Black Heart

3

I BARRELED THROUGH A PARTICULARLY ROUGH PATCH of brush that was full of tangled pricker branches. I fought my way through the thorns tearing at my face and arms, and finally I was out.

And there he was.

The dragon was sleeping, curled up like a cat in a small clearing. His tail was wrapped around the front of his body, which was so much more massive than I’d realized. He was the size of three city buses lined up with three more stacked on top. And that didn’t even count the length of the coiled tail, or the triangular spike that protruded from his back.

His face was long, the bones beneath the scaled skin sharply defined. The closed eyes were huge, easily the size of my head. I already knew it could fly, and breathe fire. I wondered what else it could do.

It was a plain miracle that I hadn’t woken it up by crashing through the bushes like that. Maybe it was confident enough in its superiority as the dominant predator in the forest that it didn’t need to stir just because it heard a little human noise.

I didn’t want to go backward into the thorns, so I’d have to go around the dragon. I crept slowly to the right, toward the base of the tail. I figured if the dragon woke up and attacked, I’d be farther away from its mouth and the inevitable fire, and hopefully more likely to survive.

I kept well away from the creature, leaving several feet between it and me. I just had to get through this clearing. And then get my hands and wings unbound. And then fly thousands of miles to the portal. No problem.

The dragon’s tail shifted, uncoiled and landed in front of me. I turned my head slowly, and met the orange eyes of the dragon.

I went perfectly still.

The dragon bumped me with its tail in the back of my legs, herding me closer to its head and its immense jaws.

My mind was a mass of gibbering terror. Everything had finally caught up with me—the stress, the fear, the physical wear and tear. Even if my hands were free, I don’t know whether I could have summoned a spell. I just didn’t have the wherewithal to hold it together anymore. Given the amount of stress I’d been under, it was only surprising that it hadn’t happened sooner.

I stumbled closer to the dragon, unable to go anywhere else. The animal seemed more curious than anything, but maybe I was just projecting human emotion on a monster in hopes that I wasn’t about to be barbecued. The dragon drew me closer and closer, until my face was level with one eye.

The pupil was slit and long, like a snake’s. It exhaled noisily, smoke rising from its nostrils. I couldn’t think. I didn’t have a plan, or even a half-assed idea. I couldn’t fly away. I couldn’t do anything except breathe, and hope each breath wasn’t my last.

The dragon peered at me for a long time. I stared back, mostly because I didn’t know what else to do. And as I stared I felt like I was sinking, sinking into flame, flame hot enough to kill, but it didn’t hurt me.

The fire was everywhere, dancing on my skin and over my fingers. It consumed me, and it didn’t feel like death. It felt like life.

I came back to myself, to the dragon’s eye, which now seemed speculative. I leaned toward his face, yearning for something I didn’t understand. The dragon turned its muzzle toward me, nudged me with its nose. Its scales were rough and hot against my skin.

“I know you,” I whispered. “I know you.”

The dragon huffed out a smoky breath in response. Then it jerked away from me, bellowing. An arrow was embedded in its neck.

I spun around, trying not to fall over. My coordination had pretty much gone out the window with my hands bound.

The dragon roared, spitting fire at the platoon of armed faerie that surrounded us. I noticed several of them carried long shields in addition to bows and arrows. As my dragon blew flame at them, the faerie held up the shields, which were made of a shiny hammered metal and deflected the fire away.

Other faerie continued to shoot arrows at the dragon, who knocked the intruders away with his tail if they approached too close. Why would the faerie risk death at the mouth of a dragon just to retrieve me? Why was I so important?

“Go,” I said to the dragon. I couldn’t bear it if they killed him because of me. I didn’t know why, but I wouldn’t be able to bear it. “Go. It’s me they want.”

The faerie were grim-faced and obviously determined. More and more of them appeared, streaming silently out of the trees, more than I’d thought possible.

The dragon huffed out a sound that might have been refusal.

“Go!” I shouted, my eyes full of tears. I didn’t want them to hurt him anymore. Whatever they wanted from me didn’t even matter. I was tired of fighting. I was sick of death.

And if I died, I could be with Gabriel. There was a lot of peace in that thought.

“Go,” I said to the dragon for the third time. I turned my back on the faerie closing in around us so I could meet his eyes. The dragon roared, blasted fire at the faerie.

“Please.”

He narrowed his eyes at me, then flapped his wings and lifted off. I followed him with my eyes as he rose above the forest. He paused for a moment, high above me. I heard a low voice in my head, almost a growl.

Be careful, Madeline. They are not what they seem. Do not give in.

Then rough hands were on me, dragging me down, binding my ankles again, lashing my arms to my sides. I jerked my head around, trying to see him, trying to catch one more glimpse of my dragon.

But by the time the faerie had trussed me up again and backed away, the sky was empty. The dragon was gone.

I felt a strange mixture of relief and despair. I was glad the dragon was safe, but now I was alone again—and back where I’d started.

Two faerie came forward carrying a long strip of the same silver netting they’d used to capture me in the first place. I was unceremoniously hoisted into it and the two faerie were joined by two others who held me in it like four posts holding a hammock. All of this was done without speaking, and I wondered who was in charge. The faerie seemed to know instinctively what their job was, moving seamlessly like insects in a hive.

My captors fell into line and began moving back toward the village. It was rough going for me. I rolled around inside the net, unable to control my movements as all of my limbs were immobilized. The fae that carried me weren’t deliberately trying to harm me, but they weren’t taking any special precautions, either. If they bumped into a tree or a rock, they weren’t concerned. And I didn’t hear anything that sounded like an apology.

The sky and the roof of the forest whirled dizzyingly above me. After a while I started to feel sick and closed my eyes. I didn’t think I had run that far, but the journey back seemed to take forever.

I fell asleep again despite the uncomfortable ride. The pregnancy book I’d purchased (a hundred years ago, in another life, it seemed) had mentioned a constant state of tiredness, particularly in the first trimester. It hadn’t mentioned anything about supernatural offspring, although I could extrapolate that my child might be especially exhausting.

I was shaken roughly awake when I was unceremoniously dumped in another dwelling. This one was a lot less primitive than the last. There was an actual floor, made of smooth planks of light wood. The floor was scattered with shiny green leaves.

The faerie that had carried me silently left the room. They probably figured I couldn’t do too much damage as tightly bound as I was. Which meant they hadn’t realized I was the one who had set the other hut on fire. That was good. It meant I could still surprise them. And the way things were going so far, I would need all the surprises I could get.

I rolled onto my back so I could get a good look at the rest of the room. This position was not even remotely comfortable. My wings and hands were bound behind me so I had to lie on top of them. Still, by lifting my head up I could get a better view without flopping from one side to another.

There were a few pieces of furniture—some chairs, a low table—all of which looked as if they’d been formed from the branches of trees. There were no paintings or photographs on the wall, but a large shrine was given pride of place on one side of the room.

The top of the shrine was decorated with several carved figures. Candles were set at five separate points around the top. I wondered who these faerie worshiped. They were like no fae I had seen before.

Two doorways covered in leaf curtains stood at either end of the room. I suspected that I was about to meet some kind of leader, and I was right.

A tall man who could have been anywhere from thirty to fifty years old entered. Faeries age differently than humans do, at least in my time and place, so he was probably well older than he appeared. The man’s face was grim, his eyes were blue, and he had the lean, sinewy look of someone who spent a lot of time outdoors. He was flanked by two younger men who walked a step or two behind him in obvious deference to his status.

He strode in with the air of a person about to lay down the law. I figured I’d better throw him off balance before he went all “Off with her head” on me.

“I’m hungry,” I announced.

The three men stopped at the sound of my voice. The leader spoke to the man on his left. This faerie was also tall, with caramel-brown hair streaked with yellow, and very golden brown eyes. The third man had blond hair and green eyes, and a strange quality that seemed to make him fade into the background.

All of the faerie wore a sleeveless brown tunic with leggings, which made them look like escapees from Middle Earth. The man on the right, the disappearing blond, held my sword in his hand. I breathed an inward sigh. I thought I’d lost it.

The leader and the brown-haired man had a short exchange in their own language before the second man spoke. In English. That was a surprise.

“My lord Batarian requires information of you. If you answer honest and true, your bonds will be released and you will be given nourishment.”

“If not, then death and/or dismemberment will follow, et cetera, et cetera?” I asked, watching Batarian carefully as I said this. His face did not move a muscle, but his eyes flickered.

The second man spoke again. “I do not know what this ‘et cetera’ is, but I assure you that you will suffer if you do not cooperate.”

“I’m suffering now,” I said, making my voice as whiny and annoying as possible. “I’m hungry. I’m thirsty. My hands are going numb. I was dragged out of a tree when I wasn’t bothering anyone.”

“I think you misunderstand your position,” the man said icily. “You are a prisoner, not a guest.”

“Well, at least that clarifies my status,” I said. “I thought this was the way you invited people over for dinner.”

“My lord has—” the man began again, but I cut him off.

“In my country, prisoners have certain rights,” I said. I was going to make this guy snap if it was the last thing I did. I didn’t have a lot of power while tied up and lying on the floor, but as long as I wasn’t gagged, I could drive somebody crazy.

“You are not in your country,” the translator said through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, and speaking of that, just where in the hell am I?” Because when I get back home I want to thank Nathaniel for sending me here—before I smack him in the head several times.

“I will be the one to ask the questions!” the man thundered.

“No,” I said, gesturing toward Batarian. “He will.”

The translator looked uncertain for a moment, then gathered his dignity. “Of course, Lord Batarian is the ultimate authority here, but he will ask his questions through me.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

“Are you saying you refuse to cooperate?”

“No,” I said. “I’m saying Batarian can stop pretending he doesn’t speak my language.”

I had to give Batarian credit. His expression never changed.

“Lord Batarian has entrusted me to . . .”

I glared at Batarian. “Stop. Pretending.”

The translator made a move like he was going to strike me.

“Stop!” Batarian said in English.

I raised an eyebrow at him. He gave me a slight nod of acknowledgment. “How did you know?”

“All the time that I was going back and forth with this guy, you never asked what I was saying,” I said. “In my experience, a ruler likes to know everything, especially when a conversation is occurring in his presence. You weren’t interrupting constantly to ask what I was saying, and he wasn’t translating everything I said as a matter of course. He’s a failure, too, actually. Neither of you played your parts very well.”

“Perhaps that is because duplicity does not come as easily to us as to one of your kind,” the translator said.

“And what do you know of my kind?” I said. “We seem to be thin on the ground around here.”

“Enough to know that one of Lucifer’s cannot be trusted,” he shot back.

I stilled. What did they know of Lucifer here, and how did they know about me?

“Sakarian!” Batarian snapped. He looked furious. The younger man had given away information that his lord was not yet ready to share.

Sakarian, looking chastened, bent his head toward Batarian and said something in their native language, sounding apologetic.

Batarian responded, his tone clipped. I looked from one to the other. They did not physically resemble each other except for their height, but still . . .

“Is he your kid?” I asked, jerking my head toward Sakarian. This gesturing-with-my-head thing was getting old. My neck was sore.

“I do not understand ‘kid,’” Batarian said, his brow furrowing.

“Your son,” I said. “Is he your son?”

The two of them exchanged glances with the third man, who had thus far remained silent and still.

“How did you know that?” Batarian asked.

“Are you some kind of witch?” Sakarian asked suspiciously.

I shrugged—or, at least, tried to. I could barely move my shoulders a millimeter with the way I was tied up. “It’s just the way you act with each other. There’s a familiarity, despite all of the ‘my lord’–ing.”

Batarian looked troubled. “It appears we have revealed far more than we have concealed. Perhaps Sakarian is right. We are not practiced in the ways of duplicity.”

His face darkened. It seemed he was dwelling on some bad memory. I didn’t want to get persecuted just because he was remembering someone who had tricked him before. Someone like, say, Lucifer.

“Listen,” I said. “You want to talk, let’s talk. But I need to eat. It won’t do you any good if your prisoner passes out in the middle of the interrogation.”

Sakarian shook his head. “We cannot trust her. She will flee as soon as we loose her bonds.”

“What do you want to keep me for, anyway?” I asked. “You don’t trust me, but I didn’t attack you. You attacked me. Twice. You’re acting pretty self-righteous for a people who initiated the conflict.”

Sakarian started to speak again, but Batarian held up his hand. I could see him weighing his options, trying to determine the best tack to take with me.

“Release the bonds on her arms and legs but keep her wings tied,” Batarian said.

“You know,” I said conversationally. “Once my hands are free it’s nothing for me to get my wings unbound. So you might as well save me the trouble and take care of that as well.”

Batarian gave a short laugh. “You would not be able to release yourself. These cords can be undone only by the voice of our people.”

I remembered the guard holding his hand over the knots tied around my ankles, how he had spoken words in his own language before they had released.

“Okay,” I said. “But it would still be polite to untie my wings. They’re not just accessories, you know. It hurts when they’re bound up like this.”

“I think it is not a bad thing for you to suffer some discomfort,” Batarian said. “It will remind you of your place.”

Sakarian came forward to release my ankles and wrists. He unknotted the cords that had been wrapped around my body until all that remained were, as promised, the bindings around my wings.

His eyes dared me to try anything as I sat up, rubbing my limbs to get feeling back into them.

If I wanted to, I could have done a lot of damage now that my hands were free. I could have killed all three of them and escaped on foot before anyone realized what was going on. Three things stopped me from doing just that.

One, I didn’t really have a grievance with them despite the fact that they had captured me for no apparent reason. No one here was my enemy, and my life was not in immediate danger. So it didn’t seem very sporting to kill them just because they were holding me up.

Two, I was never going to reach the portal on foot. I needed my wings to fly over the ocean, and according to Batarian, only one of his kind could release them. I needed to ingratiate myself to my hosts so that they would trust me enough to unbind my wings.

Three, I was hungry. Really, really, really hungry. And I’d had no luck finding anything edible on this world so far. So I might as well let them refuel me before I went tripping through the wilderness again.

I stood up carefully, wanting to get the blood flowing again, but my knees buckled. All three of the faerie started at my sudden movement and three knives appeared from nowhere.

The third man, whose name I still did not know, brandished a dagger in one hand and my sword in the other. It was more than a little insulting to be threatened with my own blade. I wanted to rip it from his hands and knock him in the head with the hilt, just to show that I could.

But it didn’t seem like a productive way to achieve my ends, and I would probably wind up wrapped in knots again so I held my temper. Beezle would be proud of me. If I ever saw Beezle again.

I held up my hands to indicate that I meant no harm. The three faerie relaxed, the knives disappearing into the secret pockets from which they had emerged. Batarian spoke to Sakarian for a moment. The younger man went to the door and called to someone. There was a brief conference, and then Sakarian returned. I hoped he was arranging for food to be brought; otherwise I was going to start chewing on the furniture.

Batarian indicated that I should sit on one of the tree-branch chairs. I eyed the seat dubiously, but it didn’t seem wise to refuse. When I settled in one, I realized I was right. It was like sitting on wicker furniture, only two thousand times less comfortable.

The lashed branches were bumpy and round and didn’t evenly remotely conform to the shape of the human body. My bound wings made it impossible to lean comfortably against the backrest. The other three settled easily into the other chairs and appeared perfectly at ease, so it must have been comfortable to them. Me, I could have gone for a nice down-stuffed cushion and some synthetic fabric.

I also realized my injured leg was puffy and tender. I needed to heal it, but revealing such a power in front of Batarian seemed the height of stupidity.

Batarian followed my gaze to the arrow wound. “You need a poultice for that. Litarian.”

The third man placed my sword next to Batarian and went out of the room. I wondered vaguely why all their names ended in “-rian.” I looked at my sword, just sitting there, leaning against the chair.

I could grab it right then and hold it to Batarian’s throat, force them to release my wings. Except that I still had not eaten. I was starting to feel like Beezle. I didn’t really care what happened next so long as someone gave me a meal.

“What are you called?” Batarian asked.

“Maddy,” I said. “Maddy Black.”

No one called me Madeline except fallen angels. They liked the formality of it, I supposed.

“Maddy Black,” Batarian said, rolling my name around in his mouth like an exotic food. “And what is it you are doing here, Maddy Black?”

“Trying to get home,” I said honestly. “I’ve got no interest in staying here.”

“But how is it that you have come to our land in the first place? We have had no visitors for thousands of years. This world was closed off in honor of the accord between our people and Lucifer.”

“I kind of ended up here by accident,” I said. No need to go into the whole business with the Retrievers. “But I want to leave, believe me. And the longer you hold me prisoner, the longer it’s going to take me to get out of here.”

“But we cannot trust that you are simply an accidental traveler and that you mean us no harm,” Batarian said. “We have only your word of this.”

“Well, it’s not like I can prove it,” I said. “I’m a stranger here. No one is going to vouch for me.”

“Yes, you are a stranger. A very strange stranger, I might add,” Batarian said. “One with wings.”

“You’ve got pointy ears and a bow,” I said. “In my town that would be considered strange in itself, pal.”

“You will not speak so disrespectfully to Lord Batarian,” Sakarian said.

Ah. Here was familiar ground. “I speak disrespectfully to everyone. You’d better get used to it.”

“Everyone?” Batarian raised an eyebrow. “Including Lucifer?”

“Especially him,” I said without thinking.

Sakarian pounced. “So you are an associate of Lucifer’s, then.”

“‘Associate’ is too strong a term,” I said, trying to backpedal. Damn me and my stupid mouth.

“Father, Lucifer has broken the ancient accord,” Sakarian said. “He sent this spy upon us. We should execute her immediately and assemble an army against him.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said, holding my hands up in front of me in a “calm down” gesture. “Way to jump to conclusions.”

“I do not know why you speak of jumping, spy,” Sakarian said.

So they spoke English but their dialect wasn’t up-to-date. Interesting.

“I mean you’ve made a decision without knowing all the facts,” I said. “I’m not a spy for Lucifer.”

“Then why do you have his mark upon your palm?” Sakarian challenged.

I wondered why Batarian seemed content to sit back and let his hotheaded kid take the reins of the conversation. Was it because he wanted to observe my responses? Whatever the reason, now was not the time for telling the truth. If I said I was Lucifer’s descendant, they would definitely think the worst.

“It was kind of an accident,” I said. This was true. I’d used Lucifer’s sword in the Maze and against Baraqiel. Somewhere along the way it had marked me.

“You certainly seem to have a great number of accidents,” Sakarian sneered.

“Hang around me long enough and you’ll see that’s true,” I said. “How is it that you know of Lucifer, anyway?”

“We will ask the questions,” Batarian said.

Just then Litarian reentered the room carrying a small woven bag. Behind him were several other faerie. The first two held a table between them, which they set before me. The other faerie silently placed dishes of food on the table.

There were several plates of vegetables, one with some kind of meat and one that appeared to be roasted insects in sauce. I was not so hungry that I was going to eat bugs, especially if other options were available.

I glanced at Batarian to make sure it was okay for me to eat before I dove in. He nodded, and I grabbed a plate of something that looked like a salad. There were no utensils so I used my fingers to pick up bits of some peppery greens. There were also berries, round and red like cranberries, but when I bit into one, it had none of the tartness of a cranberry. The sweet juice burst over my tongue. It tasted so delicious it was hard for me to hold back.

My stomach twisted as the food hit it, reminding me to take it slow. If I gobbled down too much at once, I was just going to make myself sick.

Litarian silently handed me the bag he was holding. It was filled with bitter-smelling herbs.

“Place it on your wound,” Batarian said.

I put the bag through the hole in my jeans and onto the swollen wound beneath. I doubted very much that this little sack of smelly stuff was going to help me, but holding the poultice against my leg allowed me to send a healing spell through it without being noticed by the others. I hoped.

I shoveled food into my mouth with one hand and pressed the poultice against my wound with the other. I could feel the three faerie watching me like I was an alien from another planet. Which I was. I certainly was not on the Earth I knew anymore.

I cleared the plate of greens and berries and pulled something toward me that looked like a potato. It might have been a giant bug, though, so I asked first.

“Is this a vegetable?”

Sakarian looked confused. “Vegetable?”

“Is it a plant? Something that grows out of the ground?” There were some interesting gaps in their language. I could understand them not knowing modern American vernacular, but “vegetable”?

He nodded. “That is the root of the halalia plant.”

“Like a potato, then,” I said, digging in. It actually tasted more like a turnip, but at least it wasn’t a giant mealworm.

“You do not eat the flesh of animals?” Batarian asked, tilting his head to one side. It was like he was trying to assemble the puzzle of me in his head.

“I do. But I prefer when it’s cut and wrapped at the grocery store. Never mind.” All three of them had the same confused look. “Ask your questions.”

“Will you answer honestly?” Batarian said, his gaze piercing me. He had disconcertingly blue eyes—very light, like the way Nathaniel’s used to be before he’d been changed by Puck’s legacy. I felt a little pang like homesickness.

I chewed and swallowed a bite of the turnip-thing before answering Batarian. I wanted to get out of here, and practicing duplicity was not the best way to get them to trust me so I could achieve that. However, there was no reason to agree to answer every single thing they wanted to know. Certain information could and would be misinterpreted, especially by Sakarian, who seemed particularly suspicious of me.

“I’ll answer as honestly as I can,” I finally said.

“You will reveal your intentions to my lord, or else you will pay the price,” Sakarian said.

“I would be a fool if I told you everything about me,” I said. “As you would be if you were in my position and you did so.”

“You—” Sakarian began, but Batarian cut him off.

“She is correct. Were I in her place, I would not reveal all. Omission is not necessarily a sin. But I expect the courtesy of truth,” Batarian said.

“I can work with that,” I said.

“You have admitted you are an associate of Lucifer’s,” Batarian said.

“I told you, I’m not an associate,” I said.

“That is difficult to believe. You carry his mark upon your body.”

I could tell them a little, if I was careful. I wasn’t about to explain that I was a blood relative of Lucifer’s. Part of me was amazed that he’d managed to piss off a bunch of creatures in an entirely different dimension. Another part of me was not shocked in the least. Making enemies seemed to be what Lucifer did best.

“The sword gave me the mark,” I said, pointing to the blade that still rested against the chair.

I had a very strong impulse to snatch up the sword and swing it at somebody’s head. That was a worrisome thought. I’d had these dark impulses before, but they usually emerged in the heat of battle, when I was under stress.

At the moment I was sitting peacefully, having a somewhat civilized conversation with three faerie. I wasn’t under any particular stress, but I was feeling frustrated. I didn’t have to tolerate these creatures. They were beneath me. I could destroy their whole village as I had destroyed the plague of vampires upon Chicago.

I realized what I was thinking and made a conscious decision to rein it in.

This must be the way Lucifer feels all the time, I thought with sudden insight. What must it be like to be a creature of such immense power, always under tightly wrapped control?

I became aware that the room was silent, and that I had not been interrogated further after I’d admitted to being marked by the sword. The other three were staring at me.

Litarian looked stoic. He seemed to be the best at concealing his thoughts. Batarian appeared intrigued. Sakarian looked like he couldn’t decide whether to be amazed or furious.

“What?” I asked.

“You were . . . glowing,” Batarian said.

“And there was a crackling in the air,” Sakarian said. “Like the wind before lightning strikes.”

Not good. All I’d been doing was thinking about destroying everything in sight and my power had risen up without my consent. If I wasn’t careful, I would turn into the monster that Beezle feared I was becoming.