Chapter Six
The girl named Charlize hustled around the submarine, pushing buttons and pulling levers to work the machine. Seth had introduced her as a friend of his, but Pasiphae only required a few moments of observation to see that Charlize treated him as a superior.
He was definitely a fae of the noble class then. And his clothes had magically dried.
"We've got to get that dreadful make-up off of you," he said now, bringing a damp cloth to her face.
Pasiphae gripped the seat under her legs, twitching in the dark dress. It looped around her neck and fell to her mid-calves, scratching the skin at the hem. The colours were truly gorgeous, like shimmering stars, but the dress was as mass-produced as paper bags. She didn't mean to sound pompous, but Pasiphae had truly never worn such coarse fabric.
"The cosmetics?" she inquired, moving her face back. "Why?"
She didn't want it rubbed off. It was the last thing that Circe had done for her, not counting the necklace still tight around her neck. She needed to find a small body of water soon. She needed to hear about what was happening in Medeis.
Seth smashed the cloth into her cheek. Pasiphae froze up, afraid that this was where he poisoned her and dumped her body out for the monsters of the sea to eat, but there was only freshwater soaked into the cloth.
"The dark lines mark you as a witch immediately," he was saying, either oblivious to or simply ignoring her discomfort. "No faery or human in their right mind would willingly draw their eyes to look like some cross between a vixen and a cat."
Pasiphae scoffed, relaxing. "How old are you? I hardly know what a cat looks like."
"Eighteen," he answered without a pause.
"A hundred and eighteen," Charlize intoned from the control panel.
"Okay, let's not get hasty," Seth shot back, "I'm eighteen in here—" he tapped his head, "—but ninety-six physically, if you must know. Still not old enough to have seen the cats in person."
The average faery lived a whole two hundred years longer than the average witch, but they aged a lot slower.
"Our first sub has surfaced," Charlize reported.
There was one window in this submarine, next to Pasiphae. There was only crystalline darkness outside.
"How long until we're bombarded with security?" Seth asked.
"I'd say about a minute." Charlize glanced back. "Your— I mean, sorry. Better hurry with that."
Seth scrubbed at Pasiphae's face harder.
"Ow," she protested. "Can't you remove it with your magic? And can I have my cloak back?"
Seth raised an eyebrow. Something akin to confusion flashed in his eyes. "I'd drain your source if I used fae magic near you."
Pasiphae clucked her tongue. "Right," she said plainly, and left it at that, casting her glance back to the murky blues and blacks outside the window. As if there was anything left to drain.
"I think that's about all that will come off," Seth muttered, peering at the cloth. "No matter. Your cloak, meanwhile—"
He bent down and threw her a bundle of fabric, now dried.
"The dagger is tucked back in the pocket," Seth said. "I'll trust you won't brandish it at me again."
Pasiphae gave an ambiguous shrug.
"Bel-Arh sent a comm." Charlize looked over her shoulder again, this time at Pasiphae. "They're waiting for our arrival."
With a sudden suctioning noise, the water swirling outside the window cleared, pushing them up in the final burst. There came a slurping under the carriage, and the machine tilted dangerously.
"Char!" Seth exclaimed.
"Don't worry, don't worry," she assured. "The floatation device is kicking in. This is what we get for taking the prototype, you know."
"We got here within the day, did we not?" Seth shot back.
Pasiphae pressed her fingers to the glass. There was only night outside at first, and then, bypassing the giant gates, there were the lights. She could see silhouettes of figures moving around, some flying and some walking, all hurrying with business to attend to.
She was in Khotadi, with two fae, aiding her, no less.
"I have a question," Pasiphae said. "What would have happened had I not dropped into the ocean?"
"I guess we'd have killed everyone we needed to lie to," Seth said flippantly.
Pasiphae jerked back violently. So they were that kind of Unseelie. Oh, Deaths, she needed to run—
"Kidding," Seth said quickly, taking a step back. "I'm just kidding. Magic. We'd use magic. Obviously."
Pasiphae tucked her chin in, a half-assed nod.
As if realising he had scared her a little, Seth said slowly, "We need to go through clearance." He reached for something. "Just one more detail."
There was a silver collar in his hands, entwined with droopy white flowers.
"What is that?" Pasiphae asked quickly. "That better not be going around my neck."
"Correct, it is indeed going around your neck." He snapped it open. "It's mandatory for humans in Khotadi to wear. These little blooms are from the mutated Borrachero trees that grow in Wan."
"Borrachero?" Pasiphae repeated. She was starting to sound like one of those cyborg parrots from Airesi that circled Eo on stormy days.
Ignoring her wince, Seth clicked the collar around her neck, closing in around the necklace she was already wearing. The faintest scent assaulted her senses, immediately unlocking the strangest wisps of a memory.
"You may have heard of it colloquially referred to as the Devil's Breath."
With those words, the memory came alive. Pasiphae lifted her hands to her face and saw dirt underneath her fingertips in another time, with morning dew dripping down her neck. Flowers in her hair and flowers crushed underfoot as something crept near. The smell, of all Callistra, this was a smell Pasiphae couldn't believe she would forget, sharpness and airborne flight and smoke stacks.
Pasiphae's hands had traveled up to the collar, clutching at the flowers without intending to.
"I've never heard of it," she said, but whatever it was, there was a clear, startlingly, certainty that she had come in contact with it before.
"Well, regardless, don't worry about its smell," Seth said. "It won't affect a witch just by being exposed to the scent, as it would for humans."
"Exactly..." Pasiphae began, "what does it do?" She pinched the stray stalk sticking into her neck. "It feels old world."
"It's been around for centuries now," Seth said, frowning as if he couldn't believe she didn't know, "just stronger after soaking in all that magic. It's a high influence, memory-wiping, truth serum drug, wrapped in one."
Pasiphae sighed. "Great."
The door to the carriage opened with a hiss. A trill of what sounded like fanfare echoed through the night.
"And we're here," Charlize announced, shutting off the screen. Pasiphae caught sight of her hand trembling.
Seth clicked his fingers in front of Pasiphae's face. "You're going to need to look a little more dazed to pass as human."
Pasiphae steeled her expression for a moment in revolt. She met Seth's raised eyebrows, and sighing, she proceeded to dull her gaze and let the corners of her lips lift up.
"Perfect." He offered his arm. Pasiphae paused, but took it.
Outside, the canal they had drifted into sparkled beneath their feet. They stepped onto the ramp, making their way onto what looked to be a large, sprawling dock. Pasiphae's shoes slid on the slick ground.
Waiting patiently for their arrival were six fae, standing in line formation with three on each side, dressed in crimson red. Pasiphae wanted nothing more than to take in the scene with awe, but she forced herself to look forward.
Strangely, her ears were picking up on a faint noise, one that was rather constant, so that she thought she may have been imagining it. She tried to focus on the large emblems stitched to the left side of the guards' chests, signifying the Unseelie Court, but her eyes flickered up for just a beat to locate the noise.
Beyond the docks, someone was being pummelled to death.
Her breath came out in a quick hiss, drawing Seth's attention.
"Don't flinch," the faery warned quietly, locating the source of her shock. "The peasants here are nothing. They are to be treated as invisible. Do not react, or we are caught before this con has even begun."
Pasiphae snapped her gaze away. There was violence and then there was that—a faery boy, no older than fourteen, slumped against the wall, flanked by two different guards. He wasn't wearing anything except a pair of shredded pants, exposing skin darkened by huge blotches of purple and blue, dripping slashes of blood. The worst part was his wings: gossamer fibres that looked to have gone through a shredder.
He is fae, she told herself, breathing deeply. They are not the same as you. They are creatures of otherworld proportions.
But a part of her could still see something incredibly wrong with beating a defenceless child, fae or not.
"Sir Saulaces Videtoriae," one of the guards stationed outside the carriage said, bowing and ignoring the scene behind him. "Welcome back."
The others followed suit.
Saulaces. Pasiphae recognised the name from her studies. He was the famous King of Colchis, what was once an ancient country even by old world Earthen standards.
"If you will, sir?" a guard said, keeping his head bowed. He pretended as if Pasiphae wasn't there, despite being attached to Seth's side. She supposed humans were too beneath him to react to. "Your procession to her Majesty's palace will begin shortly."
"Oh, that's not necessary," Seth responded, not a beat off rhythm. "I prefer the celebration within the palace."
The guard nodded as if it was a perfectly sensible explanation. Pasiphae's eyes were wandering again to the peasant faery, who had now been left alone to die.
Seth clicked his fingers. "Do you have all the bags, Psyche?"
"Sure do," the other female fae within his entourage chirped in reply, emerging from the first submarine.
Her name was Psyche? Maybe the fae and the witches had more in common than they thought. The witches apparently weren't the only one that thought reusing classic old world names for their children would return the original knowledge lost when the world changed.
Then again, Pasiphae thought, deflating, my name here isn't Pasiphae. And the fae are a lot more well-endorsed with knowledge than the witches are.
She only had to look around. Medeis was savage in comparison to Khotadi, humming with all its advancements. Her knees wobbled slightly. She wished Circe was here.
"Keep up then," Seth called to Psyche. He turned to Pasiphae, crooning, "Shall we proceed?"
Pasiphae almost grimaced, but smoothed her face out promptly, playing along.
"I want to see the palace," she declared.
"I know, I know," he assured, rolling along. "We'll be on our way soon."
The guard held out one hand, the other clutching an electronic clipboard. "Not quite yet, sir. We need to clear all new entrances into Khotadi." Seth levelled a gaze into the guard, who ducked his head in the first show of nervousness.
"It's nothing personal, sir," he said curtly. "There's recently been an influx of banshees entering Khotadi to spy for the Seelie Court."
Pasiphae blinked quickly, and averted her line of sight, hoping the guards hadn't caught her surprise. Banshees were fae who broke from their aligned Court, and generally lived out the rest of their half-dead lives on the Isles where their screaming blended in with the constant human hum of misery. So why were they coming to Khotadi?
"And you can't recognise a wretched Seelie in our midst?" Seth questioned.
The guard looked one step away from falling on his knees. The others gave no indication of stepping in to help.
"They—" The word lodged in his throat. Had he been about to lie? "Ahem, excuse me, sir, but former Unseelies who have turned Seelie are harder to identify. Questioning is protocol."
Seth thinned his lips. "Go on then."
The guard cleared his throat, glancing at the clipboard screen. Pasiphae wondered what it displayed.
"Your name and title, please?"
"You announced me as Saulaces Videtoriae of nobility, so I would assume you already know." Seth turned back to the other one of the two fae who had been in the first submarine, who Pasiphae had to assume was Bel-Arh. "Get a load of this guy."
Bel-Arh snorted.
The royal guard looked annoyed, but he hadn't seemed to notice that Seth skirted about the question.
"While in and out of Khotadi, are you loyal only to the Her Majesty Queen Morgana and His Majesty King Consort Prees of the Unseelie Court?"
There was a beat of silence, and Pasiphae saw her role laid out before her clearly in an instance.
"This is ridiculous," she pouted, shaking Seth's arm. Pasiphae hitched her breath, gazing up at his slightly looming height with a doe-eyed blink. "Of course, you're loyal to those you serve, aren't you?"
"Yes. Of course, I am loyal," Seth said, his gaze still unwavering forward.
Pasiphae bobbed on her feet. She grinned smugly at the guard. He didn't seem to notice that Seth answered a different question to the one he asked. "See? Now can we go?"
The guard narrowed his eyes at her, but otherwise waved their entourage to an awaiting carriage without an overhead covering, sleek and silver and curved to resemble a bowl.
"You may proceed," he said stiffly.
Pasiphae couldn't believe it was that easy. Even within Medeis, they required identification papers to travel among the sectors. She supposed that with fae, deception and intent to do ill was identifiable with one simple closed-ended question.
The guard stopped them again. She almost thought that she had spoken too soon, but he was only talking to Seth: "Sir, I'd highly advise you to keep a close eye on your consort. Some humans eventually grow resistant to the Borrachero scent."
Pasiphae feigned confusion.
"I'll keep that in mind," Seth said lightly. The guard bowed his head in understanding.
They skirted past him, and Pasiphae waved languidly.
"Will you stop that?" Seth hissed once they were out of earshot, snatching her hand back.
"Why?" Pasiphae grinned to herself. "We're in."