Laura Gilman - Soul of Fire

“If he found that, he could find this house, too,” Alex said, still worried. “It was one thing when they were hunting down the others—that served our purposes, as well. But he’s sniffing for her now, and if his claws reach here...”

“She is stronger now,” Cam said. “She had been in residence there only a few weeks, not long enough to sink her magic into the walls, set up defenses. This court grows, her power grows, and strengthens.

“But the Wolf—” Alex started to say.

“The Wolf will come to her the same as we did, drawn to her strength, and she will decide then what to do with him.” The thought made Cam’s ears twitch again, although this time his mouth shaped into a smirk. Their lady did not take kindly to those who challenged her.

“She’s already thought of it,” one of the y ō kai said, finally entering the conversation. “Herself don’t leave a thing to chance. She wants this world, so she has a plan. We work it right, we play smart, we’re there when she wins. If we don’t screw it up.”

On that, all five could agree. Nalith had a plan; all they had to do was follow her decrees and be rewarded for it.

Above, in her courtroom, Nalith smiled. The longer she stayed in one place, the more it became hers, stretching her awareness into the very structure. The wood and stone, the water rushing through the pipes, even the wiring that hummed, but most of all Nalith felt the creatures moving through her court, doing her bidding and anticipating her needs, from the kitchen to the upstairs chambers, out into the yard where the ragged, raging gnomes built their nests, down into the cool earth of the cellar. They were odd and ragtag, these creatures, kin and yet not her own, but they contained the spark she had been searching for, each one of them. Hunger, a desire to be more than they were, to achieve more.

Even in this world, that spark was too rare, too useful a thing to be dismissed, even in lesser creatures. Her fingers stretched out as though to touch that warmth and then curled against the arm of her chair, reminded once again that it was not a thing she could hold.

Not yet, anyway. What might not be possible, here and now, to one such as her, now that Nalith knew what she had been lacking?

Letting awareness of her creatures fade, she watched the figures on the screen, but her thoughts were sidetracked, remembering.

Her consort, not beloved but familiar, combed the hair of his pet and then sent it off to fetch breakfast. He stretched, content with himself, his position, his place within the universe.

She studied him, the too-familiar lines of his face and body, then turned away, hungry for something other than food. She did not understand it. A restlessness possessed her, turning her from her usual pleasures and satisfactions. Perhaps if she had a pet of her own, it would ease this mood. There were humans in the court, of course, but none of them were hers, none had been hers for years, since...she could not remember when. It had sung. She remembered that. Long ago. Too long, perhaps. Since long before this restlessness had taken hold of her, the sense that something had changed, without her knowing, without her permission. She resented it, but she could not resist it.

The antechamber had a window that opened to the air, looking out over the plains. A storm moved across the distance, blue-black clouds filled with occasional flashes of silver. Rare but not unheard of, not so unusual as to warrant note. The distant rumble of thunder carried across empty space, and she felt it again, that sense that something was different, changed. It had begun nearly two seasons past, a shake and a click inside her, like doors opening and shutting.

None of the others felt it. She alone—she, who was queen.

It had to do with humans, she thought for the first time. Humans, and the spark they carried, that made the court crave their presence. But how or why... Humans had no place in this realm, save what she gave them. They were nothing. How could they influence her so?

And then the storm came, rare lightning striking the windowsill where she rested her fingers, making her jerk back in surprise, she who was never surprised, never taken off guard. The touch shivered through her, and an answer came as though drawn by her own will, that touch of power spanning two worlds, spanning and binding them in her hands.

She hadn’t understood then. But she had known the answer rested elsewhere—in the land of humans.

She had begun planning, that moment.

The display in front of her ended, the words at the end scrolling too quickly to read. Nalith tried to hold the emotions the story had stirred in her, keeping them close. It was no use. No matter how she immersed herself, how much she took in, the feelings never lasted, leaving her aware of the emptiness once again.

She had not been queen when last they made incursions to the other realm. In truth, she barely remembered it save for the busy flow of adults through the court and new pets after. There had been a girl child who’d sung sweetly, until the notes went flat and the words faded, leaving the girl silent. No matter how Nalith had ordered the girl to sing, the human could not remember the tunes. Too long Under the Hill, too long to remember.

That had been when Nalith had begun to understand that terrible delicacy, that human gift. The court created nothing. No dance, no music, no songs or stories. They stole from the lips of lesser creatures, made them perform over and over until the color faded and the sounds fled, and all that remained was rote and routine. Dead sounds, dull movements.

Humans could create, but only here, in this realm. Taken too long from it, they faded. And so it must be this place, this realm and not humans themselves, that was so filled with creation; if she owned it, she would own that, too. The desire drove her, beyond all reason. And then the storm had come and shown her the way.

A noise broke her from her reverie. Annoyed, she turned to glare at the doorway. The figure there—scrawny, with a red cap pulled close around its head, and fingers twitching as though it never knew quite what to pick up next—was showing signs of having been there awhile.

Once it saw that she had seen it, the brownie bucked and groveled until she sighed with irritation. And yet, the film had ended, and there were things that required her attention. And it had tried to speak with her before; she remembered that. She picked up the remote controlling device and muted the sound. “Go on, Cam.” She was reasonably sure it was Cam.

“My lady?”

“Do not try my patience. Speak.”

“There is news, my lady. The others have begun searching for you again, in the places where you have been.”

This it interrupted her for? “Let them,” she said negligently. “What care I if others nose about my leavings, like scavengers after the feast? They are no threat to me.”

The locals—supernaturals, they called themselves—might not wish her here; she was aware enough of that, but they would not drive her out. Nalith had no intention of returning through the portal. They would simply have to accept that fact.

She would never go back. Never.

“My lady, there is more.” Cam had perfected the art of the sideways reproach, the voice that said he of course could think of nothing more perfect than my lady; however, it was entirely possible she was testing him to see if he, too, knew what needed to be done.

Nalith knew herself to be arrogant, prideful, and selfish, but she could also recognize when a retainer did its job well and with a certain style. And telling her unpleasant things, without fear, was part of its responsibilities, however little either of them liked it.