Queen of the Sylphs Read online

  Devon wore the same blue uniform as the battle sylphs, but the gold piping on his coat was greatly diminished. The last thing Solie wanted was for someone to think he was a battle sylph and challenge him to a fight. It had happened before. The only reason anyone survived was because she’d ordered it.

  Leon wore the same suit as Devon when he was working, but he could defend himself. Galway couldn’t be bothered. The old trapper hadn’t sworn himself to her like Leon and Devon had, either. Not that it mattered. However he’d learned what he knew, the man was a great source of information on how to set up an economy and make it work. He had seven children living in his house, three of them not his. He knew how to make successful compromises.

  For now, though, however competent her other advisers were, Solie only had Devon and a great number of angry battlers.

  “Do you recognize him?” she asked.

  Devon eyed the man uncertainly, thinking. In the still air of the audience chamber, his hair moved as his invisible air sylph tossed it around.

  “Do you recognize him, Airi?” Solie asked the playful little creature.

  I’m not sure, the sylph sent. I don’t think so.

  “I don’t think so either,” Devon admitted, hearing his sylph as easily as Solie. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him before.” He shrugged and whispered, “If he’s from Eferem, Leon would know.”

  Solie made a face. Leon had been King Alcor’s head of security and lead battler master. He’d also nearly been her assassin, himself. He’d got a lot closer to success than this one.

  She stared deep into the assassin’s heart. Seeing the resentment, she doubted he’d ever turn out to be one of her closest friends the way Leon had. Either way, she had to decide what to do with him. For the battlers, it was simple: kill him. But Solie couldn’t do that. It wasn’t just that she’d been raised kind and nonviolent, killing him would be too easy. She didn’t need Devon and the others to warn her that such methods led to corruption.

  “Who are you?” she asked instead.

  The man looked up at her. “N-no one,” he stammered. “I’m just a traveler. I don’t understand!”

  He did, though. Solie could feel it. He knew exactly why he was there. He still wanted to see her dead, and the urge was only stronger now that he’d been taken. Too easily, he seemed to feel. He’d been taken too easily. He really didn’t understand how battlers worked. No one who lived in a place that bound sylphs to slavery ever did.

  Solie wasn’t going to tell him. “You’re lying,” she snapped. “You’re not a traveler, you’re an assassin.”

  He gave no physical response, just stared at her in seeming confusion, but his insides flared with anger. Which just proved she was right.

  She turned her gaze to Mace, who was watching her over the prisoner’s head. He could hold the man forever, so she could take her time with this interrogation.

  “You’re lying,” she said again. She looked back at the assassin. “Are you from Para Dubh?” It would be bad if he were. She really didn’t want them to be enemies. The kingdom of Para Dubh on their eastern border had signed a trade agreement with them, encouraging the sale of certain goods in return for Sylph Valley’s ore, but they hadn’t officially acknowledged Solie. Yed, far to the south, still ignored them while trying to increase their army, even as merchants from there regularly came through. According to her battlers, most of them were spies. The kingdom of Eferem was right on their southern border, and King Alcor hated everything she stood for. She wondered if her would-be killer was from there. West were impassable mountains while north was nothing but ice and snow. Just worrying about the south and the east was enough for her.

  No emotional reaction. The man was tense, waiting to see what she said next and still figuring a way out of this. He had no idea how much he was giving away.

  “I’ve never been there,” he said.

  “What about Yed? Are you from Yed?”

  He nodded, licking his lips in feigned nervousness. “Yes. I came up with a caravan. Is that illegal?”

  He was lying. Solie’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lying again. You’re from Eferem.”

  Fear shot through him, confirming her suspicions.

  “You’re from Eferem,” she continued. “King Alcor sent you to kill me.”

  The more she spoke, the surer she was. She was also angry, if not surprised. Solie had actually been born in a hamlet only a few miles away from the capital, and she’d been taken for a sacrifice used to trap a battler. Her death had been meant to bind Heyou to Alcor’s only son, but the prince ended up dead and Solie as Heyou’s master—the first woman ever to link with a battler. It was when they’d become intimate that she’d become a queen. Alcor had tried to have her killed and lost five battlers. The only reason he hadn’t attacked again was from fear. He had six battlers left; she had over fifty.

  But, Leon had taught her that there were other ways to cripple a country than outright war. Whether he’d thought of it himself or someone finally suggested it to him, Alcor had just tried one.

  “Are there more of you coming?” she demanded, her attention so focused that she wasn’t aware of Devon watching her or the preening, proud looks of her battlers. She didn’t want war with Eferem, but she wasn’t so childish as to think she could ignore an enemy. Not anymore. If they didn’t come after her again, who would they try to hurt next? How much damage could they do?

  The assassin stared at her, his eyes wide. He finally realized she knew what he was feeling. Or probably he thought she was reading his mind. She saw—felt—him shudder and try to draw within himself so as not to give any more away.

  It was too late. While sylph empathy could be fooled and someone with their emotions under control could slip by even battlers, it took tremendous skill. This man didn’t have it. In moments, Solie knew there were more assassins coming.

  “How many?” Alcor sent two battlers to kill her once, and when that hadn’t worked, he sent three more and an army. “Two? Three? Four?” She stared into the captive’s ashen face. His brown eyes were dilated and wide, irises surrounded by white. “Four more assassins?” She glanced at Mace. “There are four more of them.”

  Mace growled and she heard a call go out. Battlers roared outside and she felt their hate wash over the town. They were only allowed to do that in protection, but the hive was definitely threatened. Was she the only target?

  “Who else are you after?” she demanded.

  The power structure of Sylph Valley was no secret: Solie was queen. Mace directed the battlers. Devon was her secretary. Galway took charge of economics and trade. Leon governed just about everything else. Half a dozen others filled important, smaller roles . . .

  “You’re after the council,” she realized. Leon and Galway were away, but Alcor didn’t necessarily know that. “Send battlers to protect the council and their families.” When Mace nodded, she knew it would be done.

  Solie turned, eyeing Heyou by her side. To battlers in their own world, the oldest and most powerful usually won the queen—and the right to rule. Heyou had skipped around that, but only to a degree. He bowed to Mace as much as any other battler. She knew he didn’t mind. He’d rather be with her than take on the responsibilities Mace carried.

  Right now, however, there was something he could do that Mace couldn’t. “Go to Galway,” she told him.

  Galway could be anywhere, but the trapper was his master. Heyou’s pattern was bonded to him much like all the other sylphs were bonded to her, if in a lesser position. Galway could give Heyou orders and feed him his energy, and through that bond Heyou could find him.

  Heyou nodded and leaned in, kissing Solie. Then he turned to smoke and lightning and was gone, hurtling out the door.

  Solie eyed the assassin. All the resistance had gone out of him, and he stared at her in true bafflement.

  “How do you know?” he whimpered. “How could you possibly know?”

  “Because I do,” she replied. When she moved closer,
Mace tightened his grip until the man winced. “Now tell me exactly who we’re looking for.”

  Heyou flew, ignoring the wind as he forced his way high through the air, his wings spread wide for steering. Below spread the Valley for a hundred miles or more, its lands verdant, its harvest healthy, its herds large. A lake stood in the center of the dominion, close to the town, and smaller farms stretched out from that, joined by clean white roads.

  Beyond the canyon walls at the outskirts of the Valley, the Shale Plains were gray and dusty, all shattered rock and sand dotted by the gray tangled bushes that were all that would grow. The land had been a kingdom once, before an unrestricted war between battle sylphs destroyed everything. Uninhabited for centuries, this dead soil had been reclaimed by the settlement of Sylph Valley using elemental sylphs. Their hive would continue to spread life until all of these shale plains belonged to his queen.

  Heyou didn’t spare much thought for how long that would take; he rose high enough that the settlement was tiny and its inhabitants dots, higher even than the air sylphs liked to play. Hovering there in the bitter cold, he focused, reaching out with his senses.

  Solie was easy to find. She was the queen, primary to them all, but Heyou also had that second pattern, deeper down. No sylph could stay in this world without a link to a mortal from it. Even if they could, without such a link they’d starve. Heyou would be poisoned by the energy of this world, except for that of the queen or Galway.

  Every sylph had a master other than the queen. Solie didn’t have the energy to support them all or give them the love they needed. Sylphs thrived on attention, and for the battlers, it was the attention of women they craved. Since Heyou already had Solie as his lover, he’d instead chosen a man he trusted—the first man he’d ever been able to trust.

  He felt Galway to the east, in the mountains that marked the edge of the kingdom of Para Dubh. The man was wandering those forested peaks, hunting and trapping as he’d always done. Now it was more a hobby than a necessity, but Heyou didn’t think the man would ever give the lifestyle up entirely.

  He turned and set off, traveling as fast as the wind toward the mountains. The Shale Plains rushed by below, the elevation slowly rising until all at once the landscape completely changed. Pine trees covered the slopes, and Heyou arced over them, lightning flickering within him as he dove directly toward his master.

  Galway sat by a small campfire, skinning a mink. He was a tall gray man, his long mustache thick but most of his hair gone. He looked up as Heyou dropped down across from him and resumed human shape.

  “What’s wrong?” the trapper asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Heyou projected his emotions to Galway as much as he did to Solie, usually without thinking about it. The man remained calm, however, just like normal. Galway even went into battle calm, which was one of the things Heyou liked best about him. For himself, Heyou didn’t quite understand calm.

  “Someone tried to kill Solie,” he crowed. “It was fun.”

  Another eyebrow rose. “Fun?”

  “Well . . .” Heyou hedged. “Not for the assassin.”

  Galway rubbed his jaw. “I think you better explain this, and for once, Heyou, start at the beginning.”

  Heyou grinned. He loved to shock people, and the fact that he couldn’t shock Galway just made the man more entertaining.

  The news that the others might be in danger had gotten the trapper’s attention. He straightened up and looked at his battler more intently. “Is the family safe?” he demanded.

  “Sure,” Heyou said. “Wat’s watching them.”

  Galway looked unimpressed.

  Heyou just grinned wider. Wat was the newest battler to the Valley, brought from Yed instead of being summoned by the Valley priests. He was known for being intensely stupid. Heyou liked him. He was easy to trick and never held a grudge.

  “I hope that’s not all,” Galway said. “I wouldn’t trust Wat to guard a chicken coop.”

  Heyou chuckled and shrugged. “Mace took care of things.”

  Galway nodded, more satisfied, and set his knife and the mink skin aside. Taking up a pan of water, he dumped it on the fire. Steam hissed everywhere.

  “What are you doing?” Heyou asked.

  “Going back to the Valley with you.” The trapper looked around at the small collection of skins and drying meat he’d prepared, all stretched on racks made from saplings, and sighed. “It was nice while it lasted.”

  “Why bother?” Heyou asked him. “You don’t have to come out here anymore.”

  “Why bother to guard the queen? You don’t have to.”

  “But I want—” Heyou started to say. “Oh.”

  Galway smiled. “Nice to see you’re not as dim as Wat.”

  “Nobody is.”

  Heyou sat, grumpily watching his master break camp and arrange gear on his horses. If Galway hadn’t brought the beasts, Heyou would have just carried him home. Now it would be several days of travel back and he missed Solie already.

  Galway let him sit for a minute before kicking him off his seat to come and help, never quite giving an order that he would have no choice but to obey. Still, Galway got what he wanted, just as he always had. Heyou liked that about him, too.

  An hour later they were on their way. Galway sat astride one horse and led the other, which carried all his skins and meat. In his natural form and guarding him, Heyou floated happily alongside.

  Chapter Two

  The hive was quiet, and she, nameless—she would always be nameless, names being reserved for the queen and her lovers—slipped down through the corridors and into the egg chamber, flowing along the ceiling so that she wouldn’t get in the way of the lesser sylphs who tended the translucent globes. Dozens of these sylphs worked carefully to sort through the eggs, putting them in groups based on their pattern and moving them to cubbyholes where they could gestate. The nameless sylph looked at what they were doing, checking the eggs herself for any that were damaged, and then continued on farther into the chamber.

  Deeper inside, newly hatched or hatching eggs were already in their individual nests, watched over by attendant sylphs. Looking into each, she made her way through and recoiled in pretend fear as a baby battler aggressively lunged at her, still too small to do more than bristle.

  Silly thing, she told him. There’ll be enough of that later.

  Too young to understand words, the baby battler rolled in on himself, tendrils flapping uselessly, internal lightning spurting in little pops.

  An air sylph moved between the newcomer and the cubbyhole, emotions annoyed. Don’t wake him. I just got him to settle down. He keeps trying to escape.

  Sorry, she replied, moving out of the way and shimmering across the chamber. She liked to see the babies and did so whenever she could, but she really was getting too big to fit in the chamber anymore. She felt the disgruntlement of the nannies, despite her attempts not to bother them.

  Sighing, she left the nesting chamber and went down a connecting corridor on the other side, flowing up and over a battle sylph guard as she did. He turned his lightning-formed eyes upon her, and she hurried on, a little uncomfortable. The baby battlers were adorable, but their older brothers weren’t. They stared, more now than ever.

  Hurrying down the corridor, she turned a corner so that the young guard couldn’t see her anymore. The passageways here were many thousands of years old, but the hive was still growing, as did the fields that supported it. This hive was huge and ancient, the walls of the corridors shiny from the passage of thousands upon thousands of sylphs.

  It was the queen’s chamber she was going to now, to rejoin her sisters. It had been a long time. She’d been sent with a raiding party to a distant nest, and they’d been gone far longer than expected. The whole trip had been strange. Healers weren’t usually sent away from the hive, and she’d felt terribly exposed. She’d been itchy as well, as she’d gone into a growth spurt she wasn’t expecting that nearly doubled her size. Still, the raiding party
were all back and safe. None of them was lost—thanks in part, she hoped, to her own efforts.

  She moved into the queen’s chamber, passing another battler as she did. Like the other one, he stared, but his regard wasn’t quite so uncomfortable—though it was no less unsettling. He was big and mature, his energy levels impressive enough that she wondered if he’d drawn the attention of the queen yet. Probably not. The queen had more than enough lovers as it was.

  She turned and sidestepped, skittering out of his way. As she passed, he formed a tentacle out of his mantle and stroked it along her belly. Sucking her own mantle upward, she shot through into the queen’s chamber and left him behind.

  Her six sisters looked up, all of them white and gleaming, their half dozen eyes swirling patiently. They were smaller than she, but they made room willingly as she settled down and stared up at a sylph still far larger than herself, glad to finally be back.

  You’ve returned, the queen said, voice rumbling in her mind. The queen stretched herself, nearly doubling in length. Her latest mate nested against her—a battler she’d named some confusing combination of sounds on a whim—his red eyes taking in everything.

  Yes, my queen, the returned healer answered. As she did, she wondered fleetingly if that was imagined disgruntlement in the queen’s tone.

  Leon Petrule stood on the deck of the Racing Dawn, watching for any sign of land on the endlessly blue horizon. For two days the ship had been flying, carried through the air by the power of an ancient air sylph, but even at her speed it would be another three days before they reached their destination.

  It was better than the trip out had been. That voyage had taken weeks, for the ship they were on stopped at every port during its sea voyage south, picking up passengers, dropping them off, and risking pirate attack at every moment. This ship didn’t have that problem. Pirates didn’t have air sylphs to carry them above the clouds, and even if one did, they wouldn’t have battlers. Leon glanced a few feet over to his own battle sylph. Ril wasn’t as powerful as he’d once been, thanks to an injury, but he still had the strength to wreck any ship that might threaten them.