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Another point for Deandra. She has once again shown some semblance of a heart.
“I saw the Scryer,” she continues. “But he had no valuable information. You know those voyeur types—”
“Wait… there’s a Scryer? I thought she died… by your brother’s hand.”
“She did, but when she died, another took her place. It’s like that television show,Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I watched all seven seasons when I was living in the First Dimension, and when a slayer dies—”
“For fuck’s sake, Deandra, focus. Where does this Scryer live?”
She frowns. “I’ve already had someone go see him. He has nothing to offer.”
“Maybe they didn’t ask the right questions,” I posit, although my excitement for the Scryer has nothing to do with helping to defend Faere. I’ve got questions of my own. “Now, where is he?”
“The southlands. On the outskirts of the Geyrale settlement. Ask anyone there and they’ll point you in the right direction.”
I nod. “I’ll go there now, then I’m going to see Amell. I’ll be back in Faere after that.”
“Come eat dinner with me at the castle when you return,” she orders.
I don’t accept or decline. My days are going to be taken minute by minute at this point.
I make ready to bend distance to Geyrale, but before I disappear, I can’t help but say, “You used the wordvoyeuras someone who sees the future. That’s not what it is.”
She blinks at me in surprise. “What is it, then?”
I can’t help but grin. “Someone who gets sexual gratification from watching people have sex.”
No way Deandra would ever blush, and instead, she laughs. “Oh, that describesme, then.”
“Not surprised,” I mutter before leaving her presence and stepping into the Geyrale settlement.
CHAPTER 13
Maddox
The Light Faedeveloped a hierarchy of status when they created the dimension of Faere. Nimeyah used a large piece of stone magic to make the overly bright and synthetic world and declared her other original fallen angels as nobility. She parceled out magic to them in greater quantities than others and over time and with evolution the nobility and gentry increased their power while the lower class had almost no abilities.
While the nobility and gentry could travel by bending distance, the lower class had to walk or ride animals. The upper class could conjure a ten-course meal while the poor had to grow their own food and cook it.
It doesn’t mean they are totally without means. For example, the poor are still immortal and have incredible strength. They can produce a glamour to hide their true nature but past that they’ve got no special abilities.
Even so, they are, in general, a happy lot content to live simple lives.
Nimeyah cared nothing for the less fortunate, and they tended to settle in areas away from her castle, making do with what the land provided.
In contrast, the Dark Fae weren’t as organized in their caste system. The original fallen angels had the most power that evolved over time with stone magic and those loyal followers were blessed and granted magical boons. The danger in Dark Fae is underestimating their abilities because you never know where they stand historically. Evolution in the Underworld tended to produce some pretty twisted creatures—both physically and emotionally. While Dark Fae could be every bit as beautiful as Light Fae, some were hideous because their magic was insidiously more evil.
Which is why whoever is tearing holes in the veil and coming over to commit murder can only be assumed to be the darkest of creatures. Light Fae can be cruel and vicious, but Hell has a way of producing the worst. I’m confident Deandra and the citizens of Faere are the victims here.
Geyrale is a small community on the very edge of an expansive forest with trees as big as the California redwoods, except these trees have pale, lavender-colored bark and dark purple leaves in a fluffy crown at the top. The town itself is mostly one- to two-story buildings of wood and stone with a few cross streets in between for wagons and horses to traverse. More homes are built up around the edges and extend into the forest where the climate is cooler and the shadows darker as there is no sun to penetrate the canopy.
I appear on the outskirts and make my way through the city center. I immediately find my best source of information, a small bar with a wooden sign hanging on the eave that readsThe Pub.
Doing nothing more than stepping into the doorway, I make eye contact with the bartender. No one would ever mistake me for a fae or a mortal, so it’s often assumed I’m more by my height, size, confidence, and the magical aura about me.
I get no pushback when I ask, “Where’s the Scryer live?”
“Follow the road north out of town and into the forest. There’s a small bridge you’ll cross and to the left of that is his house.”
