Courts and Cabals 2 by G.S. D'Moore (warren buffett book recommendations TXT) 📗

break was a thin slit around where the eyes would be. It wasn’t enough space to see out of, but the creature didn’t seem to mind. It did a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree spin to take in its surroundings, and despite the full facial covering, I could practically see the smile on the thing’s face.

“Here’s Johnny!” a clearly masculine voice boomed, and the palace gave a shake; like the voice was a violation. Even the sentient, marble floor had flowed away from the man. Just like when the Lady of Winter was about to execute me. It sensed danger.

The man put his hands on his hips and surveyed the gathered crowd. “Really . . . nothing?” he asked, his tone dripping with disappointment. “Steven King . . . The Shinning . . . don’t tell me we’re the only ones watching the mortal realm’s pop culture. It is, hands down, the best thing humanity has going for them,” he took a step toward the Lady of Winter.

She took a step back and slammed her foot twice into the floor. The sentient marble reacted with a ripple like a miniature tidal wave. It rushed toward her, coalesced, and rose upward in the form of a staff taller than the member of The Nine. At the tip, a dazzling blue diamond sprang into existence. When it did, it was like someone turned down the temperature in the room.

“Ahh, the Coldstone,” the man squared himself off against the Lady of Winter. “It’s been a few epoch’s since I saw that, Jötunn.”

The name seemed to strike a nerve with Aveena’s mom, because she hissed like a coiled snake. “You are not welcome here, Aesir. Your kind was banished eons ago. Leave this place, or suffer my wrath.” Her little speech was filled with enough power than everyone in her court was knocked down onto one knee. Some of the least powerful were literally smashed flat by her words. Multicolor blood splashed against the walls and floor as the weak met their fate.

“Banished is a strong word,” the man didn’t even quiver before the powerful Fae. “Maeve shut the door for good, but you aren’t her, Ymira, Queen of Jotunheim. In fact,” he sniffed the air like a hunting dog, “you are far below your maker.”

“Silence, Trickster,” she leveled her staff at the man. “Or I will cut out your silver tongue and mount it to my throne.”

“And it would certainly improve the décor,” the man waved off her threat, and focused his eyes on me. At least, I thought it was his eyes. The only thing shining through his visor slit was an unearthly glow. The sense of astral projection abruptly vanished, and my consciousness slammed back down into my body. I groaned as a full-body ache reminded me of what I’d been missing.

Under that gaze, I added a nugget of shit to the puddle of piss surrounding me. I currently gave zero fucks I was wallowing in my own filth. I was pretty sure the guy could incinerate me just by looking at me. Ymira’s axe clattered to the ground next to me, and made me jump.

“So why is he still looking at me,” I cringed, but couldn’t look away.

“Baby bro, thanks for being a big, flashing neon sign for me. I wouldn’t have been able to crash this party without you; and, of course, you two,” he pointed at Aveena, and her mom. As he did, his golden armor undulated and flowed like water into his open palms; before hardening back into twin, curved scimitars. “Your acknowledgement of what little Cameron was allowed me to hone in on this little shindig. You know what they say, be careful what you wish for,” he laughed, and the room rumbled like the palace had been hit by an earthquake.

Then, he split, and I’m not talking about getting the hell out of dodge. The Trickster literally blurred, and then there were two of him. He blurred again, and there was four, then eight, sixteen.

“Kill him!” the Lady of Winter screamed. “And kill the boy, he’s the anchor.”

“Fuck,” I stared wide-eyed at the room full of giants with murder in their eyes, but I wasn’t alone. I felt a spark of joy ignite in my gut. “He called me little bro,” it would have been the revelation of my life if Aveena wasn’t already moving toward me, with her glamour blade ready to succeed where her mother failed.

“Catch,” one of the man’s doubles shouted, and tossed me one of his swords. “Brace yourself,” he laughed, and although it didn’t make the throne room shake, it still made me feel like a toddler among men.

As the blade arced toward me, pommel first, one of the giant guards reached one of the golden doubles. The guard was a male, and they were nearly the same height. The guard thrust with his spear, missing the double by inches. The double pirouetted like a prima ballerina, batted the pole out of the way with one armored gauntlet, and cut the guard from crotch to armpit in an upward slash. For a moment, the guard was splayed open like the T-1000 in Terminator 2 before toppling over very, very dead.

Then . . . I caught the sword. Fire and lightning flashed through my veins as power surged through me. This wasn’t my Fae gifts, or even my precognition; although, my sight did flash a warning. It was whatever power Lark had refused to tell me about, and the siren call of the power was echoed in the doubles spreading out all around the room. It was the shot of adrenaline my aching body desperately needed to stay alive. My sight told me when and where Aveena’s strike was going to land, but more importantly, I knew with every fiber of my being that I could fight her.

Silver, glamour sword met golden, whatchamacallit blade with a clang