Crown of Darkness

by Bec McMaster

  Thiago stares moodily ahead. “Your mother won this skirmish. I could see it on Lucere’s face—she’s afraid of what Queen Maren can do to her. If she bows her head before your mother, then maybe, just maybe, she won’t be crushed. She can ride their coattails to victory, clap enthusiastically when they deliver my head on a plate, and smile hollowly as her cities are slowly overrun. She’ll be the first knee to bend before your mother.”

  “She’ll also be the last,” I remind him. “Kyrian despises my mother, and Queen Maren doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘yield.’ Maren’s the one unpredictable factor my mother can’t control. It wouldn’t entirely surprise me if Maren thinks to use my mother to draw fire from their enemies before she knifes Adaia in the back and sets her crown on her own head.”

  “Do you think this was truly her doing?” He meets my gaze.

  I swallow. “I’m starting to think it wasn’t the fetch in the library the other day. If Maren has the Mirror, then she might be able to watch us through the World of Dreams.”

  But why burn the library?

  “Either she thinks I found something in there,” I whisper. “Or this was a threat to stop Lucere from allying herself with us.”

  But which one?

  Hope dies in his eyes. “I nearly had her. I thought I nearly had her—”

  “This game isn’t over yet. Lucere has yielded. For now. That doesn’t mean she won’t come to her senses. Or maybe we can return to my original idea.”

  “I don’t think Lucere’s going to be standing near any open windows in the near future. And I thought you frowned upon that kind of behavior.”

  “I do.” I would never plot another queen’s death. “She hasn’t made her pledge to the lands yet. She hasn’t bound herself, and until she does, she is only heir apparent. Not queen. Perhaps someone else will grow a sudden ambition.”

  “Hmm.” He turns back to his horse, but I know he’s thinking. “Remind me not to play fari with you.”

  I can’t help seeing the moves on the board the way my mother taught me. It doesn’t mean I have to make those moves, but if there is one thing my mother is very adept at, it’s predicting the path people will take.

  And being unpredictable herself.

  The thought bothers me. Because until this moment, she’s been making all the right moves; her armies at the borders, an offer of peace with Ravenal….

  But it’s what Lucere would do. It’s what an untried queen would do.

  Somewhere out there, my mother is moving pieces.

  It has to be the vision that the Prince of Shadows saw.

  “Are you coming?” Thiago calls, mounting his horse.

  I told him I wasn’t some precious princess who needed help getting up and down from her mount, and clearly he’s taken me at my word. I gather the reins of the mare that was lent to me and prepare the stirrup—

  Feet slap on the cobbles behind me.

  Imerys captures my wrist just as I set my foot in the stirrup. “You’re going?”

  “It seems to be the best option for all of us. I don’t think your sister is interested in extending the invitation.”

  Over her shoulder, I see Lucere pace to the edge of the balcony, looking down on us with a cool expression. Her gaze locks on Imerys.

  “Thank you. For saving my life and Gossamer’s.”

  “I’m sorry about the books.”

  Imerys squeezes my hand. “And speaking of books, I was thinking about what you were asking before. About the relics. Is that what you were truly searching for?”

  “Searching for?”

  “Oh, please…. I’m not an idiot. You broke into my library and you were searching for something. It wasn’t about the Old Ones, though I think you’re interested in them too.”

  The urge to ask dies on the tip of my tongue. I left her books on my bed, for I didn’t feel right about taking them, after everything.

  “I owe you my life,” she points out. “If I can help in any way…. I swear I will not tell another soul.”

  I have to trust someone. And while my husband and the others would slay any monsters we came across, when it comes to finding information, this is what I need. Someone with knowledge. Someone who has access to information.

  “I need to find the Crown of Shadows.”

  Suspicion dawns in her eyes. “Why?”

  I don’t want to lie to her. “Because I’m tired of living under the yoke of another, and this is the only way I can free myself.”

  Imerys nibbles on her lip. “I’ve heard of it, though I don’t know where. Or what. Just…. The name sounds familiar somehow.”

  Curse it. It couldn’t be this easy.

  “If I find anything, then I’ll send it your way,” she promises.

  “Thank you.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Thiago sentences me to our chambers for several days, because although there’s no outward sign of damage, my throat remains raw and I have a pressing headache that stabs harder every time I use my magic.

  I don’t know if he’s pleased I made such progress—he’s been training me to access my powers for the past three months with little response—but he does insist I rest.

  “Maybe I’ve been going about this the wrong way?” he muses. “Maybe you don’t need solitude and meditation to access your magic, but something more pressing.”

  I pause, halfway through a bowl of soup. “You’re going to send me into a burning building next training session?”

  “No.” There’s a certain sort of wickedness in his eyes. “But I’m sure I can conjure… motivation.”

  “Just remember: I can set your britches on fire.”

  He snorts as he pushes away from the bed. “Or our sheets.”

  “That only happened once!”

  “Once is enough,” he says with a wink, as I’m about to throw my buttered roll at him. “Unless you mean that metaphorically, in which case I’m quite happy to volunteer. Get some rest.”

  “Did you hear anything about Lysander?”

  His face sobers. “The Prince of Shadows sent his hexbreaker. She worked her magic, and Baylor said there’s a little difference, but Lysander’s still trapped in animal form.”

  I sigh. More unfortunate news.

  “Rest,” Thiago presses. “Curses are twisted things. It will take time to undo, much like your own memories. I’ll see you at the end of the week. I need to check in at the border. With Eris and Baylor out of action, the others sometimes need a little more watching.”

  I spend the afternoon lolling in bed, and wake the next day with the need to do something.

  With strict instructions that I’m not allowed to light so much as a candle, I head to the drilling yard, where Finn will put me through my paces in Thiago’s absence.

  Every woman in the castle lets their eyes linger on Finn. He’s six-and-a-half feet of lithe strength and pure arrogance, with cheekbones that could cut like a knife, eyes the color of an alpine lake, and the kind of smile that makes even my heart skip a beat—even though I’m promised to another. He’s just that pretty. Long dark hair is bound back from his face in braids, and there’s a faint golden tattoo just above the center of his brows in the shape of a flame.

  “Can’t rest?” he calls, stringing a bow.

  I shake my head ruefully. “Please tell me that’s for me.”

  He hands it over, then kicks the quiver up into his hands with some kind of graceful hopping motion that would probably see me flat on my face if I tried to emulate it. “For my lady fair,” he says, handing over an arrow. “It’s been a while since we’ve trained together.”

  It’s frustrating to be told you used to do something with someone, only to have no memories of it. “Did we?”

  He clucks under his tongue. “How could you forget a male like me?”

  “Well, considering I had no idea I was married to Thiago, surely I can be forgiven for not remembering you?”

  He sighs. “Unremarkable. Unkissable. Unmemorable.
I swear the three of you ladies are trying to give my pride a mortal blow.”

  I nock the arrow and face the target set up at the far end of the bailey. “If I thought your sense of pride was in any danger, I’d beg forgiveness, but you seem to be doing an immeasurable job of supporting it.”

  “I can’t help that I’m dangerously good-looking, ridiculously intelligent, and can steal a laugh from even the coldest of hearts. Are you going to shoot the target? Or merely glare at it?”

  I stare along the arrow and send it flying. It feels good to be doing something physical, even though my shot’s slightly off center.

  “Have you heard from Thiago?” I ask as he takes the bow.

  Finn puts an arrow through the center of the target with ease. “All is well on the western front. There’s a line of red and gold as far as the eye can see, but your mother’s forces seem to be digging in deep. They’re not pushing forward, but there’s every sign they don’t intend to lose ground.”

  Finn fills me in on the situation at the border as we pass the bow back and forth. He manages to hit the dead of center ten out of ten times, until I finally concede.

  “Do you ever miss?”

  Taking one last arrow, he looks me in the eyes and shoots blind.

  Dead center.

  “With a bow? No. With a blade?” A faint shrug. “The only time anyone beats me, it’s Eris. Baylor keeps me on my toes too, but I can defeat him.”

  “And Thiago?”

  This time his smile is bright. “Once. I got the drop on him once, and I’ve never let him forget it. He’s the only one who can match Eris, but I’ve never beaten her. Not yet.”

  “You’re good,” I say, examining the target again.

  “You should see me when I have a blindfold on. Or on the back of a horse.”

  “Let me guess…,” I drawl as we head toward the target to fetch our arrows. “You spend almost as much time practicing with a bow as you do staring in the mirror?”

  He claps a hand to his chest as I wrench an arrow from the target. “Straight through the heart, Princess. And while I spend the same time in the training yard as anyone else, I don’t live for it the way Eris does.” He pauses. “It’s my Sylvaren blood that gives me the advantage.”

  “You’re Sylvaren?” I’d thought his ears were slightly tapered at the top.

  More so than most of the fae.

  “I don’t speak about it very often,” he says, glancing at the castle walls as if to check who’s listening. “It’s not the sort of thing one advertises, though the fae here are aware. I tend to keep to myself.”

  The Sylvaren were once fae, like us. They were refugees from the mother world who arrived with their queen, Sylvian, nearly two thousand years ago.

  Of the five fae kings and queens who led their people to the safety of the new world of Arcaedia, Sylvian was the only one who sought to conquer the creatures that lived here already. The other kings and queens pushed their cities into the forests and burned the monsters out of their caves, but were content to stake out small territories and rule them. She was ruthless and bold, and claimed the lands far to the north, where Unseelie now lies, and she wanted to spread her empire from coast to coast.

  Maia, her sister-queen from the home world, was the one to confront her when their peaceful treaties with the monsters of this world threatened to be destroyed. Maia slew Sylvian’s lover, Gethred, and broke her crown. They say Sylvian cried a sea of tears when she buried Gethred deep in his earthen barrow, but when she had finished grieving, she swore that none of her people would ever have peace with the other fae courts.

  And so she took her people—her fae—and she warped them with her magic.

  She made them faster and taller and more muscular. She gave them the reflexes of a cat and the viciousness of a hunting hound. Hearts grew in darkness and rage, and they pledged, one and all, to serve her. She turned them into the ultimate warriors, until they were so fierce, they could barely keep peace among themselves.

  Warsworn. Warriors who were bred for violence.

  A tide that broke over the southern part of the continent like a dam bursting.

  The four other kings and queens who had fled the home world with Sylvian were forced to join together to fight her people.

  And I don’t entirely know what happened—Maia showed her godhood when she defeated Sylvian at Charun, in Unseelie, but in doing so, she gave her life.

  The skies wept for her loss, and the remaining three kings and queens bent knee to worship Maia’s sacrifice.

  We remember.

  Most of the Sylvaren died during that encounter, but those that were left were slaughtered by the thousand, and the rest put in chains. Others fled and went into hiding, though there’s rumor that warbands of Sylvaren still haunt the far north of Unseelie.

  Finn sighs. “Don’t look at me that way, Princess. I’m no Warsworn. I’m not even a Follower of the Way. I have enough Sylvaren blood to make it wise to stay out of barfights and tavern brawls and anything that might tempt me to violence. That’s why I’m here and not at the front. Thiago doesn’t want me getting a taste for war.”

  “Is it really that hard to abstain?” They say the Sylvaren are born with a thirst for blood.

  “Every day. That’s why I prefer to take month-long walks in the snow during winter and swim the bay during summer. That’s why I spend ten hours a day drilling here in the yard if I haven’t found a friend to help me burn off some of the excess energy.”

  Is he referring to…?

  “Fighting—in a controlled environment—helps me burn off the urge to kill. So does fucking.”

  He is. “Right at the top of my list of things I didn’t need to know, thanks, Finn.”

  “You’re awfully prudish for Adaia’s daughter.”

  If there’s one thing I can grant my mother credit for, it’s keeping her private life well away from me. “When you’re Adaia’s daughter, you become very good at pretending you didn’t see—or hear—anything. And I kept to myself mostly. Andraste was better at dealing with court life. She had her coterie of friends and I—”

  I had the library. I had my horse, Anavel, and an entire forest to ride through.

  “I… was friends with some of the border lords’ daughters,” I admit. “Those my mother kept as hostages, who strained at the shackles of being bound to the castle. We’d ride. We’d hunt. Anything to get out of Hawthorne Castle.”

  “Sounds lonely.”

  “So does heading into the wilderness for a month-long ‘walk in the snow.’”

  We share a look.

  “Is it loneliness to enjoy your own company? Or is it lonelier to be among enemies who spend their entire days plotting to tear you down or whispering behind their hands at you?” I sigh. “I like it better here.” A glance up at the castle turrets reveals the familiar sandstone towers. “I think that was the hardest part of not knowing who Thiago was to me or why my mother had sent me to him as tribute. My first few months in Evernight felt like my life in Hawthorne Castle all over again. I knew there was something you were all keeping from me, I just didn’t know what.”

  “He had to keep you away from the castle, Princess. Her spell threatened to melt your brains out of your ears if it broke before you were ready to face the truth, and too many people knew your secret.”

  “I know. I don’t blame him for that.” I look down at the arrow in my hands. “I’m just grateful that I don’t have to play that game anymore. I’ve never truly had a home before. Evernight is everything I’ve ever wanted, and yet, with my mother marching her armies north, it feels like she can take everything away from me.”

  Finn looks away. “Stop it. Or you’re going to make me shed a tear, and that isn’t very manly, Princess.”

  “One thing that I’m learning is that it isn’t weak to admit to uncertainty. And if you keep calling me Princess, I’m going to come up with some terrible nickname for you and then I’m going to tell everyone in the castle about it.”


  “Too late,” he says as he heads toward the target to fetch our arrows.

  “What was it?”

  “Oh no,” he calls. “I’m not going to remind you.”

  Three days later, Eris is still trapped in dreams.

  Thalia spends most of her time trying to ferret out the guild plot, what with Elms Day fast approaching. Otherwise she’s at Eris’s side, trying to break the curse that binds her to sleep. Every day her eyelashes will flutter, or her fingers will twitch, but it feels like some net keeps dragging her back.

  The only laughter the day brings is when Finn arrives to take over the night watch. He doesn’t want to leave Eris in the dark, and I’m glad someone is due to sit with her. Though he threatens to kiss her a half dozen times if she doesn’t wake, until both Thalia and I are exchanging glances across the bed.

  “It’s meant to be true love’s kiss,” Thalia tells him sweetly, “and I think—unless there’s something you haven’t been telling us, Finn—that you’re not on the shortlist.”

  “Hardly,” he says with a careless smile. “Eris might desire my heart in a box if I irritate her enough, but at her feet? I don’t think so. Besides, I don’t have a hundred horses to spare, and I know who wins that battle if we both draw swords.”

  “That’s so sweet of you,” Thalia tells him. “You’re acting quite the gallant this past week, Finn. It almost makes me wonder—”

  “Gallant?” The smile on his face dies, and his eyes are practically glacial as he glares at her. “Me?”

  “All this joking about kissing her,” she continues in a completely innocent tone, “and protecting her honor. Next thing we know, you’ll be composing sonnets.”

  “I swear to the gods….” He pushes to his feet, grumbling under his breath. “Just for that, you can have the night watch as well as this afternoon.”

  “I was only joking,” she calls as he strides toward the door.

  “I wasn’t!”

  After that afternoon, he doesn’t threaten to kiss her again.

  “I think I struck a nerve,” Thalia muses the next morning while we watch him sparring in the yard through Eris’s chamber window.