by Bec McMaster
There’s something wrong with it.
Not merely the way the stones were cut, but with the Hallow itself.
Every other Hallow I’ve met has been a conduit between the ley lines and myself, but this one doesn’t give up its energy. It drinks it in, like a sucking chasm of nothingness that seeks to fill itself. It feels like reaching your arm into a bottomless pool of oil; thick and viscous and choking. I could drown in that pool if I let myself, and it would slowly haul me under, a clammy sucker mouth clamping over mine as it drinks the very oxygen from my veins.
Something watches me.
Something enormous in the dark.
A little flutter swims through my stomach, but there’s a hand in mine, suddenly squeezing.
“If you stare too long into the abyss,” the Mother of Night whispers in my ear, “then you risk capturing His attention. He is Darkness, Princess. True and utter Darkness, and you don’t want that staining your soul.”
I have to stare back if I want to have any hope of binding myself to the Hallow.
But she squeezes my hand again. “Not this Hallow, Iskvien. If you bind yourself here—now—then all you will do is drink your own poison.”
“How do I defeat him?” I cry.
“You don’t.”
“They’re going to kill her.”
I can see Angharad now, her bare feet slapping on the stone as her black skirts whisk around her legs. She moves like a creature of the night, drawing the long thin dagger from her hip as she grabs Amaya’s wrist.
Isem, her pet sorcerer, stands by the Hallow chanting.
“Please,” cries a small voice. “Please don’t hurt me.”
And everything inside me goes still.
They’re the first words I’ve ever heard Amaya physically say—and I know, with a mother’s instinct, that they come from her mouth.
“That’s enough.” The voice trembles through the cavern, shaking rocks from the walls.
I lift my sword, but my hand pauses as Angharad hauls my daughter upright and puts a knife to her throat.
“Throw down your weapons,” she commands with a cruel smile.
“Don’t you touch her.” The words are a growl from my throat. “If you hurt her, then I swear I will destroy you. I will destroy this entire fucking Hallow, so you can never resurrect him.”
Reaching out, I summon the power through the Hallow.
The sensation of that dark presence is stronger, and its attention turns to me the second I link with the Hallow, but this time I push further. I slip past that leviathan waiting in its dark waters and plunge directly to the Hallow’s core.
There.
There’s the ley line.
And I know Angharad can feel the floor shivering beneath her feet, because she looks down in shock before slowly lifting her head.
Our eyes meet.
“It seems we are at a bit of an impasse.” Angharad bares her teeth in a smile, and Amaya squeals with fright as the knife clearly cuts in.
“Stop!” I scream, holding that roiling power within my grasp but helpless to do anything with it.
“Throw down your weapons,” Angharad commands again, and this time, it’s not a suggestion.
“Thiago?” Eris asks.
“Do as she says.”
Swords clatter as they strike the ground. It doesn’t matter. We were never going to defeat her with steel.
A warm body brushes against my legs, more of a reminder than a creature fully formed.
“Grimm,” I whisper.
“I will protect her with my life,” he tells me before he fades into the shadows. “Keep that bitch queen’s attention on you.”
“You’ve been very elusive, Princess,” Angharad calls. “Invisible even to my Heartless. I was starting to grow a little vexed, but then my commander realized there was another little thread of light calling to him. A child who could sing to the Hallows. A child who walked the snowy north, shielded by an old hag and dozens of other children. It took him a long time to find her, but when he did, what a curiosity she was. A child of destiny with no mother or father. A child who had been abandoned. A child with the power to break the world.”
“She wasn’t abandoned,” I snap, and this time, my gaze meets Amaya’s. “My mother stole her from me, and if I had known for one second that Amaya was out there, I would have stopped at nothing to find her.”
“Ah.” Angharad leans low, resting her chin on Amaya’s shoulder. “It’s enough to bring tears to one’s eyes. Your mother came for you, child. She loves you enough to spring my trap. But it will be too late.” Angharad’s voice rises. “Because the child’s magic supersedes the mother’s. My lord god desires a sacrifice of immense proportions, and now I have my heart set on—”
She suddenly screams as a set of teeth sinks into her hand, and a shadowy figure forms, his weight driving Angharad’s hand away from Amaya’s throat.
“Thiago!” He’s closer than I am.
“Rouse the Hallow!” he snaps as he sprints toward them.
Amaya throws herself aside, but her chains haul her up short.
Angharad screams and stabs her knife into the shadow that tears at her hand. Grimm howls as he’s flung aside, but he crawls to Amaya, hissing weakly as he glares at the queen.
“You filthy little cur!” Angharad screams.
Light blooms through my veins. The Hallow ignites. And the world around me turns to nothing more than shadows as I glow with so much light that every creature around us cries out and throws their arms over their faces.
The fetches scream, vanishing through the last traces of shadow.
A whine hisses past my ear, and I’m focusing so completely on the Hallow that for a second, I don’t even feel it. But the slam of the arrow into my shoulder drives the breath from my lungs, and suddenly the Hallow is torn from my grip.
I scream as I hit the ground, losing my grasp on all of that power.
“Now!” Angharad bellows, and her fetches suddenly reappear and close ranks between us and the Hallow.
The pain makes me want to vomit.
But Thiago’s inside that ring.
“Go,” I whisper to him. “Get her out.”
Grabbing the arrow by the shaft, I try to roll to my knees. Pain and darkness shoot through me. It’s close to the bone, I think.
And then Eris is there, grabbing the shaft from my hands.
“Bite down,” she says, shoving her leather glove between my teeth.
Stars swirl through a night sky in my mind as she snaps the arrow. I scream through the leather, saliva gushing from my mouth.
“We’ll cut it out later,” she says, slipping an arm under my shoulder and hauling me to my feet. “Focus on the Hallow.”
Red light and shadows wage war within the Hallow stones. Thiago takes a menacing step toward Angharad, tearing off his gauntlet. Suddenly every inch of our bond clicks into place, his magic rushing through the world. Darkness unfurls behind him like a pair of shadowy wings, and I can hear whispers—almost on the edge of hearing.
They’re quiet tonight, his daemons.
Almost as if they know where we are and what we face.
But there’s nothing but determination in his expression.
The world plunges into a primeval darkness. My heart stutters in my chest, a scream of fear trapped in my throat. I’ve never felt his power fully unleashed, but there’s something large and dangerous within those shadows, a predator that makes even me want to flee….
A spark of red light burns within the darkness.
A spark of rage.
And then there’s a whisper: “Where have you been hiding, my little darkyn?” And then Angharad laughs. “Of course. How did I not see it? She was such a beautiful queen. So powerful. So full of rage and defiance. Of course he would have sought to break her, but your mother clearly had one last little secret to keep.”
The darkness burns away. Chains of red fire lash around Thiago’s throat and chest, but he cleaves them w
ith a single stroke of his hand.
“I wonder if your father knows of your existence?” Angharad muses.
His shadows lunge for her, swallowing her in a cloud of darkness. For a second I think she’s gone, but then her laughter echoes through the cavern. A red collar forms around one of the shadows, and it screams with rage. Another collar glows. A second daemon is struck down, writhing on the floor at her feet.
Angharad straightens as the other three draw back. “Your father taught me many tricks, little princeling. But there are some things even he did not know.” She spins red light to life in her hands. “When Death fell, they carved him apart with the fires of the Underworld.” Hot light burns around her fingers. “It is the only thing the shades of Death’s soul fear.”
Lunging forward, the light in her hand’s forms into a sword, and she sweeps it through the nearest shadow daemon.
The scream it makes almost shatters my eardrums. I clap my hands over my ears.
When it’s finally, blessedly over, I see Thiago on his knees.
Four of his daemons writhe around his shoulders, but there’s fear in them now. All those malicious little whispers are muted.
“If your father could see you now,” Angharad spits, “he would tear your head from your shoulders for daring to pretend you’re even a hint of what he is.”
Thiago looks at me. Simply looks. “I am a million times the man my father is.”
There’s a thousand words in the narrow flicker of his eyes. Desperation. Determination. And love.
A father’s love for the child he’s never known.
“Don’t,” I whisper. “Get her out of here.”
But it’s too late.
He climbs to his feet.
Angharad laughs, light flooding from the crack at her feet. She grabs a fistful of Amaya’s hair and puts the knife to my daughter’s throat. “Not another step closer, dark prince.”
“You want your sacrifice?” he growls. “Then take me instead.”
No. I start to climb down the slope, slipping and sliding desperately.
“This is a child of the dan,” she hisses. “Her power is absolute.”
“And I am a child of Death.”
He’s never said it. Not out loud. But the sound of his voice cracks through the cavern, and I swear that every single creature in the place sucks in a sharp breath.
Angharad straightens, dragging the knife from Amaya’s throat. Amaya cries out, trying to bite her knuckles, but Angharad merely shoves her away and turns to face Thiago.
My little girl hits the floor, and just for a second, our eyes meet.
I’m coming. I’m coming to get you. Just hold on.
“Take me,” he calls. “And let her go.”
Angharad freezes, as if she can sense some piece of a trap.
“Lower your shields,” she calls.
Thiago pauses, and then he’s opening to her—to me, to the world.
His essence almost overwhelms me.
In a heartbeat I know every inch of him; the boy who ran gleefully through a snowy forest with dozens of other children even as he yearned to find his true family; the warlord who knelt before a queen after saving the life of her firstborn son before grimly lifting his face to hers and hoping she would see him, hoping she would recognize him; the prince who hid his identity from the world so he would never besmirch her; the son who begged her to keep breathing, forcing his hands to try and still the bloodflow even as she lifted a tremulous hand and gently stroked his face for the first and only time….
This has to be one of Thiago’s tricks. He’s just trying to get closer to her. But my heart quickens with sudden dread.
“I’m sorry, Vi.” It’s a whisper, a caress of sadness. “For not having the time to show you how much I love you. She’s too close to Amaya.”
He half turns to look at me.
No, no, no, no, no.
A scream tears from my throat as Angharad darts forward, quick as a snake. She drives her blade right into his chest, and power explodes out through him, the Darkness whirling around him in one frenzied burst as if, even at the end, they choose to try and flee rather than defend him.
“Thiago!”
He forces his gaze to mine, a soft smile on his lips as he wraps his arms around Angharad, crushing her close to him.
“You were my hope. You were my light. You were the queen I always dreamed of serving. Thank you.”
And then he’s gone.
It’s like a knife through my heart, death scything through him with a vicious surge of power. I scream as his vibrant eyes grow dim, and then his body is falling and—
He’s gone.
The warm, constant presence in my mind vanishes as if it was never there, wrenched from me by a merciless grip. There is no us. There is only me, left alone and shaken in the depths of my wretched body.
“Thiago!” I scream as I sprint toward his falling body.
He hits the ground, his head bouncing, and even from here I can hear the crack as the stone in the center of the Hallow splits.
The Hallow has its kingly sacrifice.
Power shivers through the walls, a blinding white light shooting through the cracks in the stone and spearing into the heavens. It forces me to slow, but I have to get to him, I have to see him, to try—
And then light erupts.
A wave of force slams me to the ground. Pure power. An enormous shadowy form made of smoke spills from the Hallow. I hear a roar of fury echoing through a voice so deep and guttural that it vibrates through my chest.
And I start crawling.
I will not let him die alone.
I will not let him die for nothing.
All I can see is the little girl curled in a fetal position on the stone, and she needs me.
Angharad smiles, standing in the precise center of the Hallow. The glow of power suffuses her, and when she opens her eyes, they’re an eerie, emotionless black. “Come forth, my lord.”
Hot golden sparks form in the shadow’s enormous head, burning into vicious eyes. The brimstone reek of him almost makes me gag, and sparks shoot from the cloud until I’m crawling over a bed of embers.
Close. So close….
A man steps out of the shadowy beast, naked and shivering. He stumbles to his knees, the muscles in his thighs trembling. Dark hair cascades down his spine in a tangled mane, and when he lifts his face to the ceiling, my heart almost stops at the sight of his horrifically beautiful face.
“My love,” Angharad whispers, going to her knees before him and capturing his face in her hands.
But as those eyes open and I see the burning coals where his pupils should be, I know it’s not the lover she’s tried to bring back from the dead, but the Old One that even the Mother of Night fears.
He blinks, and then those hot coals are gone and his irises are dark enough to steal the light from his pupils. “My love,” he whispers, cradling her face and bringing their mouths together.
“Vi!” Eris screams behind me. “Come back!”
Not without my daughter.
I shove to my feet, gaze locking on Amaya. Shadows coalesce around Thiago’s body, as if whatever lived inside him is finally free. I can’t take them both. I can’t—
But maybe my magic will—
And then the Horned One breaks away from Angharad’s kiss and turns his soul-searing eyes upon me.
He smiles and flings his hand out, diverting the spill of raw power that gushes from the heart of the earth.
A ring of fire explodes out from the Hallow.
I scream, throwing my hands up—
A figure appears in front of me, arms splaying wide, and I see a pale, beautiful face within her hood. Firm arms wrap around me just as the wall of magic hits.
We’re both doused in fuel and set aflame. Nothing could survive this. Not even—
“Just breathe,” the Mother of Night whispers, her body shielding mine from the blast of power. “Breathe, Iskvien. Ride the power. Ride the
wave. Let it flow through you.”
Every inch of me feels stretched and broken, as if the magic is incinerating me from within. I scream on and on, the sound torn from a shredded throat.
“You cannot fight it,” she says, pressing my face into my shoulder. “This is ala. It is the energy within woven into a force that will destroy all that cannot contain it. It is the world beneath your feet. It is the heart of Arcaedia unleashed through a crack in the surface. To fight it will destroy you.”
And maybe I want such oblivion.
Maybe I want something to make the pain go away.
“He’s gone,” I sob as I curl into her embrace.
“Yes. He is gone from this world.” A gentle hand slides through my hair, and the impression of her voice softens. “But you are not. And nor is your daughter. You need to live, Iskvien. You need to survive—”
So I can set her free.
“Oh, child.” She laughs sadly. “If you could only see the future that I can see.”
The flow of power finally slows to a trickle.
And I gasp when I see what has happened to her. The right side of her face is burned and bloodied. Little cinders spark in her flesh, and ash breaks away from her, floating to the ground.
That could have been me.
That should have been me.
She protected me.
But now she’s falling, and as she hits the ground, she dissolves into nothing and all I hear is “This one last favor I do for you. Get your daughter. And escape. You must escape, because the Horned One is free, and he will be hungry.”
I scrabble to my hands and knees as her presence winks out.
Thiago’s gone, nothing but a dark smear in the shape of his body remaining on the slate floor. Enormous wings of blackened ash paint the floor around him, but as I watch, a gust of wind sends the ash flying.
I snatch at the ash, but it vanishes between my hands, and suddenly this is all real.
He’s gone.
He’s gone, and I want to scream at the sudden emptiness in my chest—that hole where my heart should be. Where he should be.
But he did not die just to see me collapse. And the Mother of Night did not suffer just to see me fail.
