by Sage, May
Or die trying.
They'd discussed the stratagem together the previous night. It wasn't faultless, but it would limit the casualties on both sides.
They were optimistic the throne would choose Vale, but in case Aurelius was picked, there would still be hope. Vale could beg for mercy, ask to return to his land, exiled and tethered or cursed to remain in Carvenstone.
There was also a chance Rook—or Marcus—the first bastard of the overking, would be chosen. In that case, they were all as good as dead.
But one way or another, it had to end.
Three
Darken Paths
Krea was cradling Surin when Kallan Blacks burst into the main hall of Carvenstone, flanked by the captain and commander of their guards. He shouted orders.
"We're under attack. Don't take anything with you. If your name starts with A to F, take the north path, back to the forest, with Nyx. G to M, the western way, toward the sea. Dayus and Tradora, can you take them?" The brother and sister nodded. Blacks promptly moved on. "N to Z, head south with Kit, to the valley leading to the Fairfolds estate."
Krea was too stunned to move. That was it? They were leaving the safety of their most sacred home? If they were in danger here, how would they survive in the woods, in the dreary old Fairfolds estate even Valerius Blackthorn, their lord, hated? And the very thought of going to the sea was enough to make her feel sick.
But Kal looked terrified. She didn't think she'd ever seen him even remotely rattled before. His expression was enough for her to leap into action without question. She shook Surin until the little boy woke up.
He wasn't that little, not compared to her. Still, she was in charge of him today. There were many children in Carvenstone, and not enough grownups to take care of them today, when anyone who could fight was armed and protecting the gates. So, she'd been asked to look after the six-year-old.
Krea made sure he had a woolen cloak before taking her own. She placed his favorite toy—a stuffed cat—in his arm, and after a moment of thought, she grabbed her doll, too.
It wasn't a very pretty doll. She'd made it in class, and sewing wasn't one of her strengths. The doll's smile was a little crooked, and her eyes weren't even. But she was hers all the same.
Blacks had told them not to take anything, so she hoped she wouldn't be told off for taking her doll.
Krea hesitated. Her name made her part of the second group, and Surin was part of the third.
She steeled her resolve. She was in charge of Surin—their professor had said so. Which meant that west or south, they'd go together.
Krea thought things through. She liked Kit well enough. He was one of the strongest knights of Carvenstone. However, Dayus and Tradora were actual dragons. If there was danger, she decided that having fire-breathing monsters on your team wasn't the worst idea. She rushed to the west opening, part of a long line of people walking as fast as they could.
Surin's hand in hers, Krea tried to keep up.
Soon, she started to feel tired. It wasn't an easy path. She knew it kept going for miles and miles. And though she was strong, she wasn't a grownup .
"I'm hungry, Kreeeeh."
Surin couldn't pronounce her name right yet.
She smiled. "I know. I'm hungry too. If we try to get there as fast as we can, we can eat when we arrive."
"Where? I'm tired."
Krea tried to hide her frustration. What could she do to alleviate the little boy's tiredness and hunger, when she couldn't even appease her own?
They were almost at the back of the line. She looked around, hoping to find a familiar face. Carvenstone was a large estate and not everyone knew each other well.
No one stood out. They'd dropped back with the weaker, slower fae, and they didn't seem to have a care, save for reaching the exit.
They all froze as one when a piercing scream resounded through the corridors. The network of labyrinthine paths was narrow and dim. It sounded like it was so close.
Krea's eyes widened, and her grip around Surin's hand tightened.
Unexpectedly, a stranger stopped in front of her. Krea looked up. A male with cat-like eyes and furry ears.
"I'll carry him," he offered.
Surin protested, while Krea looked at his long legs. She nodded, releasing the chubby hand.
Sometimes, the responsible thing was to let go. The grownup would get him out of here faster.
He strode away, Krea watching his back. She didn't think she'd ever forget Surin's glare. The betrayal in his eyes. Or his sobs.
He'd get out of the tunnels a lot faster without her.
The child ran as fast as her feet could carry her. The floor of the path carved in the belly of the mountain was damp and cold, freezing her bones, and she knew she couldn't stop.
More screams echoed, all sounding so very close. She could smell blood in the air.
The monsters were approaching.
She forced herself to face forward, always forward, and keep going.
Her legs were attenuated, shorter than most. She couldn't catch up.
Moments ago, she'd been glad that a grownup had offered to take care of Surin. Now, a nasty part of her was wondering, what about her? She was nine. Why hadn't anyone stopped for her?
Krea tripped over the smooth, slippery gray stone, and a yelp came out of her mouth as she fell forward, scraping her knees.
Back up.
She had to get back up.
But she couldn't. Her limbs suddenly weighed a thousand tons. Her heart beat at a thousand miles a minute and she cried.
Carvenstone was supposed to be a safe haven for people like her.
Now it would be a tomb. She could hear the monsters’ approach, so very fast and strong, their blades and teeth whetted by fae blood.
This was the end of their world.
She cried where she sat, hopeless and defeated.
Through her blurry vision, she could barely detect any features as a tall figure approached at high speed. Krea got back to her feet and lifted her small knife.
This, she could do. Fight till her last breath. That was the way of her people, the only way she knew.
He moved so fast she couldn't see, let alone act against him.
Before she could do or say a thing, he'd grabbed her by the torso, right under the armpits, and thrown her over her shoulder like she weighed nothing more than a sack of potatoes.
Krea stilled, gasping. She may not see much, but she knew this scent, under the blood and the fear. Sea, lilies, and curses. Burning wood.
It smelled of home.
Kallan Blacks, the commander of their forces. He'd led soldiers to the doors when the enemies had come.
"Where are the other soldiers?" she asked.
Suria, her training master, and Baen, the silent man who played the lyre. Aessa, Fauken, Vyssers. They were all heroes to their people, male and females she'd admired her entire life.
Blacks didn't say a word, and then she knew.
Dead.
They'd all been killed protecting Carvenstone.
Four
Dyrmounts
Jeryn kept her head down, as she always did. She was a pretty female, and bad things happened to pretty females who were noticed by the males of Staren. Anyone with half a brain knew that. Besides, no one watched their mouth in front of an invisible servant, and Jeryn was desperate to hear news of the world outside of the stinking city she couldn’t afford to leave.
That day, she heard many whispers.
They said he’d come to Corantius—the southern fae with a claim to the throne. They said he had a winged goddess by his side, and that he’d stolen treasures from right under the scion knights guarding the Court of Stars.
“They say the bastard prince might come and claim the throne…and I hope he does,” she’d said to a stranger, a female she’d never seen before.
A female who hadn’t come back for her things or her horses after the incident up in the Stormhale residence.
&nbs
p; Jeryn kept her mouth shut, served ale, and listened some more.
Armies, elves, had come to Corantius. So many whispers, and all meant the same thing: war.
War was never good for the common folks, she knew that. Yet the current way of things had made her little more than a slave from the moment she’d open her eyes. Although she had magic, she was no scion, and in Corantius, that meant she was nothing at all.
Jeryn remembered the women she’d shown to a chamber just the night before. She’d been kind and respectful, despite the fact it was plain as day that her blood ran as blue as any of the scions she’d ever met. The female had been a scion at the very least, perhaps even an Enlightened, but she’d looked straight in her eyes and spoken to her as if she mattered.
At the end of her shift, Jeryn stretched her neck out in the kitchen. There were just as many whispers here, among the maids and cooks, and they talked of the same thing.
“You should have seen her. Wings as large as a dragon, bright as gold. For a moment, she hid the sunlight.”
Jeryn wished she’d seen it—she’d been working the previous day.
“They killed a dozen scions, just the two of them!”
“I heard it was a hundred.”
She smiled, took her things from her locker, and left the inn through the back door. She lived half an hour away, in the poorer part of town, with the other fae. Jeryn rented a room in a decrepit female’s home, small, but clean and safe enough.
She took two dozen steps before her feet stopped and her head snapped left. She tilted it and frowned, listening with more than her ears.
Since she’d been a little girl, she’d had one gift—one small, useless gift that no one valued in this realm.
She took another step forward, and the buzzing troubling her mind grew louder, bolder.
After checking her right and left, Jeryn ran as fast as her feet would carry her. Not home. She headed to the stables instead.
“Dammit,” she cursed, lifting the latch of the main door.
The door flew open, kicked in by the most magnificent beast she’d ever seen. It was larger than any horse, slender and powerful, and fierce.
“Well, you certainly know how to command attention.”
She snickered as the horse proudly marched past her, ignoring her entirely.
If she was right—and something told her that she was right—she’d served a goddess the previous night, and seen a glimpse of a prince. A prince who didn’t mind passing for a servant. There would be no song, or banner, or trophy for her, but she’d also let his horse go.
Horses. After the great black beast, a chocolate-brown beauty with a white mane followed, lowering its head to hers as he passed her by. This one wasn’t quite as self-important.
Jeryn watched them go for a moment, before checking her surroundings again and heading east, toward her home.
She’d only taken one step when the beast neighed, demanding her attention again.
The black horse looked right into her eyes, his mind reaching out to hers.
“Come on, you have more magic in that mane of yours than I do from head to toe. I’m sure you’ll find your way.”
The beast nickered.
“Go, before Vera’s horsemaster realizes you’re missing.”
The beast did not move, staring intently.
Jeryn knew what the animal wanted of her. The only question was, what did the horse of Valerius Blackthorn, unseelie prince, heir to the overthrone, want from her, a simple servant?
In the end, she decided that it didn’t matter.
Jeryn walked to the black horse that bowed to her like she was a great lady. She laughed as she mounted its back, and they set off into the night.
The Fairfolks lived by their oaths. Horse masters or nay, they were noble folks of high fae stock. They'd long since sold their keep in the north to pay the debt of some careless ancestors, but they were respected throughout the Isle.
So, this situation just wouldn't do. Rehar, Marek, and Gaios, heirs of Thain Fairfolk, simply couldn't fail to deliver goods.
The fifty-three horses bought and paid for by Valerius Blackthorn for his mother's use had to reach their destination. They just had to.
For days, they'd followed her tracks, and for days they'd found nothing. First, they'd gone east of Asra, then as south as south went in the Isle, to the very tip of the unseelie kingdom, and still, they found nothing.
They stopped at the border of the woods.
"Are you sure they passed through the elven realm?" Rehar asked.
There was no track to speak of, not so much as a footprint in the sandy dunes.
"Aye, I'm sure. Who's the air mage among us?" Marek was grumpy, and no wonder. It was the first time he'd failed to locate a client.
Following the unseelie queen, when she didn't wish to be followed, had proved most vexing.
"So, what now, then?"
Never had any Fairfolks crossed the forest. Fae didn't cross the forest and live to tell the tale unless they'd been given leave to do so by the lords of the Graywoods.
No such lord stood at the border to invite them in.
Gaios said not a word. He wasn't the most vocal of the three brothers, but his actions spoke for him. He tugged on his mount's reins and marched forward.
They had a herd to deliver, and they would do so.
The fifty-three dyrmounts followed the lead, and with great sighs of frustration, so did his two brothers.
"If we die, it'll be your fault."
"If we die, it will be known that the Fairfolks keep their contracts."
"Only there would be no Fairfolks to speak of left."
Again, Gaios said nothing. He believed that the fate of his family, and the rest of their realm, was linked to their queen. If the dark prince believed their dyrmounts might help in the war, he would bring them to Shea Blackthorn, whatever it took.
Five
Lady Rivers
Loxy Rivers's eyes were fixed on the borders far ahead to the west. She couldn't see the incorporeal energy barrier separating their Isle from what lay beyond, but she could feel it, slowly humming, simmering. A shiny film protecting their world.
Since the purpose of Orin's third son’s quest to claim the throne had been revealed, she'd found herself trying to reach out to the walls, checking it was still in place. The prospect of opening their world up was terrifying.
She'd seen orcs. A lesser fae had little chance against one of them. A common fae could take one or two before finding themselves outmatched. High fae greatly varied in strength. She could kill a hundred, maybe. A little more, a little less. It depended on their power as much as hers.
It wouldn't be enough. If the gates were opened and those creatures swarmed the isle, they'd be outmatched a thousand to one.
The gates had to hold. Marcus couldn't become overking.
For now, the wall was still in place. And as long as it remained in place, there was hope.
She didn't move when she heard the footsteps heading toward her. She'd expected them at some point.
Her daughter was avoiding her, speaking to her in short, curt sentences only when she had to. A rejection she'd earned and deserved. Now Devi had questions that needed answers, whether she liked it or not. Hence why Valerius Blackthorn was joining Loxy now.
"I don't believe I've thanked you for saving my life."
Loxy attempted a smile. "I didn't. My daughter did the heavy lifting. Literally."
He didn't smile back. The dark prince wasn't one for civilities when he didn't care to play nice.
"You want to know how I'm alive. My little princess has told you I died of poisoning when she was a child, I'm sure."
He remained silent and focused on her.
"I love my daughter. Daughters," she corrected. Kira was just as precious to her.
Not to the rest of the world.
"The very reason I bore them in the first place was for this. Because this war was always coming, sooner or later. It
might have been in our time, or in a thousand years, but anyone looking at the signs knew the Corantians would eventually seek to rule us. There was going to be an enemy greater than ourselves, an enemy we'd need a shield against. Devira was a sweet, innocent girl in my care. Had I not sent her to your mother, she would have remained that little girl. Taking what she knew, teaching her the meaning of loss, honed her into a weapon."
Vale didn't protest. She had known he wouldn't. He was old enough and wise enough to understand.
"Did her twin know?" he asked her.
Loxy shook her head. "Fair is fair. Letting go of one child and doting on the other would have made me quite the hypocrite. I punished all of us equally. Kira was raised in the Graywoods with her father, Devi in Asra with your mother."
"And what did you do, in all this time?"
He enunciated each word slowly, entirely calm, but Loxy heard the threatening edge dripping. She'd hurt Devi. She'd hurt his mate. She'd pay for that in due time. The Blackthorns weren't known for their forgiving hearts.
"My daughters aren't the only ones who needed to be honed, Your Highness. I trained, so that I might be of use when the time comes. I trained in water and ice magic. I trained in spells and hexes. I trained in shields. I trained in binding spells such as the one keeping your heart beating."
She'd trained in anything that let her forget what she'd given up for the greater good. Anything that kept her mind occupied, forgetting that she had two daughters mourning for their mother.
"Your actions took courage. You also hurt Devira. Worse, you distract her."
Loxy nodded in agreement. "Yes. I don't intend to get in the way of your progression. I'll march east with the army heading to the coast."
"Good." Vale started to walk away, then hesitated. "And then, when this is all over, we will talk. All of us."
