Above me, pink and white clouds sculled across a lavender sky. Rather than a yellow cast, the light from the sun was an actinic white. And... it was way up in the sky, too. When we’d left Chicago, it had been just past sunrise.
Of course, then we’d gone to Ireland, which was several time zones ahead—
I shook my head, trying to dislodge the meaningless musing over trivia before it gave me a headache. At the edge of the town, or outpost, or whatever it was, Albigard came to a halt and called up a portal.
I didn’t dare ask where we were going or what was likely to happen once we got there—not while I was playing the cowed prisoner. Though perhaps calling what I was doing an act was something of a polite fiction at this point. I was a prisoner, and I was pretty fucking cowed right now.
Albigard hauled me through the portal and closed it behind us. The military outpost had given the impression of being a small settlement in a rural area, but now we were in an honest-to-god city. Weirdly, it was still choked with plant life in a way Earth cities weren’t—at least, not unless they’d been abandoned and left to rot for years.
Yet for all the aggressive, jungle-like fauna, there was no sense of decay. No smell of rotting leaves or mold; no buildup of dead plants piling up on the ground. Everything was just... alive.
We had arrived in what appeared to be some sort of courtyard behind an impressive structure. The building was surrounded by many other impressive structures, making me wonder if this was some sort of government district where the so-called Recorder’s office could be found. Except for the rampant wildlife, it reminded me of the older parts of St. Louis with their ornate churches and two-hundred-year-old courthouses.
There were more Fae here, bustling about in the way of people everywhere who had places to be and important things to do. Albigard marched me into the building, and I was a bit shocked that the riot of plant life even existed inside the grand old structure. Vines choked the banisters of staircases and dripped from the ceiling in sprays of flowers. Their heavy perfume filled the air.
It was beautiful... and it made me want to run away in the same way that the Fae themselves made me want to run away. But I couldn’t run away. Where would I run? For all I knew, we could be miles away from the gate where we had come in. The gate that was guarded by dozens of magic-wielding warriors who could kill me with a single blow.
I had made my decision, and now there would be no turning back.
We approached an alcove full of shelves, getting surprised and wary looks from those we passed. What I had briefly taken to be carpet under my feet turned out to be moss in a much bluer shade of green than anything I’d ever seen growing on Earth.
An immensely old Fae poked his head out from between two sets of shelves. Rather than books, they held scrolls. Albigard strode up to the elderly man, ignoring the disconcerted mutters in our wake. I tried to look meek and non-threatening while still sneaking occasional peeks at my surroundings.
Christ. Even this white-haired, stoop-shouldered old guy set off my creepy-crawliness. Did all demons react this way to all Fae? If so, no wonder they’d ended up at war. It was clear that this ancient dude was some kind of paper-pusher—no threat to anyone. It made me worry about how I’d react when the ones who really were a threat showed up. I wondered when that would be.
I didn’t want my last acts to consist of screaming and thrashing and begging for mercy, but I guess in the end, the details of my final moments didn’t matter to anyone but me. The most important part was making it to Dad before the truly bad stuff started happening. It would be Albigard who arranged for his release, if all went well—and please, god, let me not have made a mistake in trusting him on that—but I desperately wanted to see my father one last time.
I wanted to see with my own eyes that he was a prisoner and not a collaborator. I wanted to tell him that I was sorry for making him so miserable, for putting him in danger, and that I loved him. I wanted to say goodbye.
“Recorder,” Albigard was saying, “I need information on the whereabouts of a human prisoner brought into Dhuinne two days ago.”
The old man scowled, first at Albigard and then at me. “And you are...?”
Albigard waved the fingers of his free hand and a sigil crackled in the air before him. It was made of the same fiery whatever as the portals he created, but it was much smaller and shot through with a complex pattern that reminded me of the tattoos at the base of his throat.
“Oh.” The Recorder’s scowl faded, but his expression still looked sour. “You’re that one.”
“The prisoner?” Albigard prompted, sounding like he didn’t want to be having this conversation any more than Old Guy apparently did.
“An unusual case,” Old Guy said grudgingly, eyeing me with clear distaste. “He was registered as a prisoner, true—but he had previously been recorded as a cull.”
He might as well have been speaking Greek for all I was able to glean from that statement, but Albigard’s eyebrows shot up.
“Is that so?” he asked mildly, and the old man shrugged.
“He was taken to the former owner’s dwelling,” the Recorder said in a tone that made it obvious he didn’t approve.
“And the address?” Albigard pressed.
The Recorder’s rheumy eyes narrowed. “Why do you need it?”
“Because this prisoner is to be delivered to the same place.”
I held my breath. The Recorder continued to stare Albigard down for long moments, but then a canny look crossed his wrinkled face.
“As you like, Commander. I’ll retrieve it for
