Page 22 of Golden Queen (Idrigard #1)

She was gorgeous as well, of course. All fae were said to be beautiful, but then the word barely did this woman justice.

She had deep brown skin and hair, and a perfect heart-shaped face. Her wide, full lips were set into a frown of displeasure, and her eyes, striking red irises and thick dark lashes, were shooting daggers at Io.

"Sera," Io said, glancing at me. "Let me start by apologizing for their behavior, and then allow me to introduce Aben and Britaxia."

Aben stepped forward and took my hand. He brought my palm to his lips as he said, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Sera." He held my gaze for a breath and then released me. I imagined that single sultry look had gotten him a very long way with women in the past.

Britaxia turned to me again. She pasted a soft smile onto her lips as she inclined her head. "It is nice to meet you, Sera." Her eyes had faded to a pale amber color, and her words, to my surprise, sounded sincere.

Before I had a chance to respond, she whirled on Io again. "That prick set us up." Her eyes flared red again.

"We don't know for certain that we were set up, Tax," Aben said.

"What happened?" Io demanded.

Britaxia glanced meaningfully at me, and I was ready to be asked to leave so that they could talk in private.

Instead, Io nodded to her.

Britaxia's sculpted brows shot up, but she went on. "Six big, ugly men were waiting for us where the...uh, merchant's man told us to meet. We were forced to dispatch them in a very public way."

By dispatch, I was certain she meant that they killed them.

"No one who saw it could have blamed us. They struck first," Aben pointed out.

"Yes, but a fight like that would not go unnoticed by the guard in a city this small," Britaxia added.

A city this small? That had me furrowing my brow as I wondered how big the cities in Nightfall must be if this massive city was considered small.

"Did you deal with the bodies?" Io asked. He had his hands in his pockets as he leaned against the table. It was obvious that whoever he was, he was their leader. They were not simply friends as he let on.

"Of course we did." Britaxia rolled her eyes.

"And the ape threw so much gold around at the witnesses that I'm certain that did not go unnoticed either.

" She sighed. "We should have done as you said and gone in from the bottom.

Gold is not always a shortcut for meticulous infiltration. " She gave Aben a sharp look.

"So, I'm assuming you're trying to get to Castille," I said. All eyes shot to me. "And you thought you could buy your way into that information?"

"We hoped," Io said. He looked at me assessingly. "What do you know about him?"

"Well, I know he's almost a hero to the common people, which makes him nearly untouchable." I felt slightly unnerved by their intense stares.

Io narrowed his gaze, "Why is he a hero?"

"He does more for the poor in this city than the crown ever has.

He does so much that they ignore the fact that he sells people and peddles dangerous black-market magic.

It's disgusting and something...that should be taken care of.

" I'd almost said something I intend to change.

I needed to watch my reckless mouth a little better. “What do you want with him?”

"We have reason to believe he's responsible for the recent disappearances of Withian children," Io said.

Aben's gaze shot to him, and then to me in surprise.

"Why would he steal Withian children?" I asked, though the question of why the disgusting slave trader stole any children was just as fair. I had always wondered if he had a hand in Tatana and Set being taken, but I had never dared to try to find out.

Io didn't answer, but I saw his jaw go tight.

Britaxia supplied the answer. "They have an inordinate amount of magic in their skin. Have you never seen a Withian child?" she asked me.

I shook my head. I had hardly even seen a Withian adult.

She gave me a sad sort of smile. "They positively glow with the amount of magic that sits just on the surface. It's there to protect them from the cold of the unforgiving north. It fades as they grow, sinks deeper, and settles into their bones and blood once they learn to master it."

"Why would that make Castille want them?" I asked, dreading the answer.

"Necromancy," Io supplied. His eyes were full of fury. "It's easier to get to the magic when it sits just on the surface, untethered to a person's life force."

And then I understood. Necromancers, the worst of the Shadowlands, wrote spells on skin. Most were animal skins, but some were done in human skin, inked in blood.

Revulsion and horror rolled through me as I realized there was a possibility that necromancers were working in Albiyn, stealing Withian children because their fragile little skins held more magic.

Shame at what might be happening to their people in my city made me want to march out the door and force Markus to send the Royal Guard from house to house, dragging the disgusting bastards out by their balls.

To think that my people protected the man, helped him evade the guard who had spent more than a decade trying to catch him...that broke my heart.

The familiar weight on my chest from my complete lack of power in Windemere sat with me while the mages continued ruminating on their failed plan.

I looked at Io after they had gone. His face still looked a bit haunted. I was about to say something, if only to shift that look back to something that didn't make my chest ache, but he surprised me by meeting my gaze abruptly. "You wanted me to heal someone."

I had forgotten, which seemed like an impossibility. But in the face of the suffering of children, I supposed one sick old man might be lost in the shuffle.

We rode to Madia's little hovel on horseback, passing through the Mercury District gate without incident.

I wore a hood over my tell-tale hair, but the guards barely glanced up as we passed. They were apparently accustomed to looking the other way for wealthy people entering from the merchant’s quarter.

I followed Io through the city, finding it difficult to take my eyes off the broad span of his shoulders or the commanding way he sat up in the saddle. He was watchful, eyes constantly scanning for danger, while somehow still managing to look wholly unbothered by his surroundings.

We left our horses at the brothel's stable. The streets of the slums were not wide enough in many places for a horse to pass, and the lines strung across the road would be too low for someone on horseback to easily navigate.

After compensating the stable boy for taking care of our mounts for a few minutes, we set off across the neatly trimmed grass behind the Mouse's Ear. We passed through a stand of decorative trees and shrubs, and then out into abject misery.

It shamed me for Io to see this part of my city, though the gods only knew why. He didn’t know who I was, and even if he had, he would not have been able to fault the sheltered princess just on the cusp of her reign, for not doing something about it already.

That didn't soothe the ache in my chest for the people any more than the shame of seeing it through his eyes.

He made no comment as we walked, but as the streets darkened, I felt that ghost of a hand at my back, protectively.

Madia was surprised to see me at her window, but a smile brightened the care-worn face all the same. She spoke a few words to her father, and then opened the door.

Her smile faltered when she saw Io's massive form hovering behind me in the shadows.

"This is Io. He's a fae healer."

Io nodded respectfully to her, but Madia's eyes still held suspicion. I watched that suspicion blossom to hope, though, as her nostrils flared.

"You can help him?" she asked in a hoarse whisper.

"I can try," he answered.

Madia looked at me as though she still needed reassurance. I nodded, smiling even as tears began to prick at my eyes. Those tears didn't feel traitorous or weak though. Those tears were for Madia and the pain she had endured right along with her father.

She and Io stepped into the little hovel while I waited in the doorway. The shack was hardly large enough for two people and Io's tall form made it feel even smaller.

"Hello, sir," Io said, kneeling beside the low cot. "I've come to see what I can do about the illness that's plaguing you."

The old man turned his head and squinted. A grimace of pain crossed his features. "That fussing girl of mine hasn't given you more gold has she?" he croaked hoarsely.

"No, sir," Io said. "I am here at the behest of another fussing girl." He smiled up at me in the doorway.

Madia's father looked up and smiled. "Aelia, child, come in." He waved his weak arm to motion me to his side.

"Sera, papa," Madia said quickly. "That is Sera."

The old man's brows went up, realizing the mistake he'd made in using my name. Io didn't seem to notice, likely only seeing a confused old man's mistaken identity.

"Have you given this charlatan your gold?" Antonin asked me as I edged around Madia and went to the bedside.

I laughed lightly. "Not a single coin, sir. But he's not from the Citadel. He's a mage and he can help you."

The old man scoffed, but he eyed Io speculatively.

"May I?" Io asked, motioning to the old man's hand.

"Do your worst, I suppose. If it will make Sera happy to try."

"It will make me very happy, sir," I said, smiling at him.

Io took his arm gingerly and wrapped his hand around the bony wrist. Even the very slight movement caused Antonin to wince.

And then I felt the air change. It grew heavy, but with a comforting weight, like a warm blanket on a snowy night.

Antonin gasped and sucked in a deep breath as Madia surged forward. She went to her knees beside me, reaching towards her father as he continued to suck air into his lungs. And then he released it with a shaking laugh. He coughed, clearing his throat, and then laughed again.

Io still held his hand. His eyes were closed, and he was sweating. His body was so still I didn't even think he was breathing.

The lamp at the bedside dimmed, throwing the room into muted shadow.

There was a sharp, unfamiliar scent in the air that chased away even the reek of the slums around us. It wasn't unpleasant, but it was unfamiliar, alien, and strong.

"Io?" I said, concern for him and for Antonin, suddenly mounting in my chest. I darted my eyes between them.

Antonin was half sitting up, his color better and his eyes wide with wonder. Still, Io did not open his eyes. His face grew more and more pained, contorting as though under some pressure.

"Io," I said again and reached tentatively for his arm.

"Don't, Sera," he said sharply. I jerked my hand back. "Not yet," he added more softly.

I looked at Antonin who now had tears streaming down his face, and I saw when it happened, when the last of the pain left his lined face. It was like a ghost fled from him. His brow smoothed, his eyes softened, and he let out a low, heartbreaking cry of relief.

Io opened his eyes and the shadows retreated. The air thinned and the smells of the little room returned.

"Any better than the charlatan?" Io asked with a grin.

Antonin laughed and surged across the bed to wrap his arms around him. Io did not seem at all surprised by the hug. He returned it, joining his deep chuckle with the old man's, who no longer looked as old as he had moments before. It was simply miraculous.

Io extracted himself from the man's embrace, patting him on the shoulder as he moved to allow a sobbing Madia to throw herself into her father's arms. He rose and stalked from the room, moving a bit more quickly than usual.

I followed him and saw the moment he crossed the threshold when his body seemed to sag. He turned to the side to vomit violently into the street.

I wanted to go to him, offer some reassurance, but I knew instinctively that he would not want that. I felt slightly guilty for what I had so cavalierly asked him to do. I had not known it would be like that—that it would hurt him so badly. It hadn’t seemed to hurt him when he healed me.

"Are you okay?" I asked, tentatively.

"I will be," he said, and turned to offer me a wan smile. He wiped his mouth with a cloth from his pocket and then tossed it down to the ground before incinerating the entire mess with no more than a thought. It went up in a single whoosh, and only ashes remained of his dinner and his handkerchief.

Madia tried to pay him, pulling out the gold I had given her, but Io, who was looking more like himself again, refused. He told her the sight of Antonin, who was outside at the moment, looking up at the stars, was payment enough.

As we walked down the darkened street heading back to the brothel, Io was silent. My guilt for what I had asked him to do was eating me alive, even though the sight of Antonin's relief and Madia's joy still filled my mind.

"Did it hurt you like that when you healed my bruises?" I asked quietly.

"Not at all. Healing is simple. Antonin...he was very near death. There were other forces to contend with."

"Well...I'm sorry that it hurt you and...thank you."

He glanced at me, his brow furrowed. "There is no reason to be sorry.

..or to thank me. I was glad to help him.

It's not always possible to do it. Sometimes when death is so near, it's much too.

..wrapped up with a person's life and it's impossible to remove.

Antonin, it seems, has been fighting the end very valiantly. "

"That makes sense. He never wanted to leave Madia here all alone."

"Indeed...love is one of the few things that can contend with death."

We walked for a while and then I asked, "Is the pain the reason the Athelen healer could not help him? Madia gave him a fortune in gold."

"He could not do what I did. There are few who could." Like before, he was not bragging. It was simply a detail.

While we waited for the stable boy to lead our horses out of the barn, I caught him rubbing his head as though it pained him. He shrugged me off when I asked if he had a headache, and he sat in the saddle with that same easy grace as he turned his horse to the right out of the brothel's drive.

"That's the wrong way," I said, angling my horse in the other direction.

"I thought you might like an escort back to the castle before I collapse in my bed under the weight of the headache that's coming."

It took me longer than it should have for the words to filter through, and it wasn't until I met his gaze that I understood. "Oh," I said, feeling the blood drain from my face.

He only laughed and trotted next to me. "Come, Princess, don't pout because I've uncovered one of your mysteries."

I gave him a dark look, but the cat who caught a mouse look on his own face had my lips curving into a smile.

I heaved a sigh. "Asshole," I muttered, as I passed him.

His laugh echoed behind me.