Vigil's Valor: 42 - His Majesty, the King

As if my night hadn’t already been long and weird enough, when Cal and I finally made it back to the Citadel there was another unexpected surprise waiting for me.

My sleeping quarters had been overrun by a group of drunken fairies. Even in my own head that sounded like a terrible euphemism, but in this case, it was one hundred percent accurate.

Butterfly winged pixies flitted gracefully through the air while squat gnomes, sporting their customary conical red hats, talked about the finer points of strawberry picking. Spidery limbed trolls the size of toddlers, strutted across a banquet table covered with platters of meats and fruits. They shoveled food into their faces with reckless abandon.

There were flaming salamanders. Little gray men with bulbous heads and oversized black eyes who could’ve passed for aliens straight out of a Sci-Fi novel; they were called Tommyknockers, according to Cal. Hell, someone had even moved a large copper tub into the master suite, which held a Mermaid, though she was less Ariel and more Creature from the Black Lagoon.

There must’ve been fifty of them, all mingling, laughing, drinking, and dancing like this was a supernatural cocktail party and not my bedroom. They didn’t seem overtly hostile and they cast curious looks at me and Cal, but none of them made any move to run or fight. It was almost like they’d been expecting us, which could only mean one thing…

“Ah!” Renholm’s voice cut through the boisterous chatter right on cue. “At last, my Duke and his buffoonish court jester have finally arrived. Fashionably late as ever—but better late than never as the saying goes.”

On the far side of the room a creature rose into the air on sleek black raven’s wings.

“Behold the glory of your Majesty,” Renholm said with a flourish, twirling in the air. “For I am reborn! No longer a mere pixie—worthy only of scorn and derision—but a Dread Pookah. I am Lord of Havoc, ruler over the high passes of Ironmoor, scourge of Jeffrey, and the One True Monarch of the Oblivion Court!”

A raucous cheer went up from the assembled partygoers while fists, hooves, and globular appendages that technically qualified as arms pumped in the air.

Renholm was still just as tiny as ever—like a poseable action figurine with klepto-fu grip—but he’d traded in his barbie doll appearance for the body of a spider monkey and the face of a fennec fox, complete with luminous yellow eyes and huge pointed ears that reminded me of the monsters from the 1984 horror classic, Gremlins. Despite our best efforts, I immediately noticed he was still missing his leg, though he’d replaced it with a little wooden peg. A vicious smile revealed a mouth full of jagged teeth and floating above his head was a halo of black flame that looked like a crown.

Honestly, he was more adorable than terrifying. Like an evil Muppet, lifted off the set of a Jim Henson production.

“Did he just say Monarch of the Oblivion Court?” Cal asked softly. “Because I’m pretty sure he just said Monarch of the Oblivion Court.”

He sure had. Which could only be trouble.

Renholm hadn’t told me much about his past, but I did know he’d left the Oblivion Court over “creative differences” with his rival, Jeffrey—who he hated with a passion that bordered on obsession. At the time I hadn’t thought much of it. When I first got here, I’d been so lost in the sauce that all the names and weird terms had just blended together in a massive collage of meaningless fantasy bullshit. Now that I knew a little bit about the violent history between the Chaos Titans of Oblivion and the Celestials—which included my boss Raguel—I was thinking this sounded like a clusterfuck waiting to happen.

“Your Majesty,” I growled, balling my hands into fists. “Do you mind if we have a private word with you?”

Renholm sighed and rolled his eyes. “Yes, fine.” He floated back down and flitted over to a stooped creature wrapped in fine silk robes who had the head of a water buffalo. “Forgiveness, Lord Gnu,” he said, “I’ll be back shortly. My court has need of my sage council. You know how these things go. Won’t be but a moment.”

He zipped over and landed on my shoulder. “That is the exalted Belligerent Gnu, advisor to the Monarch of the Petal Court. If you embarrass me in front of the Gnu, Boyd, I will instruct Sir Jacob Francis to vomit on your pillow every day from now until the end of eternity. Do I make myself clear?”

“I don’t give a shit about the Belligerent Gnu of the Petal Court, Renholm. I want to know why all of these things are in my room throwing a kegger?”

“They are here for my coronation,” he replied, as though it should’ve been self-evident. “And these ‘things’ as you so crudely and inelegantly put it, are some of our newest subjects, Boyd. Many of them have sojourned here to pledge fealty to the court. Others, like our esteemed friend the Belligerent Gnu, have come to ally themselves in our upcoming war against the False Oblivion Court.”

Coronation? Royal subjects? War? A humanoid water buffalo named the Belligerent Gnu? There was a lot to unpack there.

“Okay, putting aside all the batshit crazy stuff that just came out of your mouth, did it never occur to you that we’re in the middle of the Citadel? There are literal monster hunters all around us. There isn’t a worse place in the world for you to throw a party to try and impress your friends.”

Renholm rolled his eyes. “You worry too much.” He patted my shoulder reassuringly. “I have used my potent new magics to enchant this space so we will not be found out, but even if a Fist of the most zealous Vigils wandered in, we would be fine. We Fae are not as other Mortka and there are ancient rules of hospitality and custom that must be adhered to. I am your invited guest and as a monarch, that invitation extends to all of my guests and vassals.”

He waved a clawed hand at the assembled creatures.

“If any Vigil struck an unprovoked blow against us, it would shatter a host of supernatural accords and bring down the wrath of every Fae Court upon the Citadel. We may all loath each other, but we hate the Vigilant even more. Attacking us would mean war, which the Vigils do not want. Now relax and have a drink. I’m not sure if you heard, but I’ve promoted you to Duke of the Realm and I think the Pearl Weeper”—he pointed at the grotesque mermaid in the bathtub—“might be interested in celebrating with you.”

Sure enough, the creature in the tub was twisting a pale, waxy finger around a lock of stringy black hair. She winked one bulging, black fisheye at me then smiled with the yawning jaws of a piranha. That unnerving, toothy maw would haunt my nightmares for weeks to come, I had no doubt.

Cal frowned then shrugged. “I mean her face is busted, but her body above the waist is a solid seven. I’m not saying go for it, but it’s nothing a paper bag won’t fix.”

“Dude, are you okay?” I asked, side eyeing the mermaid. Nope. Not in a million years. “Because I feel like that was a cry for help.”

He shrugged. “Death is a cold and lonely mistress, bro. To never again feel the warmth of another or experience the caress of a lover’s embrace… The longing for real human connection… it’ll do things to you. Although, I had exceptionally low standards even before being wrapped in a thick blanket of existential dread.”

“Yeah. We’re gonna see about getting you some counseling,” I said. “But let’s put a pin in that for now because I’d like to circle back to the part where Renholm declared war against the Oblivion Court.” I turned my cold gaze on the fairy. “That seems like something we probably should’ve talked about first. Seeing how we’re partners and all.”

“It’s nothing to get yourself worked up over,” Renholm replied. “In truth, it’s a mere formality and I was only preempting them to establish dominance. Trust me my young protégé, they would’ve declared war on us the second they heard about my ascension. It was inevitable. The Oblivion Court are the rulers of Chaos Magic and acolytes of Telvyss, the Void Tree of the Endless Night. Their entire hierarchy is built around harnessing the powers of Oblivion, and only the royals are permitted to cultivate Chaos Affinity on pain of death.

“According to their own stupid decrees, however, since I ascended using Chaos Affinity, I am now technically a child of the Titans. Which technically means I can lay a claim to the Jagged Throne. As you know, technically correct is the best kind of correct and the only kind of correct most Fae care about. The current Court can’t afford to let me live. Which is why I immediately declared war on them, proclaimed us to be the one true court of Oblivion, and asserted that the current Monarch, Ionia the Supreme Queen of Dark Tidings, is a pretender to the throne.”

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. Fuck my life.

“I’m getting the sense that you may be peeved,” Renholm continued with a frown, “but I feel obligated to point out that you are the one who gave me a Sage-Class Chaos Affinity Scale in the first place. So really, if this is anyone’s fault, it’s yours.”

“I was just trying to save your life, you little dickhead,” I growled. “I didn’t know giving it to you would start a cascading chain of events that would end up with you declaring war against a vastly superior force. You, on the other hand, absolutely knew all of that before you ever picked the Chaos Affinity Scale. Why didn’t you just take the Seraphic Scale?”

“Because it would’ve ruined my whole aesthetic,” he said matter of factly. “In my defense, you never asked if giving me that scale would start a cascading chain of events that would end up with me declaring war against a slightly superior force. So again, this is on you as much as it is on me.”

“How would I have even known to ask that?” I shot back. “And would you have told me the truth if I had?”

Renholm cocked his head, clearly thinking about his reply. “No, if I’m being honest with myself, I probably wouldn’t have told you in hindsight.”

“Great, this is just great,” I said, running a hand through my hair. “I’m hunting down one chaos monster while doing backroom deals with another one. That’s not an enormous conflict of interest in any way.”

“In these situations,” Renholm said, “it’s best to do what I do.”

“Yeah? What’s that?” I asked.

“Entirely ignore the inevitable consequences of your actions,” he said. “With most problems, I find that if I just avoid thinking about them for long enough, they tend to naturally resolve themselves.”

That was literally some of the worst advice I’d ever heard given by anyone, ever. It also explained so, so much about Renholm. The true mystery, however, was that I was standing in a room full of sentient—presumably intelligent—creatures who wanted to actively pledge loyalty to someone with that life philosophy.

“And all of these creature’s want to join you in this asinine crusade?” I asked, just to double check that I hadn’t made any other terrible assumptions.

Seriously, who would possibly want to side with a twelve-inch tall, flying spider-monkey against someone named Ionia the Supreme Queen of Dark Tidings? That was like teaming up with that guy who took on the US Federal Government with a reinforced bulldozer—I mean sure, it was cathartic as hell to watch, but there was no one who wanted to be riding shotgun with that guy. Watching a train wreck and being on the train were two very different things.

Renholm shrugged. “Ionia is not well loved by those outside the False Court. Honestly, she’s not even all that well loved within the Court. Most of these venerable creatures assembled before us, are outcasts who have incurred the wrath of the Jagged Throne in one way or another. Better to band together than to die alone. Or, like the Belligerent Gnu, they represent Fae factions who would happily see Ionia knocked down a peg or two.

“They don’t believe we can win, of course, but if assisting us even minorly inconveniences her, they are happy to help us fight a proxy war. Especially since one of my sworn lords happens to be one of the Vigilant. Just think about it, Boyd. Celestial and Oblivion working together, hand in hand once more. That hasn’t happened since the Hundred Years’ War against Isabella the Ghostblood and look at how that turned out. Say what you will about Isabella, but she certainly shook things up, no?”

I groaned. Double fuck my life.

“Oh my god, this is getting so much worse by the second,” Cal whispered. “I wish I had a stomach so I could eat some popcorn and just watch this all play out.”

Suddenly I had the distinct urge to preemptively declare a war on every creature of the Fae Wylds, then go on a killing spree starting with fairies named Renholm. As a newcomer to this world, I was still learning about the history of Alkran, but people here talked about the Hundred Years’ War the same way we talked about World War 2. There was no way this wasn’t going to come back to haunt me with terrible, awful, unforeseen consequences.

And the worst part was, there was absolutely nothing I could do about it now. Not a single, damned thing. Even breaking my pact with Renholm wouldn’t put this genie back into the bottle.

As much as I hated myself for even thinking it, I realized I was going to have to follow Renholm’s terrible advice and just… ignore the inevitable consequences of my actions and mutter a prayer that this all went away.

“I don’t have time to deal with this tonight,” I said in resignation. “I’m going to hit the baths and when I come back, all your guests better be gone or it’s open season on fairies. I need a decent nights’ sleep because tomorrow is going to be a living nightmare.”

“Oh, do tell me more,” Renholm said, ears perking up in interest. “What horrors await on the morrow?”

“I have another royal party to attend,” I said, “but first, Kerra is going to take me shopping…”