C1 Drowning Sorrows

My inventions probably cause more deaths than all you other lot combined.

And I don’t even carry a sword.

—Ace Vane

Three days, and the pain hadn’t faded. It wasn’t a physical pain, not like stubbing his toe on an anvil or missing the nail and hammering his thumb instead ... no, this was a pain in his soul, a pain that kept him up and pacing at night, unable to work, unable to rest. His servants and attendants, already reeling in the wake of the tragedy that had befallen his realm, had gone silent and mousy, tentatively creeping around with anxious faces and darting hands, terrified of disturbing their master. They were depending on him to pull himself together and lead.

But right now, all Ace wanted to do was drink, and forget.

“Another?” Dean slapped him on the back, nearly knocking Ace’s nose into his empty goblet.

“Yes,” Ace said, squinting across the moonlit pleasure grotto at the attendant rushing toward him with a tray, upon which was perched a sloshing goblet of the same glowing gold concoction that was rapidly turning Ace’s thoughts inside out. The woman was scantily clad, as were all the slaves and attendants in Dean’s realm of Lust, just a few stretches of silver and black silk covering strategic areas, meant to tantalize. Ace tried to bring her into focus to more thoroughly appreciate her curves, but it made his head hurt, so he gave up and lowered his face into his hands.

Dean chuckled. “You could have this one for the night, if you wanted. On the house.”

“The woman or the wine?”

“Both.”

“Sounds like work,” Ace muttered. He glanced up to see the Fae woman, crimson hair parted by the tips of her pointed ears, giving Dean an uncertain look.

The Prince of Lust patted the woman on the arm. “It’s not personal, Letta. My brother is simply in a mood tonight. You are exquisite.”

And a slave. Dean insisted that all the attendants in his realm, without exception, be allowed to refuse potential customers. He said that they were free to consent, free to choose. But how real was that consent, given that some of them were captured slaves, their lives bought at auction?

“Doesn’t matter,” Ace mumbled into his palm.

“You are no fun tonight,” said Dean. “But I guess I can’t blame you. I heard about the accident. I’m sorry about Riladin. That was filthy bad luck, to lose a Keeper like that.”

Ace groaned. “It wasn’t luck. I should have caught that design flaw early on. He’s dead because I didn’t.”

“But I heard you got the horseless carriage to work, if only for a few moments.”

“I should never have attempted it. Riladin paid the price.” His faithful Keeper had volunteered to test drive the thing, and there he was sitting when the engine had exploded, hurling jagged metal shrapnel across the courtyard, shredding flesh and shattering bone. Ace had gotten away with a few deep gashes along his ribs and left thigh, nothing a healer couldn’t easily fix. Some of his assistants had also been injured and were still recovering in his infirmary. But Riladin had been beyond help and had died in Ace’s arms. The old Fae had whispered that it wasn’t Ace’s fault, his final pained words a lie told out of loyalty and love. And then that was it, he was gone, a man who had been at Ace’s right hand for centuries, ever since the Unraveling.

He urgently needed to find a new Keeper, but instead of dealing with that, instead of dealing with all the work of running a palace, an entire realm in fact, Ace had left it to his attendants and returned to Earth.

Mistake. Big mistake. Huge, in fact.

Dean was slapping his back again, and the constant jostling was succeeding in getting Ace’s mind off his troubles—but only because it was rapidly filling him with the overpowering urge to vomit. He jerked away from his brother and staggered up off the bench, knowing everyone in the secluded grotto was probably staring.

“Doesn’t matter,” he mumbled again, clutching the back of an exquisitely upholstered chair. When that became too much effort, he plopped to the floor. The burbling water of a nearby marble fountain wasn’t loud enough to conceal the moans of pleasure coming from a couple on the other side, and Ace suppressed the urge to cover his ears.

Wearing a grin, Dean turned around on the bench where they had both been sitting moments before. “You comfortable down there? Need anything?”

Ace glared at him. “Hand me my glass.” The sick feeling was subsiding, and as it sank out of his awareness, other things crept up to fill the space. Memories. Memories of things he was forgetting but desperately wanted to remember. The effort was driving him mad. Complete oblivion was the only relief. He held out his hand and wiggled his fingers impatiently.

“I’m not one to pry,” Dean said as he offered the goblet, glowing gold drops sliding over his knuckles. “But didn’t you just get back from a little Earth jaunt?”

It took every ounce of concentration Ace had to get the cup to his mouth without spilling its contents into his lap. “Three days ago.”

“Odd timing, that, what with Riladin’s passing and your people’s—.”

“I’m not here for a lecture.” Ace took a deep draught of the drink, feeling it tingle all the way to his belly.

“I’m not offering you one, brother.” Dean plucked an olive from the tray next to him and popped it into his mouth. “I was merely commenting.”

Ace grunted. “I had to try. I couldn’t stay and look at their faces. Those tears were because of me.” He’d needed to correct the flaw that had resulted in the death of his Keeper. It had felt as essential as breathing. And so, hope glowing like a spark in his chest, Ace had traveled to the outer boundary of the realm and stepped through the mirror, back to the land of technology, a magic unto itself. The automobiles were new; a few years ago, the wide roads of Portland were dotted with horse manure. But it was a new century, a new age, and now these fantastic machines rumbled up and down thoroughfares, powering themselves, controlled by a set of levers and a wheel. Only the tiniest bit of effort, and one could be zooming along as fast as a horse could gallop and for longer distances, without having to water and feed the thing, without having to deal with the horseshit.

If only. If only! Ace had been obsessed. He’d been convinced that this time, he could get around the curse and bring this wonderful technology to Inferna.

Yes, if only.

He’d thought he’d done it. How stupid he’d been.

He’d returned to Earth to try to figure out where he’d gone wrong. He’d gone back with hope.

He’d still been nurturing that spark when he returned to Inferna, wanting to bring ease and productivity to his grieving people. He’d known from experience that he couldn’t bring back actual plans or drawings—they turned to ash before his eyes—so he’d paid a fellow to let him spend a day taking one of these automobiles apart and putting it back together, exploring every valve, every ... part he now couldn’t remember for the life of him. The moment his boots had touched the soil of this hell, the knowledge he’d so obsessively hoarded within the folds of his brain began to slip away like it always had before. He’d grasped at it desperately, pulling a scrap of parchment from one of the pouches at his belt, along with a charcoal pencil. He’d dropped to the ground outside the massive gates to the Seven Realms and tried to reproduce the blueprints for the automobile, even as the knowledge slipped away like grains of sand from a clenched fist. He’d ended up with nonsense, scattered lines drawn in a faltering hand, the plans of a fool. Hope had been his mistake, and madness had been the result.

“I’m never going back again,” Ace muttered, downing the contents of the goblet in three long gulps. This time, the tingling was a satisfying burn, promising dreamlessness.

“Oh, come now. Earth is fun. Not as fun as my realm, but still. I thought you loved it there.” Dean rose from the bench and offered Ace a hand, but Ace knocked it away with a surliness that made his brother snort with laughter. “You really are a pathetic sight.” He stepped behind Ace and yanked him up to his feet before guiding him to a chair. “There. This is much more befitting a prince of Inferna.”

Ace stared at the floor. “I don’t want it anymore.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“I’m not good at it.”

“Your people would probably beg to differ. And the rest of us need you. So there.”

“My inventions probably cause more deaths than all you other lot combined. And I don’t even carry a sword.”

“Which goes to show how effective you are.”

“At causing disaster, you mean.”

Dean groaned. “Ace, you cause ease, as well. Cool air piped into sweltering bedchambers! Hot showers whenever we want! Wood chopped and stacked and dried, kilns that fire our pottery, bellows powered by machine! We wouldn’t have it half so easy were it not for you, dear lazy one.”

“I can’t do it without Riladin.” The Fae had been the only one Ace would trust to give him honest feedback, as the rest of his attendants were either too eager to curry favor or not able to wrap their heads around his complex diagrams and plans. “Without him, more will die.”

“Maybe we should send one of your horseless carriages out beyond the walls and let the rebel Fae give it a try,” suggested Dean, his laugh quick and sharp. “Fen would be grateful if you were to rid him of the latest wave of fighters. It could be our version of the Trojan horse.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” snapped Ace.

“Ah. I suppose it wouldn’t. But still, Fen has sent word that he could use additional soldiers and weapons. He says there are signs of another full-blown invasion in the works.”

“Fen’s rather alarmist about these things. It’s probably nothing,” Ace said.

“You can wish all you want, but you know that’s not true.”

“Fine. But Fen seems quite capable of waging war on his own.”

“I was there a few days ago to see how he fared. He said you’d told him about a new weapon.”

Ace laid his elbows on his knees and rubbed his hands over his face. His head was sloshing, his thoughts trying desperately to stay afloat. “He should forget I mentioned it.”

“He’s unlikely to forget the promise of death delivered from afar, something that would spare his people more casualties.”

“He said that?”

“Couldn’t stop talking about it, in fact. He’s so excited that he’s got Levi interested as well. And Levi said this was exactly the type of thing Father has been waiting to see from you.”

“So this is what it takes to impress him? An efficient murder machine?”

“You hadn’t figured that out by now? For a smart man, you’re rather stunningly dense.”

“It probably won’t work. It’ll explode and kill us all.”

“I thought you were the prince of Sloth, not Cowardice.”

Ace raised his head. “You think insults will change my mind? I just watched my Keeper, my most trusted friend, torn to shreds because of a design error I should have caught.”

“Then maybe you should look over your plans once more, brother, because from what Fen is saying, we need that weapon, whatever it is.”

Ace recalled the night, at least a moon ago, when he had babbled to the Prince of War about his new invention. He’d already constructed a prototype, was on the verge of testing it when he’d gotten distracted by the promise of the horseless carriage, of the dream of them zipping along the roads in his realm, delivering goods, increasing efficiency, lowering the workload, bringing joy. He’d been much more eager to focus on that instead of a device designed to literally rain hell on their enemies, but he should have known that Fenris would feel differently.

“I’ll think about it.” A funny thing to say, considering that right now, he could barely form a thought at all. He clumsily wiped drool from the corner of his mouth. As he looked up, he realized the Fae servant Dean had offered him for the night was watching him from behind a gauzy curtain. The points of her ears seemed longer now, like antennae almost, waving in the warm breeze that came wafting in from the canal. She had her hand over her mouth as if to stifle a giggle. “Go ahead and shtare,” he said, slurring his words. “I already know I’m an idiot.”

The woman ducked away quickly as Dean turned to look. “I’ll have her punished,” he offered. “If you want, you can whip her with braided silk. It leaves the prettiest red marks and is really quite arousing for all involved. Letta in particular seems to like it.”

“I’m as good at wooing women as I am with designing auto-auto-auto-mobilsh,” Ace said. His lips felt funny and loose and his eyelids weighed a ton each.

“All right, brother, I’m taking you to bed.” Dean rose and hoisted Ace up with him.

“You’re not my type,” Ace mumbled.

“Tomorrow, we’re going to Stonehill.”

“No.”

“Yes. And you’re going to summon your attendants to bring the weapon.”

“No.”

“Yes. And you’re going to start your search for a new Keeper as well.”

“No. Wait, what?” Ace turned his head, which he was fairly sure had swollen to five times its normal size. That golden drink was dangerous. “Keeper?”

Dean guided him out of the grotto and waved to a group of Shade attendants, who trotted over with a white cart that had been laden with fat silk pillows. With a slight push, Dean toppled Ace onto the cart. “Easier way to ride up to Pleasure Palace, which is where you’re going to sleep this off. And yes, Keeper. Fenris has captured a fresh crop of Fae, and he’s promising that some of them have special skills. I think he’s hoping that if he holds an auction, the rest of us will come ... and will be more willing to contribute to his war effort.”

Ace stared up at the hazy night sky, swirling with colors and brightly feathered birds and also mermaids. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. Slightly fewer mermaids, but still. “I don’t think ... um ...”

“It’s going to be a freight smathering.”

“Huh?” He’d been distracted by the flying mermaids, who had now morphed into windsharks with mechanical jaws and steam billowing out of their tailspouts, and surely that was the reason it sounded like Dean had just started speaking gibberish. “What did you say?”

“I asked if woo rhansayna rubyoo wadda?”

Ace blinked up at his brother, whose mouth was still moving, spewing nonsense syllables along with ruby-scaled snakes that oozed from between his lips and fell onto Ace’s cart. Ace batted at them with limp, uncoordinated fingers. “What?”

Dean looked down at him with a smirk. “Wadda. Wadda malattenda. Ahboogabba malkotim?”

Ace closed his eyes as merciful blackness washed over him. Sometimes being a vampire prince required way too much effort. Whatever Dean was asking him couldn’t be that important. It could wait until tomorrow for an answer.

For now, Ace, Prince of Sloth, was going to embrace forgetful oblivion with both hands.