Atlantis Betrayed

Chapter 38

Christophe woke when a massive aquamarine smashed into the side of his head.

He’d been woken up in worse ways. He closed his eyes again.

Then the reality of what had just happened caught up with his dazed and battered mind, and he changed his mind. This was the worst, ever.

Fiona had willingly given herself to the Fae. There was almost nothing he could do about it. He was tapped out of magic, trapped in the Summer Lands—and, most likely, the Unseelie Court itself, the center and source of this Fae prince’s power—and the woman he loved more than his own life had just surrendered herself to the same monster who had murdered Christophe’s parents.

The worst situation of his life, perhaps, but there had to be a way to win. There was always a way.

Gideon na Feransel was going to die.

All of that analysis ran through his mind in the few seconds before he opened his eyes. He then sat up and retrieved the gem that had woken him so unpleasantly. He held it up in the air and scanned the area. Rock walls. Rock floor. Light from some unknown source. A cave?

“Thank you. I’ve been looking for this. Telios was just a frame?”

Gideon’s voice sounded in the chamber, but Christophe couldn’t see him. More tricks of illusion. “Telios was a tool for me to use, who unfortunately learned secrets he should not have tried to wield. He enthralled the shifters in the Tower Guard, stole the sword, and then killed them and blamed it on the Scarlet Ninja. Our lovely Fiona will be hanging up that particular outfit from now on, by the way, unless she wants to play dress-up for me.”

Christophe snarled and leapt to his feet, still clutching the Siren. “Where is she? If you’ve hurt her, you bastard, I’ll cut your dick off and feed it to you.”

“So violent. Why would I possibly hurt the mother of my future children?”

Christophe didn’t understand that, either. The Fae were big on purity of the race and all that. Sort of like the Atlanteans had been before Conlan smashed right through that tradition.

“Why her? She’s not Fae. Why do you want her?”

“Ah, is that what you believe? I know what you are, now, you know. Atlantean. Evidently you know less than you think you do, for a living example of an ancient race.” The Fae finally appeared, roughly in the same place from which his voice had been projecting. “Fiona is a descendant of Fae royalty. Seelie Court, to be exact. She will be very happy in my . . . well, let’s just call them unification efforts, shall we? Show me how to work the Siren, or I will make her life quite unpleasant, shall we say? There are many ways to harm a human without breaking her. Humans are so delightfully fragile, aren’t they?”

Christophe didn’t waste time or breath on more threats. “What do you want?”

“The Siren. Show me. The ancient legends tell us that it holds enormous power, and I’ve only been able to access a fraction of it. Your young warrior friend, the one so besotted with my dear sister, knows nothing of how to access the gem’s power. But, of course, he doesn’t have your magic, does he? So now you show me how to control the full spectrum of power, or else—”

“Yeah, I get it. Or else bad things happen, and so on and so forth. Show me Fiona. Now.”

“Never.”

“Take me to Fiona, so I can see for myself she is unharmed, or you can stuff this gem up your hairy elf ass,” Christophe snarled. “I have no incentive to help you unless I know for sure she is safe and well.”

Gideon’s face turned red, then white again, and Christophe was sure he was finally going to die, right there on the spot.

“Yes. I will allow you to see Fiona,” Gideon finally said. “After that, you will show me how to control the Siren’s power. Willingly speak it to me, or I will kill you now.”

Christophe inclined his head. “After I see Fiona, I will show you the full power of the Siren. Willingly spoken.”

Satisfied, Gideon pointed toward a doorway that hadn’t been there before. Christophe led the way out of the door.

The first chamber they entered was a deep, rich forest. The scent of green and growing things and the rich loam in the soil permeated the air and made Christophe wonder how creatures of such viciousness and hate could create and control nature’s perfection so beautifully. Then he saw the unhappy faces of several wood sprites, and he knew the truth. The Unseelie Fae could harness, imprison, and control, but none of nature worked willingly in cooperation with them.

Would it be enough to lead to their downfall? He didn’t know. Millennia of Fae history said the opposite.

As they neared the end of the forest chamber, Christophe heard splashing and laughter like tiny bells. Nymphs. He schooled his face to be completely expressionless, in case Fiona was there, too. Nymphs could be fairly outrageous and he’d prefer not to react.

When they rounded the final tree and came upon the pool, however, it wasn’t Fiona he saw, but her brother. From the looks of him, he was in excellent spirits, too.

Not to mention stark naked.

Expressionless didn’t cover this. Christophe had to force himself not to laugh. Luckily the Fae had kept walking and was some distance ahead.

Declan saw him and turned red, making an attempt to cover himself. “Christophe! Did you come to get me out of here?”

The nymphs, three of them, all naked as the day they were born and absolutely lovely in their watery play, smiled and beckoned him to come join them.

He bowed but shook his head. “Alas, ladies, my heart is given to my one true love.”

They pouted but gave up gracefully. Nymphs could overpower any man’s will except for one who was truly in love. For them to have given up so easily, they must have sensed it powerfully in him.

“That’s delightful,” one said.

“Lovely, lovely, love,” the second said, nibbling at Declan’s toes. He turned an even brighter shade of red.

“We love virgins. Not that he is one, anymore,” the third said, rubbing her breasts on Declan’s back. His groan was heartfelt, but he splashed his way out of the pool and toward Christophe.

“Can you at least put that thing away?” Christophe tried not to laugh, but it was getting harder.

“They stole my clothes,” Declan said, covering himself with his hands and hopping back and forth.

Christophe took pity on him, but they needed to get moving before the Fae changed his mind. “Compliment them and then ask about your clothes,” he advised. “But they have to be really flowery compliments. Nymphs love to be flattered. Catch up to me as quickly as you can.”

Christophe took off without waiting to hear what Declan came up with, and he caught up to Gideon just as the Fae was opening another doorway.

“He may come with you, since his sister needs to see that he is safe, according to our agreement,” the Fae said, as if bestowing a favor upon a subject. “I will leave the doorway for him to find.”

Christophe had never wanted anything as badly in his life as he wanted to crush this murdering bastard like the monster he was. Not yet, not yet, not yet. Soon.

The next chamber was like and yet unlike the first. This, too, was woodlands, but it was forest; ancient and resonating with power. No nymphs would dare frolic here. This was for serious magic. Gideon led the way through the chamber, and this time a silver throne twined with living vines held center court. Seated on it, wearing nothing but a filmy gown, Maeve na Feransel kissed Denal as though her life and future depended on it.

Christophe almost wanted to turn away from the intimacy of it, but then he remembered how Denal had come to the Summer Lands.

“Denal,” he called out, careful not to approach the throne. “It’s Christophe. Are you still yourself?”

Denal slowly raised his head, and Christophe saw that the dark blue of his eyes contained something else. Something more. Fae magic. Intertwined with Atlantean.

He was too late.

“I spoke truly and willingly, Christophe. Go home to Atlantis. I have served Maeve as her knight for three Fae years and willingly stay longer still. My duty compels me to honor my promise to her.”

“Duty? What of your duty to Atlantis?”

A wave of sadness passed over Denal’s face. “They don’t need me. Maeve does. I belong here, at least for now.”

Then there was nothing left to say, but for one final thought.

“Be well, my friend,” Christophe said, realizing as he said it that it was truth. Denal was his friend. It had been Christophe who had pushed the rest of the Seven away so he could be alone, nursing his anger and sense of betrayal. If he could finally find love, he could accept other bonds, too. “Be well.”

Denal stood and bowed to Christophe. “And you, my friend.”

As Denal returned to his seat, he sent a message to Christophe on the shared Atlantean mental pathway.

Beware his power, but remember that vanity is his fatal flaw. Maeve tried her best to rescue Fiona, but Gideon is far too powerful for her to oppose right now. She has given her permission to Declan to return home, so his contract in the Summer Lands is fulfilled and he may leave. As princess, she has the power to release him even though it was Gideon who abducted him. She may pay heavily for that, so destroy Gideon if you can.

Christophe nodded.

Understood. Thank you, Denal. Until we meet again.

Gideon was still moving, striding along toward the far wall of the chamber, and Christophe followed. This time, they entered a room that, though filled with trees and flowers, was more like an enormous bedchamber than anything nature had created.

Fiona, dressed in green silk, sat in a miserable, huddled ball in the middle of the bed.

“Now. You have seen her. She is unharmed. Show me how to work the Siren. I know it enthralls shifters on a far larger scale than I have yet done. Whole countries will fall to my will with this at my command.” Gideon’s voice shook with excitement and greed.

Fiona stared at Christophe in shock. “You’re here? You’re really here? All these weeks later?”

“It was illusion, mi amara. I have been here the same length of time, and it has been only hours, not weeks.”

She shook her head, disbelief written plainly on her face. He hated the thought that she’d been alone and afraid, and that she’d believed he hadn’t come for her. Perhaps that he wouldn’t come for her.

Yet another black mark against Gideon.

“She wouldn’t eat or drink while you were unconscious, at least not anything that Maeve herself didn’t give her,” the Fae said sullenly. “You warned her well, Atlantean. But now that I have you and the Siren, Fiona’s resistance shall soon fall, as well.”

Christophe drank in the sight of her. His soul opened up all the way and invited her to be part of him for now and forever. A small stillness in her movements gave him reason to hope she had felt it.

“Willingly spoken, Atlantean. Or else I have a special treat for you.” He clapped his hands and several enthralled shifters, bunched together, carried a heavy object into the room.

“A very special treat, Christophe of Atlantis. Do what I ask, or I’ll put you in the box that I know you love so well.”

Gideon waved his arm, and the shifters moved aside. When the last shifter had cleared his line of sight, something inside Christophe shattered and broke.

Again.

It was the exact box from his childhood. Impossible, but true. He was immediately four years old again, wanting to beg, knowing it would do no good.

Finally begging, anyway, because he was unable to do other.

He clamped his lips together against the howl that threatened to break free and forced his mind to regroup, again. Forced his will to strengthen, again. For Fiona.

Gideon threw his head back and laughed, long and loud.

Christophe vowed to kill him just for that laugh. The rest of his reasons would be merely icing on the cake of his vengeance. That laugh, in the face of his parents’ murder and a little boy’s torture, was judge, jury, and executioner.

“You’re going to die for this,” he said softly.

“I find I must have you climb in the box simply for my amusement,” Gideon replied, a horrible smile spreading across his face. “Now, I think.”

Suddenly, the Fae was standing behind Fiona and holding a silver knife to her throat. “Or I kill her.”

“The mother of your future children?” Christophe was proud his voice didn’t shake or waver.

Gideon shrugged. “I can find another. But you—your pain and terror is so delicious. Just like your parents’ life force, all those years ago. I must have yours. Get in the box.”

Fiona cried out, and a thin trail of blood trickled down her neck. “Don’t do it, Christophe. Don’t let him break you. He’ll kill me anyway. Just get out now. Save yourself.”

Christophe looked at the box, and he looked back at Gideon. And then he smiled. “I’ll climb in your damn box as many times as you like. Or I’ll show you how to work this pretty gem.” He held up the Siren. “I won’t do both, and I won’t do either until you let her go.”

Gideon threw Fiona on the bed. “I don’t care about her. Just show me how to use the jewel. The full power, as you willingly promised, Atlantean.”

“The full power, Fae,” Christophe said. He held the Siren up in the air, calling on Poseidon for aid. He pushed his battered, aching mind to focus harder than it ever had before and pull more power than he had ever channeled.

“Full power,” he shouted. “For Atlantis!”

He pushed. With everything he had and everything he was, he pushed power through the aquamarine and focused every ounce of his own magic and the magic of the gem to do exactly what it had been created to do, but with a little tweak of his own. Christophe did what he had willingly promised to do.

He used the full power of the Siren to enthrall a Fae prince.