always an object to be possessed.

I close my eyes, even as the former Night King begins to murmur promises about the future. “When I am king again, you could still live here … The Thief is not to touch this kingdom … You could be one of my concubines … I would make you my favorite … You would have everything you ever wanted …”

The only thing I ever wanted is gone.

Teach me again how to be someone’s nightmare, I’d asked Des.

My power ripples over my skin.

With pleasure, mate.

I open my eyes.

“Kneel,” I command.

Galleghar doesn’t even have it in him to glare at me. I hold his very mind in the palm of my hand; what rules him now is desire.

I scowl at the former Night King. This is the seed of evil that started it all. Had it not been for Galleghar’s selfishness, the entire fabric of this world’s history would have been different. Des’s mother might still be alive, along with his half-siblings. Des might’ve been raised in a castle rather than a cave. He might have had a great life.

We might never have met, and he might never have died before his time.

The horrible thing about true love is that I would erase us if it meant keeping him alive.

Slowly, I diminish my glamour. I don’t want Galleghar to mindlessly enjoy what I’m doing to him, I want it to bother him very, very badly.

Within seconds, the former king’s expression goes from lustful to confused to furious.

“You bitch,” he snarls.

“Ah, ah,” I chastise him. “The next time you say or do anything unflattering about me—or anyone else for that matter—I will make you eat your tongue. Literally.”

I reach out to caress Galleghar’s cheek.

Ours to taste, ours to break.

He lifts his bound hands, presumably to push mine away.

“No.” I say. “You won’t fight me, you won’t flee. You will sit here, answer my questions, and let me touch you as I please.”

His hands drop, even as he curls his upper lip. Galleghar has so much power—I can sense it vibrating within him—and yet against me it’s utterly useless.

I stroke his cheekbone. “You’re very pretty,” I say, “in a cruel sort of way. Too bad the rest of you is useless.” I grab him by his lower jaw and tilt his head back and forth, assessing him from different angles. “Then again, perhaps I can find some use for you. Now that my mate’s gone, there’s nothing stopping me from starting my own harem.”

I lean closer. “You would be my concubine. I should warn you, if you were in my harem, there are many things I would ask of you that you may not be comfortable with. Sirens are known to enjoy both sex and blood. I do hope you’re not squeamish.”

I smile a little at the hate in his eyes. I doubt he’s ever had someone turn his own tricks back on him.

Releasing his jaw, I say, “Relax, asshole, I would never be intimate with you.”

Enough toying with him.

I straighten. “I want to pay the Thief of Souls a personal visit. How do I get to him?”

Galleghar laughs. “You’d have to die first.”

I wait for his laughter to trail off.

“Is that the only way?” I ask.

He hesitates.

“Is it?” I press.

The hateful look is back. I watch as he holds out against my glamour for one—two—three—four—five seconds.

“No,” he eventually grits out.

My pulse begins to race.

I was right. There is another way in.

“Tell me everything you know about this other entrance to the Land of Death and Deep Earth.”

Galleghar’s lips twitch as he fights my compulsion. For once, it isn’t satisfying to watch him resist. Every second he holds out answering feels like an eternity.

Impatient, I unleash a little more of my power. “You want to answer me,” I say, my voice hypnotic. “Now, tell me.”

The mean look in his eyes dissolves away; he stares at me like I’m some rare treasure. “In the Land of Nightmares, there’s a forest,” he says.

The Land of Nightmares …

Why does that sound familiar?

Memnos, I remember. The Land of Nightmares was another name for Memnos, one of the floating islands of the Night Kingdom. It was the only island Des didn’t take me to—and for good reason. It was where the creatures of nightmares lived.

“Deep in this forest, there is the Pit.” Galleghar’s gaze never wavers from mine. “Go to the Pit and travel as deep as you dare, and there you will find the Kingdom of Death and Deep Earth and Thief himself.”

I exhale.

There it is, my long sought-after answer. My heart shudders to life. I want to laugh at all the hope I feel.

I will drag Des back up to the land of the living, and no one can stop me. Not even the Thief himself. For once, I will save the mate who’s saved me over and over again.

I glance over at Temper. Like the fairies in the room, she’s caught by the coils of my glamour, her eyes bright. Still, she manages a predatory smile.

Turning back to Galleghar, I shutter the full force of my power.

It’s the most natural thing in the world, strengthening and weakening my magic. And here I’d thought I had poor control over my siren. I’d never realized that I’d kept such a tight leash on my power this entire time, even when I had used it. At least, I hadn’t realized that until now, when I no longer cared about reining my alluring, destructive nature.

Galleghar’s expression flickers, then shifts, as my hold on him lessens. His features contort with his fury. I doubt anyone has treated him like this.

I study the former king, who’s still on his knees. Despite being a prisoner, he’s still dressed in fine linen, and he wears several rings.

“Let me see your hands.”

He fights my glamour, his hands trembling, but eventually he extends them out to me. Galleghar wears three bronze rings, one masterfully crafted to depict a crescent moon and stars, another one inset with a black stone, and the last one a simple band with a crudely carved face of a woman with wild hair, her mouth open in a scream.

My fingers land on that ring.

Beneath my touch, Galleghar’s skin jumps. Ignoring his reaction, I slip the ring off.

“What are you doing?” he demands.

“Isn’t it obvious?” I say, my voice lilting. “I’m taking your jewelry.” A memento to remember him by—the king I brought to his knees with a look alone. The man who abused his power in so many horrific ways. He’s powerless now, perhaps for the first time in his unnaturally long life.

His mouth moves, probably to curse my name, but then I think he remembers my warning.

I will make you eat your tongue.

Whatever he was going to say stays firmly behind his teeth. He settles on glaring at me some more, the hate in his eyes mixing with a little pain. Being powerless is a terrible, humiliating feeling. Both Des and I would know. We’d been powerless before, victims of our fathers’ cruelty. Eight years ago Des had dealt with mine; now I’m returning the favor.

“Tell me, fallen king,” I say conversationally, “how many of your own children have you killed?”

He growls at me, battling back the words. I wait, a small smile tugging at my lips. He can’t hold out forever.

“I … do not … know.” The words are ripped from his throat.

I raise my eyebrows. “That many.” It actually hurts, thinking about these long dead heirs, some who must’ve been children and babies when their own father came after them.

“And have you ever been brought to justice for these crimes?”

The room is rapt, watching this horror show unfold.

“No,” he grinds out from between his teeth.

“Then it’s time you faced punishment.”

Galleghar scowls at me, furious.

“How does the Night Kingdom repay the man who forced countless women into his harem?” I ask. “Women who he took advantage of, women whose children he slaughtered. How do we repay the man who allowed the Thief of Souls to kidnap thousands of soldiers and force unspeakable cruelties on them?

“How do you collect justice for something like that?” I ask him.

It’s quiet for several seconds, the two of us staring each other down.

“You cannot,” Galleghar finally spits out, answering my rhetorical question.

Now I smile, just a little.

“That,” I say softly, “is where you’re wrong.” My eyes move to the soldiers standing by the doors. “Guards, find the bog, and bring him here.”

Galleghar’s eyes widen, and now his anger is replaced by panic. The former Night King’s face reddens as he squirms against my glamour, fighting to break free. Strong as he is, he cannot.

I can feel Temper’s eyes on me, I can sense her surprise and feel the barest breath of her approval. She might not know what a bog is, but she knows I’m about to do something bad, and she’s okay with that. We both harbor monsters within us; she understands this.

The sentiment in the rest of the room is a mystery. There’s magic in the air, and it tastes of fear and anticipation and wicked delight, but the fairies themselves give no indication of their true feelings.

It takes an eternity for the creature to join us. The entire time I stare Galleghar down. It’s the ripple of voices through the room more than the monster itself that alerts me the bog has arrived.

Eventually, I see it creeping up the aisle.

I don’t know if I’m doing right by Desmond or anyone else, or if my own wickedness is overtaking me, but I do know that I feel no guilt.

None at all.

“I don’t know what your fears are,” I say to Galleghar, “but I hope the bog savors them as much as I will.”

Ours to kill, the siren protests.

But I’m saving the killing for another creature.

Galleghar’s upper lip curls, still pinned to the ground by my orders. “I hope the Thief makes you suffer,” he says as the bog’s shadowy form slips up to him.

The former king’s attention moves briefly from me to the monster closing in on him. His breath hitches.

Galleghar’s gaze skirts back to me. He won’t beg—even now he has too much misplaced pride for that—but his eyes are imploring me for mercy.

The time for mercy has long since passed.

“I want you to know,” I say, “I’m doing this for every woman you wronged, every child you killed, every person you hurt. But more than that, I want you to know that I’m doing this for Desmond and his mother—and I’m doing this for me.”

I turn to the bog. “Devour him.”