Crown of Darkness

by Bec McMaster

  I didn’t realize that in a handful of days I’d grown so used to the feeling that now the forest around me is dead and gray and dull. There is no life here. Not for me. This is not my land. It does not welcome me.

  The fetch stalks toward me.

  My arm throbs, the white imprint of its hand burning to life in my olive skin. I scramble to my feet, feeling the urge to retch, but I don’t even know where I am.

  Alone.

  In an old and silent forest where little demi-fey bob through the branches. I trip over a pile of rocks—perhaps an old stone wall smothered in moss and ivy—but there’s nowhere to escape.

  Except….

  A pulse beats through my skin. There’s a Hallow nearby. And maybe, if I can get to it, then I can escape.

  The creature straightens as if the journey took something out of it too. “You cannot run, little faeling. I’ve been hunting you for months. And you were invisible to my eyes, until you lit the world on fire. Now you are back. Now you cannot escape me.”

  There’s a tiny dagger in my boot, but that’s the only weapon I have, and when I draw it, the fetch laughs.

  “Cold iron won’t kill me, little faeling.”

  “No?”

  Only sunlight or the blood of the purest….

  Time to test a theory.

  I draw the knife across the back of my hand, and blood wells. I fling droplets of blood across its face.

  Instantly it screams, clutching at its face, and I don’t waste my chance.

  Darting past, I sprint into the forest ruins, scrambling over rock and raw slate. Vines tangle over stones, but I can sense the Hallow drawing me toward it like a lodestone.

  Where did the fetch bring me?

  I don’t recognize the ruins, but that doesn’t mean anything. There are dozens of Hallows in Unseelie.

  Hallows are means of transportation, but they don’t open to just any other Hallow. You have to follow the ley lines, unless they’re located at a nexus point—like Ceres—with ley lines crossing to numerous other Hallows.

  Slipping and sliding down the slope, I skid across the smooth slate floors of the Hallow.

  Curse it.

  Each rune has been chiseled from the guardian stones, until all that remains is a hint of copper. I don’t know which Hallow they align with, and several of the Hallows were destroyed during the wars—if I pick the wrong rune, then I might will myself out of existence.

  Slamming my palms against them in frustration, I turn to face the fetch as it stalks through the ruins toward me.

  “Nowhere to run,” it whispers, and a knife gleams in its hand.

  “Who said anything about running?”

  There’s one last option remaining.

  I reach for the Mother of Night, using all of my power to call to her. “Help me. Please.”

  Something dark and alien slips beneath my skin, and when I open my eyes, I could swear I’m seeing through hers. A heartbeat passes. The fetch glides toward me with insolent slowness, as if it knows there’s nothing I can do.

  “What do you want, child?”

  “I need to get out of here.”

  There’s a hesitation. “I don’t grant gifts, Princess.”

  “No? Well, if you want to prove to me that you’re a benevolent being, then it starts here! If I’m locked in a cell or dead, then you’ll never get your precious freedom.”

  Silence.

  “Think,” she whispers. “What weakness does one of the Heartless have?”

  My blood and sunlight. But the moon hangs bloated in the sky and dawn is hours away.

  “You have the power to move the tides themselves,” she continues callously. “You don’t need the sun to rise, Iskvien. You just need the light.”

  I press both palms against the Hallow stones and close my eyes. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know if this will even work.

  “Open yourself to the earth beneath your feet,” she says. “Open your mind. Open your heart.”

  For a second, it sounds like some sort of rhythmic drumming echoes through the world, but maybe that’s just the echo of my heart.

  “You are not just fae, you are also one of us. We walked these lands when the sun was young and the earth green with new growth. We bled into these soils and bound our lives to the land. We heard the first birds chirp and saw bright scales flicker through our streams. We are everything that makes up the whole of Arcaedia.”

  Light flares beneath my hands. It’s working.

  “Use your power,” the Mother demands. “Control the Hallow.”

  It feels a little like preparing to translocate. Energy wells beneath my feet, and I can feel it shivering through the Hallow stones into my palms. Heat and exhilaration rush through me, like the best kind of orgasm.

  I lift my face, light shining through my skin.

  I am power.

  I am the land.

  I am light.

  And I catch a glimpse of the fetch’s shocked face as it sees what’s happening.

  “Burn,” I whisper, and light explodes out from the Hallow.

  Even through closed eyes, it sears my eyeballs, until afterimage blinds me. Heat gushes through me. My hair whips back. I could move continents with this power. I could stop the tides and haul the moon from the sky.

  I could ruin my mother.

  The power skitters, jarring through me as though it wants to be unleashed.

  But then the edge of power twists within me, and I realize it’s burning me out, burning me hollow. I’m too close to the edge. Too new at this.

  I panic, and the light dies, the heat fading until my knees threaten to dump me on my ass.

  Vines have burned away, leaving the center of the Hallow free of debris. Little copper runes glow in the sentinel stones, slowly fading as the power leaves me.

  The fetch is gone.

  “Foolish child.” I sense a gentle hand stroking through my hair. “You sip the merest taste of true power and you want to gobble it all down like a glutton. Everything has a price.”

  My knees give out, and I hit the stone. What’s happening to me?

  “Sleep,” she whispers. “Recover. I will watch over you until the dawn rises.”

  There is no choice. My eyes close even as the last glowing rune dies out like an extinguished firefly.

  And then there’s nothing but silence.

  Something warm rests on my chest, and a vibration trembles through me. I dream of sunshine and clover—the scent of my sister’s hair—and for a second we’re lying in her bed, tucked away from the world and the dangerous whispers of the court.

  “Nothing can tear us apart,” Andraste tells me solemnly, pulling a little dagger from its sheath. She holds out her palm and slices the knife down it.

  “Forever sisters,” I reply, taking the knife from her and mimicking her actions.

  We clasp palms, and a shiver of bells tinkle in the background as though Maia herself hears our pledge.

  But Andraste betrayed me. This isn’t real, I want to scream at myself. And the weight on my chest is heavier.

  I blink, and a pair of lambent yellow eyes stare directly into mine.

  Mother of—

  A yell escapes me and as I scramble to sit up, a set of razor-sharp claws dig into my chest. I slam a hand into it, and a hiss escapes the mound of dark gray fur as it lands in the leaf mulch beside me.

  Blessed Maia. I shove to my feet, trying to work out where I am and what happened and where the cursed cat came from.

  “Shit.” Everything comes rushing back in upon me.

  The fetch. The Mother of Night. The way I used the Hallow.

  Dawn light silvers the sky far to the east, but nothing’s changed. I’m alone, and I have no idea where I am or how to get home. I swear I could sleep for a week too, but there’s no peace to be found here. I have to keep moving.

  “I don’t suppose you know where we are?” I ask the cat.

  “Meow,” it says, sitting and licking its paw.<
br />
  “That’s precisely what I thought.” I give a sigh, and then start down the slope toward the Hallow.

  The second I step through the lintel stones onto the slate circle, my heart falls.

  There’s no buzz.

  No whiplash of energy.

  Nothing.

  It feels like the Hallow’s been sucked dry.

  Curse it. Hallows need at least an hour to recharge after they’re used as a portal, but whatever I did last night seems to have drained it.

  I stare at the spine of mountains in the distance, an icy wind stirring the silk of my skirt. Thiago will be frantic, but there’s no help for it.

  “I guess I’m just going to have to wait,” I tell the cat.

  Night falls, and with it comes shadows moving up the mountainside.

  I slip through the trees, shivering despite the summer blood that warms my veins. I didn’t want to leave the Hallow, but clearly the ray of light I shot into the air last night served as some sort of beacon.

  I’m being hunted.

  One knife. Limited magic. No Hallow to draw upon.

  And no idea of what’s out there.

  I slit my skirts apart, tying the ends around my calves so they form a simile of trousers, and pin my hair into a tight knot. And then I head into the trees.

  There’s a stream burbling nearby, and I’ve spent enough time in the mountains to know that if I follow it downhill, I should come upon some sign of civilization. If there’s a Hallow here, then there are fae.

  Or there were fae, says the cold, practical part of my mind I can’t deny. You saw those glyphs. Something chipped them out of the stone. A long time ago.

  The cat meows plaintively at me.

  It’s following me.

  Curse the night, but this little bastard is going to get us both killed. Shooting it a glare, I try to silently shoo it away.

  It blinks those lambent yellow eyes at me, then licks its paw, which I take to mean is its version of eat nightshade.

  There’s nothing I can do. Perhaps it will grow weary of tracking me if I continue past the boundary of its home territory.

  Wishful thinking.

  Meow.

  The high-pitched call echoes through the woods.

  Meow. Meow. Meow.

  My hand clenches around the hilt of my knife. Mother of—

  But no, we’re not thinking of her.

  I slowly turn around.

  The cat levels that unblinking stare upon me.

  “Listen, you furry little asshole,” I whisper. “I don’t know why you’re following me, but this is a stupid idea. We’re deep in a forest crawling with trolls or something worse.” It doesn’t even blink at me. I snap my teeth together. “Trolls will eat you. Go back to where you came from.”

  Nothing.

  I give up. “Fine. Follow me to your doom. Perhaps they’ll floss their teeth with your tail.”

  “Perhaps you should listen, you feckless idiot,” it says, the words skipping past my ears and imprinting themselves directly in my brain. “I’ve been trying to tell you that you’re going the wrong way for the past mile.”

  My mouth falls open, and I clear an inch of steel from my sheath before I catch the mocking gleam in its eyes.

  “What did you just say?”

  It spoke. I swear it spoke.

  The cat scrapes that long pink tongue across its paw.

  I’m in Unseelie. Of course it’s not just a cat.

  “What are you?”

  It ripples through the shadows, and I can barely make out where it begins and they end.

  “I came to find you,” it says cryptically. “And I am not a what. I am a who.”

  Curse the night.

  It’s a grimalkin.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  We make camp near the Hallow, though I’m still not entirely certain how “I” became a “we.” I also seem to be doing all of the work, though the grimalkin assures me he supervises.

  “Make a fire. I’m cold,” he says.

  “If I make a fire, then every predator in the vicinity is going to smell it.”

  The grimalkin gives me an unblinking look. “Do you insult me?”

  “How is that an insult?”

  “I am the Lord of Shadows.” He pushes to his feet and stalks toward me. “I am the Merciless Night. I am the Teeth That Tear At An Unprotected Throat and the Claws That Slash Like Knives. There are no predators in these parts, for they fled the second they heard me moving through the woods.”

  Someone thinks highly of himself.

  “There were shadows on the mountainside,” I grind out.

  “They will scent me and know to avoid me. I am the Terror With No Mercy.”

  “If you’re such a terrifying creature, then why are you following me?” A thought occurs. “Did she send you to me?”

  The last thing I remember is the Mother of Night’s touch across my forehead.

  “I have no master or mistress. I came because I Saw you. And I need you.” He sniffs and settles himself near my feet.

  “Need me to do what?”

  “Do I look like I have hands? Make yourself useful for once and fetch some wood. And then do the thing that makes the fire. We have hours before the Hallow is recharged enough to use, and I intend to spend them in comfort.”

  I grit my teeth. “I am not taking orders from an overgrown cat.”

  It continues licking its paw, but this time, little scythes cut through the furry pad, and it looks at me as if to say, Claws That Slash Like Knives.

  “Make the fire, and I will tell you where you are and which rune aligns with your home.”

  “You furry little son of a—”

  “Careful.”

  “You know which rune I need?” I push to my feet.

  And the grimalkin stares back at me, unblinking.

  Of course it knows.

  And of course it’s not going to tell me unless I do what it wants.

  A minute later, I’m slipping through the underbrush, gathering dry timber as I curse under my breath. Somehow, I’ve gone from being the ruling Queen of Evernight to cat lackey within the space of a few hours, and I don’t know how it happened.

  I dig a hole into the dirt in order to hide the flames and then set the fire.

  “There doesn’t appear to be enough wood,” the grimalkin tells me from his perch on a nearby rock.

  “We’re not laying the Samhain bonfires,” I reply through gritted teeth. “And I intend to use the Hallow to get out of here the second it’s recharged.”

  Snapping my fingers, I set the pile of tinder on fire.

  The grimalkin’s eyes thin to pleased slits, and it basks in the heat. “You are useful, after all. I may keep you.”

  “And you owe me answers. Where are we?”

  “The ruins of Charun.”

  I rub my arms and look around. Not so far north of Valerian and Evernight, but too far for comfort. And deep in the lands of the goblin horde. “Why would the fetch have brought me here?”

  “I know not what fills its filthy mind,” the grimalkin assures me, “though perhaps it sought to meet someone here.”

  “Thank you for planting that thought in my mind,” I mutter, suddenly wondering if the shadow to my left is a tree or a monster.

  “There is also a direct ley line to the Black Keep from here. There are very few Hallows that lead to the keep.”

  “Also not helping.”

  The Black Keep is where the Horned One finally fell and was locked away in a prison world. Though it’s not the seat of Angharad’s power, if she wants to resurrect him, that’s where she will do it.

  And she needs my blood to resurrect him.

  I need to get safely home, but he’s right. The low-level buzzing through the Hallow tells me we’re still hours away from it replenishing itself.

  Pushing myself to my feet, I wince at my aching bones and cross to the edge of the circle of firelight. The Hallow stones form slowly as my eyes grow acc
ustomed to the lack of light out here.

  This is where Maia revealed her godhood and overthrew Sylvian. This is where they both fell, and where Maia ascended to rule over us all. Charun’s been a holy site for centuries, and the fae used to make pilgrimages here until the lands were ceded to the goblin horde during the Wars of Light and Shadow as payment for siding with the seelie.

  I press my palm against the nearest Hallow stone.

  Little pockets scar the surface where the glyphs were once laid, and I frown as I lean closer. I’d thought they were chiseled free, but the stone beneath my fingers is roughhewn and pitted, as if the stone itself exploded.

  And then I blink.

  There are three moons in front of me. One in the night sky; one reflected in the water of the lake; and the last shimmering in the distance, just above the lake’s surface.

  I don’t know whether it’s a trick of the light or—

  “It’s what remains of the crystal keep,” the grimalkin muses.

  “The what?”

  “It was built by the otherkin who worshipped the Daughter of the Three Moons. It stood here for centuries until the fae arrived and destroyed it, as they destroyed everything.”

  I shoot him a look.

  “What?” He tilts his head. “Do your history books not speak of the invasion? The fae came and conquered all who walked these lands. They chained them, and broke them, and shattered their Hallows. Your great goddess herself is responsible for the one you stand beside.”

  There’s a dirty taste in my mouth. “Maia was trying to overthrow Queen Sylvian. She’d gone mad.”

  “Ah, yes,” the grimalkin purrs. “But have you ever wondered precisely how Maia conquered her fellow queen? They were much of a muchness, were they not? And little Queen Sylvian had her own personal army of fused warriors. An army that could not be defeated, they said, and yet your precious Maia broke them with her power alone.”

  I’m not imagining it.

  The bastard’s staring at me with beady little eyes as it slowly licks its paw.

  “What is the answer going to cost me?”

  I swear it laughs. “You’re learning, little fae queen.” And then it blinks at me. “The time is not yet right for you to know. Ask me again when the moon is full, your heart is torn in two, and you have no more hope remaining.”