Rhapsodic (The Bargainer Book 1)
Rhapsodic: Chapter 19

This can’t last.

I lay in the Bargainer’s arms, my eyes drifting closed as he strokes my hair. I fight sleep, not wanting to lose a moment of this.

Ever since I woke from that nightmare, my window in pieces and Des inside my room, he’s stayed with me each night until I’ve fallen asleep. Perhaps even longer.

His body feels like it was made for me, every dip and groove of it fitting against mine like puzzle pieces. But it’s more than just the way I fit against him, it’s the way he smells, a scent there is no name for, and the way his arm curls around my back.

Right in the base of my stomach there’s a sense of rightness being in his arms, like this is the only place I truly belong.

Does he feel it too? Or am I simply making fairytales out of smoke and shadows?

These are question I come back to often.

My eyelids lower, and I fight to keep them open, my gaze moving to the Bargainer’s ear. I reach out and trace the pointed edge of it.

Fae ears.

Beneath my touch, Des shudders.

“You hide these,” I say. I swear that most of the time they look blunted—human.

“Sometimes,” he agrees.

Gently, he removes my hand.

It’s quiet, the lights around the room have long since gone off. Even in the darkness, I can sense Des’s shadows blanketing me, and they make me feel safe. Before him, I had so many reasons to fear the night.

Now, I anticipate it, because it brings me him.

“Thank you,” I murmur.

“For what, cherub?” he says.

“Everything.”

He stops stroking my hair for a moment. When he begins again, I swear I feel his thumb brush across my temple. The lightest of caresses.

I begin to drift off to sleep, so I’m not sure whether I imagined the final words he breathed into the night—

“For you, no less.”

Present

After our conversation, the two of us get back to business. Namely, seeing the sleeping warriors. If the Bargainer notices that I’m being distant, he doesn’t say anything.

What is there to say? That he’s sorry? In this, he’s not at fault. Love isn’t something you can fake. And while Des has been affectionate with me, kind to me, and physical with me, he hasn’t mentioned anything about love.

I’m the one that can’t smother these feelings that have been festering inside me for years.

The Bargainer takes me down flight after flight of stairs, deep down into the bowels of his castle, until we arrive at a balcony that must be located on one of the lowest levels of the palace. Beyond it the land drops away and the buildings are terraced one on top of the other, all the way down into the darkness.

We approach the edge of the railing, brisk night air whipping my hair.

I lean over it. “Where to now?”

Des’s arms wrap roughly around my waist.

“What—” I barely have time to stare at the bands of muscle that grip me and his intricate sleeve of tattoos before he leaps into the air, his claw-tipped wings unfurling.

I yelp as my body jerks up with him.

I should’ve known as soon as I saw the balcony that we were flying somewhere.

Only, Des has stopped flapping his wings. That’s about the moment I realize that we’re not flying up. We’re diving.

Nothing can describe the sheer terror of falling into an abyss headfirst. The wind thrashes my hair about my face and steals away my breath as we plummet. A dizzying number of balconies and gardens blow by us, terraced along the inner rock walls of this strange island. The whole thing looks like a doll house. I see cross sections of homes and shops, temples and gardens. And as we dive, each level gets dimmer and dimmer.

We continue down, until the buildings are cloaked in darkness. Down here it feels less like the city of night and more like a void.

Our descent slows, and the Bargainer’s great wings unfurl above me as he angles us towards an unassuming balcony almost at the bottom of the chasm. The buildings around us are less adorned than the ones above, and the thorn-covered vines that snake around the railings and column-lined porticos appear almost sinister.

As soon as we land, my body sways in his arms from the rush of blood.

His grip on me tightens when I try to pull away. “Give yourself a moment, Callie,” he says, his voice low.

I do, not entirely minding his embrace.

Once Des senses that I’ve stopped swaying, he releases me.

I glance around what must be one of the lowest levels of the city. It’s cold here, colder than the open air above. “What is this place?”

“Welcome to the capital’s industrial district, where Somnia’s exports leaves and its imports arrive.”

So people don’t live here per se. That’s a relief. Compared to the rest of the city, this area is kind of a bummer. I mean, it’s beautiful, in a creepy way, but it isn’t a place I would want to linger.

I glance towards the simple wooden door that leads inside from our balcony. Unease stirs low in my belly. I can’t detect magic the same way a fae might, yet even I don’t want to walk through that door, though I’m sure that’s precisely what we’re going to do.

Not a moment later my suspicions are proven correct when Des steers me towards the door.

“This used to be a storage facility,” he explains, “just like the rest of the buildings in this area. It was converted to a temporary shelter for the sleeping when we ran out of space …”

Ahead of us, the door creaks open, and the two of us step into a cavernous, windowless warehouse.

The Bargainer nods to a guard on the far side of the room who appears to be keeping vigil.

Without a word, the guard exits a far door, giving us privacy.

I glance around. Like many of the rooms in the palace, someone’s used magic to depict the night sky on the ceiling. Tiny starbursts of light shine softly from scones set into the wall, but they do very little to ease away the darkness that gathers in this room.

That’s all I notice of the warehouse itself because—

All of those coffins.

There are hundreds of them—maybe thousands. Rows and rows of glass caskets. My eyes sweep over them.

“So many,” I breathe.

Next to me the Bargainer frowns. “Almost twice this number of women are still missing from my kingdom alone.”

I suck in a breath of air. Practically a city’s worth. Albeit, a small city, but still.

Such staggering numbers.

Inside each casket, I catch glimpses of the women, their hands folded over their chests. So eerie.

“Each one had a child with her?” I ask.

The Bargainer nods, running a thumb over his lower lip. Those lips that were all over me not an hour ago.

He catches my eye, and whatever look I wear, it causes his nostrils to flare.

I have to rip my gaze away. I don’t really want to have a moment with this man while we stand inside what’s essentially a morgue.

“Where are all the children?” I ask. There were no more than two dozen in the royal nursery.

“They’re living with their remaining family.”

I raise my eyebrows. Hundreds of those odd children are now living in fae households?

“Have there been any complaints?” I ask.

Des nods. “But more than that, there’s been a steep increase in infanticide in the last few years.”

It takes me a second to actually connect the dots.

I suck in a breath. “They kill the kids?”

He sees my horrified expression. “Are you really so surprised, cherub? Even on earth we have a reputation for being ruthless.”

Of course I’m surprised. Children are children are children. No matter how disconcerting they are, you don’t just … kill them.

“Before you judge my people, you should know that there have been cases of caregivers falling into the same … sleep as these women. And in plenty of these cases of infanticide, these children aren’t the victims, they’re the perpetrators.”

The thought of it all makes me queasy. I don’t envy Des his job as king. I can’t imagine any of this.

“Have any of the servants working in the nursery fallen into this same sleep?” I ask, looking out across the room.

“A couple,” he admits, casting a glance back over the coffins, “the fae ones. Humans seem to be somewhat immune, so now they’re the only ones that have direct contact with the children inside the palace.”

Des jerks his chin towards the caskets. “Go ahead, cherub,” he says, changing the subject, “have a look at them.”

I drag my gaze back over the room. Just the sight of all those women lying so still has the hair on my forearms rising.

Warily, I leave Des’s side, my footsteps echoing inside the cavernous room. I walk towards the closest row of coffins, almost afraid to peer down into them.

The glass glints under the low lighting, making the caskets shimmer in the near darkness.

I step up next to one of the caskets and force myself to look down at the woman. She has raven-dark hair and a heart-shaped face. A sweet face, one that you wouldn’t imagine would be on the body of a warrior. Her pointed ears peek between her locks of hair.

I swallow, staring down at her. Last time I saw a body this still, it was my stepfather’s.

Blood on my hands, blood in my hair … never be free.

I force my gaze away from her face. She wears a black tunic and fitted breeches that are tucked into suede boots. Her hands are folded across her chest, resting on the pommel of a sword that lies down her torso.

She’s so still, so serene, and yet a part of me expects her to open her eyes, and use that sword to break free of the coffin.

The vision is so realistic that I force myself to move on to another, before I chicken out and leave prematurely.

This one has hair that looks like spun silver and it’s bluntly cropped just past her chin. Despite her silver hair, she looks young, her smooth skin taut over her high cheekbones and square jaw. This woman is all soldier; even at rest I can tell her personality is all hard edges. But not even that saved her. Clutched beneath her hands is a bow, and next to her feet is a quiver filled with arrows.

Another warrior. But not just a warrior. This one has a silver band on her upper arm. A medaled warrior.

I begin to wind my way through the coffins. All the women wear the same black attire, and each carry a weapon. Warriors who are now victims.

The whole thing is putting me on edge. Some of the strongest women in Des’s kingdom lie inside these coffins. How did this happen to so many who were so capable?

And if this monster could do this to these women, what could he do to an average person? What could he do to me?

I begin to hum to alleviate my growing anxiety.

I touch a casket here and there, noticing that the glass feels warm.

My skin prickles. This situation is … is unnatural—wrong at its most basic level.

Without thinking, my humming shifts to singing.

Wake from your slumber,

Rise from your sleep,

Tell me your secrets,

They’re mine to keep.

The siren in me likes to string together rhymes, much the same way a witch does spells. I’m sure it has something to do with how effective my glamour is, but to my ears it’s simply pleasing.

Open your eyes,

Breathe in the fresh air,

Tell me your secrets,

They’re ours to share.

I throw a glance over my shoulder at Des. Arms folded, feet planted apart, and wings out—he looks like he’s channeling something between rock star and fallen angel. The leather pants and the sleeve of tats don’t help. His eyes move over the coffins, almost as if he expects someone to move …

I follow his gaze, instantly tense, but nope, the women are as still as they were when I walked in.

Turning my body back towards the rows of women, I resume my song.

Rouse from your rest,

Shake off this dark spell,

Open your mouth,

You have secrets to tell.

I knew before walking in here that my glamour couldn’t rouse these women. They were all fairies. And yet, I still hold out an inkling of hope that I can help them.

A minute goes by, then another. I wait for any sign of life, but no one moves. And now I feel silly. Singing to a room full of fae that haven’t stirred since they were brought here.

I begin walking back to the Bargainer, my footsteps echoing.

A tinkling laugh rises from behind me.

I pause, glancing over my shoulder. There’s no one there—at least, no one walking or talking.

I begin to move again, my muscles now tense. I’m spooked and imagining things.

“Slave …”

I pause midstep, my eyes going wide as they meet Des’s.

He puts a finger to his lips. A split second later he evaporates into smoke.

Shit. Where’d he go?

A spectral breath tickles my cheek, laughing softly, and I realize right about now that I might have bigger problems.

I twist around, sure I will replace someone standing next to me. But no one’s there.

Another laugh rises from the depths of the room, followed by a hum. The voice comes from nowhere and everywhere. It’s all around me, multiplying on itself.

Sleep fair one,

Or are you afraid?

This is a game in which,

You are far outplayed.

I glance around for the singer, but I already know this is some sort of magic beyond my comprehension.

A phantom hand strokes my hair.

You ask us to wake,

When we want you to sleep,

Secrets are meant,

For one soul to keep.

So sing your songs,

And rhyme your rhymes,

He’s coming for you,

These are dark times.

The singing dies away until the room is quiet once more.

“Holy fuck,” I breathe.

Time to get the hell out of this place.

I eye the coffins as I pass row after row of them, expecting any second for these women to attack me.

Just had to stir up trouble, didn’t you, Callie?

Ahead of me the shadows swirl together, coalescing into a winged man.

Des.

The Bargainer’s wings are spread threateningly, and his face is unreadable, which means Des the killer has come out to play.

Someone’s losing their shit.

“Oh, so nice of you to join me,” I say, my voice high. I’m about to lose my shit too.

“I never left you,” he says.

I’m not going to think about that comment. This situation is weird enough as it is.

He stares out at the coffins. “If I were any crueler, I would burn this room down, women and all.”

Normally, a statement like that would shock me, but right now, when I can still feel those phantom fingers trailing down my skin, I’m thinking that leaving these women here, in the core of Des’s capitol, is a very bad idea.