Fae King's Hunger (Court of Bones and Ash Book 2) Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Preview of Fae King's Sacrifice

  Author Notes

  About Layla

  Copyright

  This book is dedicated to YOU, dear READER. Thank you so much for following Kyra and Rogar as they discover what it takes to make love work.

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  There are two tragedies in life. One is to lose your heart’s desire. The other is to gain it.

  -George Bernard Shaw

  Chapter One

  Rogar

  Something about this route—the crispness of the leaves on the trees, the movement of the wind, the rich tang of pine invading my nose—makes my heart pound. Things appear normal.

  Too normal.

  I slow, keeping Kyra in my sight.

  Gauron raises a fist, gaze raking across the landscape.

  Kyra tenses. “What?”

  “Something is off.” I feel it with every bone in my body. But what, I cannot discern.

  Aelinor dismounts and sets her palms out, letting her magic roam the perimeter, stalking the danger circling our location. Our eyes meet. The slight shake of her head does not appease the wariness clawing my rib cage.

  She shrugs. “The mist?”

  “No,” Kyra answers. Her hand tightens on the bow. “The mist didn’t follow us across the swamp.” She glances about. “Where’s Gray?”

  Gray?

  I inhale, filtering through the scent of moss and damp soil, but catch no whiff of the warg. Lowering my shields, I explore our link. He is close, but something blocks our connection. Only one thing has the power to interfere with our link and manipulate what we see and feel.

  Magic.

  “It is an illusion. Prepare yourselves. The magic is strong.” I grab Kyra and wrap my arm around her waist while drawing my war hammer with the other. How could I have missed the signs? The same crofter’s house we passed earlier pokes through the trees but without the smoke rising from its chimney. “Reject all you see and hear, female. The magic will warp your perception.”

  My mate’s eyes grow wide with fear, the acrid scent building with each passing minute. I will allow no harm to befall my càirdeil. By Ulda, should it come to her life or mine, I will gladly give my dying breath so she may live to see the rise of the dual suns on the morrow.

  Holding her close, I whisper, “Stay still. We do not know where the illusionist is positioned. This may be a trap to force our retreat back into the forest.”

  Kyra presses her body against mine. “So how do we know?”

  “We do not. We wait for them to reveal themselves, and then we fight.” Which puts us completely at the enemy’s mercy. My skin itches with the need to change into my battle form, to let the rage building inside me bear justice on those who seek to harm what is mine.

  Taking several steps back, I comb the encompassing landscape for hints of the vile wizardry camouflaged in breezy winds and lush foliage. Yet despite the warning burning at my nape, I see nothing. “Whatever happens, do not leave my side. Do you understand? Do not allow the magic to separate us.”

  She nods and her knuckles go white under the pressure of her grip around the bow.

  My second jumps off the restless animal clomping the ground in distress. Flanking Gauron, Aelinor unsheathes her sword.

  “Oh God, what is that?” Kyra slams into my shoulder. Her eyes bulge, gaze fixated on a spot beyond the forest’s border. “I don’t think that’s an illusion.”

  “Easy, female. Tell me what you see.”

  She does not answer. Hands shaking, she reaches for an arrow from the quiver seated at her back. Her nostrils flare, and when she looks in my direction, her eyes are wild and unfocused. “We need to run. Now.”

  “Kyra, breathe. I will let no harm befall you.”

  Her gaze darts left and right in a frenzied sweep, her body vibrating with fear. To my left, Aelinor pivots. With her sword held on guard, ready to strike, she mirrors my second, who begins to shift into his battle form. Both warily watch a moving shape. One I do not see.

  Jatta.

  They are all under an illusion.

  All but me.

  I attempt to connect to Gray’s mind once more, but the magic’s grip is firm. No sound stirs. With my senses numbed, my orc abilities are stripped, forcing me to await my enemy’s first move.

  “Rogar,” Kyra screams. “Oh God. Oh God. They’re huge. Shit. They’re huge.” With tears streaming down her face, she bats the bow in a manic swing, yelling, “Move. Move. Oh God. Move.” Kicking her feet, she barrels her shoulder into my side.

  To hold an illusion this powerful, the bearer needs to be within range. I clamp my hand on Kyra’s hip. I cannot let her escape. If she eludes my hold…

  “Reveal yourselves,” I bellow.

  In this deadened silence, Gauron’s grunts are the only thing I hear. Aelinor thrusts her sword in the air. At her back, Gauron falls to one knee clenching his torso, pain etched across his features. Beside me, Kyra’s panic morphs into abject terror.

  “Release my people.” A helpless rage burns through my words. “It is me you want.”

  Kyra’s movements are erratic. Nails dig into my arms. Feet stamp against the ground. Her body wrenches uncontrollably, and as strong as I am, my grip begins to loosen. I am about to haul her over my shoulder when the magic stifling my awareness weakens.

  Gray’s essence slams into my consciousness. Kill. Kill. Kill.

  A voice booms through the haze. “Se.”

  Part?

  The illusion wavers.

  “Rogar, king of the orcs, I seek your counsel.” Through the mist, a small army approaches led by a red-haired norn dressed in the long flowing dress of her kind.

  “Rowena.” I clench my teeth. Gauron was right to warn me about the witch. I was a fool not to listen. Growling, I point my war hammer with menace. “Harm my people, and I will destroy you.”

  “These are dark times, Rogar, son of the rightful queen of Regnir.” Her smile is sweet and as deceptive as the tongue-stirring rumors of my past. She halts several arm lengths before me. Her group of ten mixed-race fae warriors fans out to her rear. “Calm yourself. If you do as you are told, no harm will come to your friends.”

  “You are many things, Rowena, but I had not thought you a fool.” Or a liar. My eyes settle on the unarmed troll and the two norns moving to flank her side, and although none show signs of attacking, Kyra’s exertions leave me handicapped should they strike against us. “Is this how you choose to repay a life debt, witch?”

  “That life debt is why your court still stands.” She takes two steps forward. “It cannot be helped, Your Highness. What I have to disclose must be done under the guise of secrecy. Like you, I have my own to protect, and we both know the loyal Gauron and your clever shaman would never allow me to whisk you away alone, now would they?”

  The hair at my nape stands. I pull Kyra closer, but I cannot shield her from the norn’s probing gaze.

  The witch’s chin lifts, curiosity wrinkling her elfin fe
atures. She angles her nose and samples the air. Recognition flares in her dark eyes. “Human?” Magic sparks, settling on my skin like a web of oily silk. “How dare you bring death to my door.”

  My fangs burst from my gums. “The woman is under my protection. Think well before you act, for I promise you, I will not.”

  “Stubborn fool. This would have been so much simpler had you arrived alone. But the risk to Lithyr is too great, outweighing the possible alliance a mighty orc king might provide.” She turns to the troll. “Gerd, seize the king, but do not maim him. I have faith Drengskador’s leader may yet see reason.”

  The troll breaks formation, taking huge strides in my direction.

  “You will regret the day you betrayed me, witch.” With a roar, I shove my mate behind me. Well over a head taller than me, the troll is covered in a thick, armor-like green skin. Massive arms hang past his knees, ending in clawed hands. He stands on three-toed feet, has a large nose and ears, and a hairless body.

  My war hammer is useless against this creature. He will regenerate quickly from any slash to his flesh. To defeat Gerd, I will need to get close enough to sink my dagger into the only spot on his body not protected by his thick skin.

  His ears.

  With the troll down, I can take out the norns, shatter the illusion, and free Aelinor, who will help me defeat the remaining army.

  But the first step?

  Getting seized by the troll.

  For my plan to work, my capture must look authentic. Amidst Kyra’s frantic screams, I lunge for the creature’s legs, swinging my war hammer at his ankles. His massive arms drive toward my legs. I dodge a claw and stab the hammer’s handle into his right kneecap. The troll grunts and then grabs me by the neck, lifting me off the ground before burrowing his stubby fingers into my trachea. Reaching for the weapon sheathed inside my left boot, I bite his arm and kick my legs closer.

  “Throw the transportation charm,” the norn commands.

  The troll retrieves something in his pocket and flings the object behind us. The bitter tang of magic punches the air, and a doorway glimmers where there had been naught but air and grass.

  Clocking my right fist against his jaw, I throw one punch after another in a futile attempt to slow his march to the portal. I cannot let this troll carry me through. I cannot leave Kyra, Gauron, and Aelinor alone and unprotected and at the mercy of these traitorous witches.

  My left hand is inches away from the hilt tucked inside my boot when the troll crosses into the portal.

  My lungs lock. Forces inside the vortex push, pull, and threaten to suck each of my organs out of the nearest orifice. When the sensation stops, a wave of nausea builds in my gut. Orcs are resistant to magic, but the elf blood coursing through my body counters the effect.

  The troll drops me to the ground. Dagger in hand, I roll to my feet and assume a defensive position. The drive to kill, to sink my claws into my enemy and squeeze the life from every limb, overwhelms years of restraint. Years of becoming more elf than orc. Years of undoing the sins of my ancestors.

  I shake my head to clear my rage. Days of perpetual darkness leave my eyes sensitive to the bright light of our dual suns. Smoke hangs heavy in the air along with the scent of death.

  Where in Alfhemir am I?

  The portal closes. Rowena marches past, boots striking the cobblestoned road in the center of what had been a vibrant town.

  A town I recognize.

  Keeping the troll in my line of sight, I swing my focus to the side of the narrow road. The broken walls of several huts jut from the charred ground. Ash and stone sit in heaps where a foundation once stood. The more I search, the more devastation I find.

  Jatta.

  This blackened village is Lithyr. Can this be another illusion? Another carefully laid manipulation? To what end? “What happened here?”

  “Four days past, the goblins raided the village,” the norn begins, her voice low. “They searched every home, inn, and tavern looking for you. They marched under the Wild Hunt’s banner.”

  My throat goes dry. I see no life on these barren streets. As a free city, Lithyr is a beacon of hope to hundreds shunned by fae society—half-bloods, lower fae, species like the norns who are hated and feared for their magic.

  “This is all that remains.” Rowena circles back and stops beside the seething troll facing me on my left. A soft breeze blows through the billowy layers of her blue dress. “Most royal visits are preceded by notice. Yet I never received word of your pending arrival. Of course, if I were harboring a human among my court, then I too would keep my travel plans secret.”

  “Where are the survivors, Rowena?” I refuse to believe all life perished here. “You have separated me from my court with an elaborate ruse. Perhaps what you show me here is false as well?”

  She laughs, the sound shrill in the dead space that was once Lithyr. “Is that what it will take to appease your conscience, my lord? Then yes”—she throws her arms in the air with flourish—“this is all an illusion.”

  I wait for the curtain of magic suspended over the city to dissipate, but the charred landscape remains unchanged.

  “Enough with the games, Rowena.” The longer I stand here trading barbs with the norn, the more danger befalls my mate. “What have you done with my commander? With the human under my protection?”

  Her smile is vicious. “So direct, Rogar, king of the orcs. To the point. No excuses. No unnecessary questions. You have taken all the fun out of my little presentation.”

  “You test my patience, witch.”

  “And your misguided integrity has destroyed my city, orc.”

  A growl builds in my throat. “What. Do. You. Want?”

  The troll’s body tenses. He looms over me with a growl of his own until the norn lightly touches his arm. The creature settles back, his gray irises promising retribution and pain the moment the opportunity avails itself.

  “Until we can begin rebuilding, I want asylum for Lithyr’s citizens. In Drengskador,” Rowena says.

  My eyes narrow. There is much my people will accept, but an influx of norns and lower fae who sought our destruction during the war? I might as well end my reign now.

  I sheathe my dagger. “I will not be coerced into offering sanctuary.”

  “I told you orcs cannot be reasoned with,” Gerd spits out.

  The norn’s black eyes settle on my face, piercing in their intensity. Her mouth goes slack, and a white film drops over her eyes.

  My heart flips in my chest. A norn’s power is centered in the complex illusions they weave to manipulate the hearts of fae. Powerful spells and potions, like the one I had hoped to purchase for Kyra, are created and sold like wares in the open market. But some norns are said to hold the gift of sight—the ability to see into the past or future—talents they employ to spy, or worse, sell information to the highest bidder.

  Rowena’s eyes clear. “Interesting. This I did not see.”

  With the troll temporarily distracted, I lunge for the witch, capturing her in my arms. I pivot, turn, and hold my dagger against her neck to ward off the raging beast. “Tell your commander to heel. I do not wish to draw norn blood, but I have no qualms doing so.”

  Rowena’s body goes limp in my hold. “You would sacrifice your fated mate for a kingdom whose citizens cling to outdated beliefs and prejudices?”

  She knows?

  Thank Ulda my jaw is clenched tight or my mouth would drop open. “I would sacrifice myself to ensure a better future for all of fae-kind, including haughty norns who attempt to strong-arm kings.”

  “I have not decided if I should be impressed or disappointed in you, Rogar.” The back of her head moves side to side, scratching my chest. “A càirdeil. A bond awakened after centuries of slumber. Never in my long life did I expect to witness such a phenomenon anew, and yet, if I read you correctly, you would forsake this tribute for atonement?”

  Everything inside me rebels against the prospect of giving up my mate. “What does
your magic tell you?”

  She is quiet for a moment while the troll watches me with a death glare.

  “You will move mountains to have her,” she says after a time.

  “Has history taught you naught, witch?” This world will break Kyra. Drain her of her spirit and innocence until there is nothing left. Until all that remains is barren like the lands we stand upon. I will play no part in my mate’s destruction. Not even at my expense. “Alfhemir is no place for humans.”

  Rowena snorts. “Humans. Norns. Half-bloods. For too long, Alfhemir has bled.”

  I cannot deny this truth. Centuries of mistrust have turned fae against fae, and I am but one voice in a sea of bigotry and injustice, a fight I grow weary of waging alone. “Time will heal the misdeeds of our past, but to reach this point, we must ensure peace reigns.”

  But at what cost?

  Never before have I questioned my path—my sworn duty—until now.

  Until Kyra.

  “Release me.” The fight vanishes from her voice. “I will give you the charm you seek.”

  It is my turn to laugh. “You have fooled me once, witch. I will not fall so easily again. Your oath.”

  She snorts. “Leave it to an orc to question the honor of the norn. Make the cut.”

  “Tell your troll to stand back.” I wait until Gerd moves a safe distance. Rowena’s second and I will never be friends, not after today. I angle my mouth to her ear. “You will make a charm to camouflage my mate’s slave mark. One that will hide her appearance and scent from all manner of fae. You will swear to keep knowledge of her existence secret for as long as you shall live.” I glance at Gerd. “And that includes your troll.”

  “Fine. In return, you will release me from my debt and pay for my secrecy with a lock of your hair.”

  “No.”

  “Then choose. Charm or silence, but you cannot have both.”

  I press the dagger to her neck. We both know the laws of magic will not allow me to force the oath, but one way or another, I will win the norn’s silence. “Charm.”

  She extends her right hand.

  I lower the dagger’s tip to the heel of her palm, the blade met with dozens of faint lines etched into her pale skin. My right hand slides over her heart, claws extending into the fabric of her dress. “Should you betray me with your magic, I will rip your heart out with my bare hands.” I let the words sink in. “Brace yourself for the cut.”