Queene Of Light. Jennifer Armintrout

fly now. Not with wet wings,” Malachi admitted grudgingly. “If I can fly at all.”

      “I don’t see why you couldn’t. I did a bang-up job on those puppies,” the Human puffed as he gained dry ground. “Oh, damn it. Now look, I had to swim after you and now my smokes are all wet.”

      “Your legs will be wet, as well,” Malachi pointed out, trying to be helpful. It appeared the Human wasn’t interested in his brand of help, from the way he swore and kicked the waterproof contraption aside.

      The area they’d ascended to was drier, though their feet and clothing left splashes that soaked into the concrete. The walls of this tunnel were decorated in stark tiles that might have been white beneath the forests of mildew growing on them. From beneath a dying mold colony, a warped paper image of a Human woman holding a piece of Human technology to her ear with a wide grin declared “per minute,” the rest of the words swallowed by the layer of filth. Another set of stairs led up.

      “Does that go to the surface?” How deep could the Humans have dug? Malachi had forgotten how long it had been since the rift spilled his kind onto Earth. Time had been circular to him as an immortal, an infinite loop. It must have been hundreds of years now.

      “No, but we do get a little closer,” Keller called, disappearing behind a column with his wading device folded over one arm. “In fact, we cross that bridge up there, take a turn and we’re in a tunnel with surface vents.”

      “What are you doing? I thought I required the services of a healer.” A drop of cold water dripped from one of the slimy stalactites hanging from the ceiling, and Malachi dodged it. “This place is foul and smells of decay.”

      “Then you should be right at home,” Keller said with a small laugh. “I’m looking for a place to hide my waders. I don’t want someone swiping them, but they’re too heavy to carry.”

      “Hurry up, then.” He wandered around some of the large, square columns with their crowns of mold, but he went cautiously, still shaken by his near drowning. “Tell me more of where we will go.”

      Keller gave a sigh with much suffering melded into it. “The Strip is a neutral zone between the Lightworld and the Darkworld. Stop me if I’m going too fast for you. It’s a place where people from either side can go to do whatever seedy business they’ve got there, and a lot of unaligned types hole up there if they’ve been banished and don’t have ties to either world. Lots of Gypsies and Bio-mechs stay there.”

      “Why not you?”

      Keller heaved another sigh, this time too dramatic to believe. Why anyone would wish to make themselves appear so miserable, Malachi did not know. “Because I take a side. I don’t like living down here. So I’ve got two choices. Do what I’m supposed to do as a loyal Human and stay the fuck out of it—which involves paying the god-awful high rent to live on the Strip—or pick a side keen on ending this whole mess. The Darkworld doesn’t want to destroy the Human race—”

      “And the Lightworld does.” Malachi knew this well enough, from overhearing countless Darkworld assassination plots.

      “And the rent is cheaper,” Keller said. Whatever this rent was, mortals placed much importance on it. Then, the Bio-mech grinned and said, “Well, more like free.”

      “So, this Strip, I will not be harmed there?” Malachi asked, watching as Keller knelt and positioned the waders behind a loose tile.

      He laughed and stood, wiping his hands against each other as though he could clean the dirt and mold from them. “I never said you wouldn’t be harmed. But you won’t be persecuted for being a Darkworlder, either.”

      There was nothing but death and violence in the Underground. This Malachi knew well enough. But when he had been immortal and invisible to nearly all creatures, he had not given danger much thought. He did not think he even knew what a dangerous creature would look like. He had been concerned only with the mortals, and no matter their species they had never been a threat to him.

      Was this how it would always be then? To fear that every step would bring him closer to his death? To lurk about in the dark as Keller did, mumbling and consuming the addictive smoke in an effort to simply keep from becoming insane?

      “Hey, you coming?” Keller’s voice echoed through the space, and Malachi startled. He had not been paying attention, and the Bio-mech had moved ahead without him.

      He followed, unwilling to be left alone in the Darkworld, which now seemed much more intimidating than it ever had before.

      Eight

      At the appointed hour, Ayla left Sanctuary for Garret’s home outside the Palace walls. The only place in the Underground with living trees, Sanctuary was the gem of the Lightworld. So much so that it was under constant guard, lest an unworthy Darkworlder stepped on its sacred soil. Submerged in the crystalline waters of Sanctuary’s springs, Ayla felt her Fae blood so deeply she could almost believe it was all that ran through her veins. That nothing so lowly as Human tainted her.

      The effect did not last once she left the place. Her heart hung as heavy as the sword strapped to her back. She would not normally carry it, but Sar, a Pixie who slept at the end of the bed row, had been eyeing it a bit too covetously for her to be foolish enough to leave it. Besides, Garret might give her the assignment he’d received for her, and she might need it. It would give her a chance to evade his relentless questioning and wait until the situation with the Darkling faded from memory. If she told him, he would blame it on her Human blood, and shame her for it.

      This doubt is Garret’s doing, an inner voice scolded her, and she pushed it aside. Garret did openly disdain her Human half, but with good reason. Weren’t Humans the enemy that had driven the Faeries to the Underground? Wasn’t it a Human who’d wielded his sword against the Harpy Queen, cursing the Darkworld to chaos? Ayla thanked the Gods it was not Mabb who’d fallen in the battle. The lawlessness of the Darkworld would have been unbearable for the Faeries, who thrived on ritual and courtly manners.

      Ayla passed by the Palace doors. As always, the corridor before them was crowded with Lightworlders, all waiting in their makeshift living quarters for their appointment to see the Queene. It was a difficult thing, for someone outside the Court to gain audience. More difficult still for someone not living or working in one of the Guilds. It was nearly impossible for any creature outside the Palace walls to gain Mabb’s attention, and they traveled miles, sometimes for days through dangerous tunnels, to wait. Upon arrival, a guard would take their names and business, then mark out a plot of space with chalk on the breaking cement and ask the traveler to kindly wait for the next available audience. It was not as simple as it sounded. In her short five years living at Court, Ayla had seen countless pilgrims arrive begging a word with the Queene, yet none had ever been admitted. Some died waiting. More were born to take their place. When someone wished to speak with the Queene, they would wait forever.

      Ayla kept her head high, her gaze straight ahead as she cut through the teeming throng. This was a journey Garret made every day, or so he’d told her. Ayla had heard rumors of secret passages from the Palace so that Mabb could travel unmolested to other areas of the Lightworld. It seemed unlikely that if such passages existed, Garret would be denied access to them, so Ayla did not believe his claim. No one would take such a depressing path if they were given another choice.

      A baby cried somewhere, a babe no doubt not only born, but conceived in the line to see the Queene. Do not waste your lives waiting to venerate such an idle monarch, Ayla raged silently. Mabb cares only for your praise and your coin.

      A hand closed around her ankle, nearly tripping her. She looked down, made the mistake of looking into the eyes of the unhappy wretch that had grabbed her.

      “Please,” the Faery rasped through a mouth missing many teeth. This was not a true Fae, but she must have had some Fae blood, no matter how watered the bloodline might be, to be a citizen of the Lightworld. “You have the mark of a Guild member. Can you take me to see the Queene?”

      A chorus of voices raised up around Ayla as Fae creatures