by Bec McMaster
His gaze drops to my fingers as I lift the cheese to my lips. “This is not seduction, Merisel. You will know if I ever decide to seduce you.”
“Then what is this?” The cheese melts on my tongue. I’m a little too quick to reach for another piece.
“Why would you think I intend to torture you?” There’s curiosity in his tone.
I pause, swallowing my mouthful and then licking the remnants from my thumb. That was a slip. He’s questioning it. “Why would you not? You own me.”
“Ah, yes.” There’s a quirk around his mouth. “Our bargain. I was a little angry with you when I made it. I thought I’d found a bride and here you were, using false pretenses to try and steal from me.”
This time, it’s my turn to arch a brow. “I never tried to capture your interest. If anything, quite the opposite.”
I can’t help hearing the words he spoke to me when he realized my deception: “I've never been more intrigued by you.”
I set the fork down. “What do you want? It isn’t to watch me eat. It isn’t to remind me of the past.”
“You dined with me once. Perhaps I wished to repeat the experience.”
“Now I see how you dance around the truth.”
Keir laces his fingers together. A dangerous intensity springs to life in his eyes. “Rumor abounds that an ancient magic is reawakening. The world trembles with its presence, and every power-hungry lordling and prince in all the lands will be desperate to find it. I want to get my hands on it first.”
I pause, nibbling on the stuffed fig. This feels familiar and it’s a relief to finally get to the crux of the matter. “An ancient magic…?”
“The cauldron,” he replies. “The Goddess’s Cauldron.”
I drop the fig, and my fork ricochets off my plate. He cannot be serious. The cauldron was gifted to the fae by the goddess herself. When the dragon kings used the power of the cauldron in order to defeat a half-bred monstrosity, they were forced to surrender their magic to it and retreat from the world.
It left behind an enormously powerful magical relic created by a goddess, and filled with the power of ancient dragons.
And every fae in the land wanted it.
A wise old king at the time stole the cauldron and sailed out to a small island off the coast of the Court of Storms. He begged the Goddess of the Sea to take the cauldron and hide it, for fear that one would rise with the power to wield what should never be wielded.
The other courts hunted him but they were too late.
The sea rose in anger, driving their boats back to shore. By the time the storm died down, the island had vanished. The king and the cauldron with it.
No one has seen it since.
“Well, fuck.” I stare down at my bodice. Clots of soft goat cheese are spattered across my breasts, and leaves of thyme cling to my skirts. The fig is nowhere to be seen. I haven’t been that clumsy since I was a girl.
“That’s all you have to say?” Keir looks amused. “I’ve just offered you the greatest quest of all time and this is your response? You could be famous.”
“Or dead,” I point out. “The answer is no. No, I will not steal your cauldron—”
“I don’t need you to steal my cauldron,” he purrs. “I just need you to find it for me, and to do that, I need you to get your hands on the Horn of Shadows.”
More myths. “The horn that leads the Wild Hunt?”
He leans toward me, every inch of him fixed in predatory intent. “The hounds of the Wild Hunt were born of the cauldron. They can find it. But to control them, I need the horn.”
There’s a moment where I consider pushing my chair back, climbing onto the railing, and diving into the water far below.
And right now, I hate water with a passion.
Maybe I can appeal to the Goddess of the Sea? Maybe she’ll make me disappear too?
But this is his realm.
He’ll probably simply pluck me out of the sea. There’s no escape there.
“The hounds of the Wild Hunt make Wyrdhounds look like a child’s bedtime story,” I grind out. And one of them nearly killed me three months ago. “To blow the horn means binding your soul to it forever.”
“’Til death,” he corrects. “Only one fae can blow the horn at a time. Once bound, the horn becomes useless to anyone else. Unless the blower is killed.”
“There’s an easy solution to that problem, Your Highness. If you get your hands on that horn, every prince in the land will make it their personal prerogative to slit your throat.”
“Worried about me?” There’s a slight quirk to his lips, and his eyes flare gold as he lets his glamor slip, just for a moment.
I don’t know how I never saw it before.
The dragon peers back at me, smoldering in golden flames.
My heart skips a beat. “You can still die. The fae managed to kill the rest of the dragon kings. Even you can’t survive the removal of your heart.”
“Did they?” Another faint smile.
I stare at him.
Keir sips his wine. “Some of my brethren chose to fight. Some of them chose to sleep. And some of them… chose another way to live.”
He’s not the only dragon out there?
“How many? Who?” Because surely they wouldn’t be masquerading as lowly peasants. No, they’d be kings. Princes.
“If I tell you that, my love, then I will either have to kill you or capture you.”
“Capture me?”
His smile holds all manner of sin. “Bind you to me forever. Lock you away in a tower where you can’t ever escape me.”
On second thought…. “Keep your secrets then.”
“Aren’t you curious?”
“Not that curious.”
“About the horn,” he whispers, a dangerous hint of smile tugging at his wicked mouth. “About the cauldron. An ancient prophecy states it will be reborn, Merisel. Someone’s going to find it. Don’t you want to be the one who does?”
My thief’s soul quivers at the thought.
But I wipe at the goat’s cheese staining my lovely gown. “There’s always an ancient prophecy. There’s always an angry goddess—or god. And there’s always some idiot thief who finds themselves talked into a job like this.” I toss the crumpled napkin aside. “Do you know what happens to that thief? They die. I know how this story ends, and my answer is no. Find yourself another thief. I don’t want fame. I don’t want glory. I don’t want anything to do with power-hungry fae princes and a mythical cauldron everyone wants to get their hands on.”
“You haven’t heard all the details.”
“I don’t want to hear all the details!” I drag my finger across my throat. “Because this is what happens to curious thieves.”
“What do you want then?”
Freedom.
“Something I can’t have.”
He gives me a considering look, but wisely, he doesn’t pursue that line of thinking. “You owe me a debt.”
I set both hands on the table and glare over it at him. “Then take it out of my hide.”
He leans forward. “You tried to steal from me, and I’m just as dangerous as any of the fae princes in the lands. Don’t tempt me, Merisel, because if I demand payment, then you won’t like my terms.”
Every inch of me stills.
“Perhaps this will help you change your mind.” He tosses something on the table between us, though I swear his hands were empty just now.
It’s a sheet of paper, curled up on itself. I unroll it and a line drawing of my sister’s face appears, along with the word “Wanted.” The reward is ten thousand groats, which makes my shoulders deflate.
For ten thousand groats, every hob and selkie and brownie in the lands will be looking for her.
Soraya and I have a complicated history.
Once upon a time, she was the other half of my soul. When our father plucked us from the world and threw us into the training camps, she was the only one I could turn to. We would sleep in each othe
r’s arms at night when the nightmares threatened. If I was flogged for failing in my training, she’d be the one who cut me down from the posts and tended my back. If she was starved, I was the one who stole food and water from the cook tents for her, despite the risk to my own life.
You never forget that.
I needed her with a desperation that went soul-deep, and I’d thought she needed me too. And then our final trials began and she left me behind because I was injured—and if neither of us crossed the finish line in time, then we would both die.
She chose herself over me.
And there’s a part of me—the part that was raised in the wraithen court, where mercy only ever cost you—that understands that.
There’s also a part that bleeds, because we were supposed to be more than that. We were supposed to be better than the rest of them. Instead, she only proved my father’s point.
I have no family.
The only one I can rely upon is myself.
But still….
“What do you mean?” My voice roughens as I smooth the paper out. “Where is Soraya? What did you do?”
“Me? Nothing.”
It’s difficult to believe. “She did try to kill you.”
“She’s not the first,” Keir replies with a shrug. “And she won’t be the last. No. I had nothing to do with her disappearance.”
“Disappearance?” This time my gaze snaps to his.
“Curiously enough,” he continues, “it was how I discovered the existence of the horn. Your sister wasn’t in the forefront of my mind until one of my spies happened to chance across her. Or her description, rather. I plucked his memories from his dreams and imagine my shock when I saw her face.”
“The horn? What does the horn have to do with—”
“Your sister was in a position to find it and considering your interest in certain relics—” His fingers brush against the bare skin around his throat. “—I found it interesting that she just happened to be using a false name in a place that is abuzz with news of the horn. When my spy moved to apprehend her, she was gone. And in unusual circumstances. She simply disappeared. Her room was in disarray, and there were spatters of blood on her pillow.”
The warmth drains out of my face. Blood. I suck in a sharp breath, but then my mind starts racing. Soraya doesn’t lose. She’s one of the most dangerous assassins in the Blessed kingdoms. If there’s blood in her rooms and she’s vanished, then there’s a reason for it and it’s not because someone has buried her in the forest somewhere.
What would my father want with the horn? Because if Soraya is using a false name, then she has to be there on his orders.
The cauldron.
Power.
It was reputed to hold the might of the dragon kings. It could break the curse that shackles all of the Forbidden into their wraithbound shapes, and what my father desires most of all is to break the curse on his people.
“Where?” I breathe.
“I thought you weren’t interested.” The lazy gleam in his eyes holds a dangerous smile.
The prick.
I bite down on my frustration. “Maybe I can be convinced.”
“I thought you might be,” he purrs. “She was at the Court of Blood.”
“The Court of Blood?”
It’s one of the most dangerous of the Blessed courts. The only other court that might come close is the Court of Frost and Fangs.
What was Soraya doing at the Court of Blood?
How does it factor into the location of the horn?
Keir must see my confusion. “Three years ago, the crown prince of the Blood Court funded a private group of treasure hunters who began digging into a dragon king’s private hoard in the Frostfangs. Malechus thinks nobody knows about it. He is wrong. According to one of my sources, the group found something but apparently all died of a blood-hungry curse. The last survivor was found rambling in a tavern about how the dragon’s cave was haunted.”
Haunted treasure trove. Blood-hungry curse. Crown Prince of the Blood Court.
I watch as Keir bites into a fig, his sharp teeth cutting cleanly through the goat’s cheese. It’s far too distracting. “Strange. I thought curses like that were almost the sole province of the Court of Blood’s royal family. Not ghosts.”
Keir flashes me a smile.
“They found something in the dragon king’s hoard.” My mind starts chasing down thoughts. It’s always been my curse. “Malechus wanted to keep it quiet.”
“Oh, it’s far more interesting than that,” Keir says, licking at his fingers. “Malechus wanted to get his hands on it. It seems the lead treasure hunter realized exactly what he’d found and wanted to make more money than what Malechus was offering. He ran with the treasure.”
“More fool him.” There are certain fae princes I might consider stealing from—Malechus is not one of them. Not even for all the souls around my father’s neck. “You can’t spend coin in the Shadow Lands. So Malechus has the horn.”
“Uncertain. The last treasure hunter was traveling through the lands of Mistmark when he died. He thrust an object into a serving girl’s hands and begged her to bury it. He choked to death on his own blood that night, and the girl vanished.”
That changes everything.
Three years ago…. I can’t help thinking that my sister was sent to assassinate the Lord of Mistmark roughly about the same time. My father never did say why.
And it’s one of Soraya’s only failures. She never breathed a word about it, but…. A mystical relic crosses the Lord of Mistmark’s lands, where it’s passed into a servant girl’s hands.... And my father—hungrily searching for the power to break an ancient curse—sends his finest assassin to kill the Lord of Mistmark.
“Mistmark has the horn,” I breathe.
“Interestingly enough, the Lord of Mistmark is now betrothed to a princess of the Blood Court. Malechus is hosting the wedding of his dearest cousin within ten days. Every prince and princess in the Blessed lands will be in attendance.”
“Mistmark is marrying Malechus’s cousin? They must have made a deal.”
“I keep thinking the same thing, but why would the Lord of Mistmark give up the horn in exchange for a princess? There are dozens of them if he wants one.” Keir arches a dubious brow. “There’s an entire court between his lands and the Court of Blood. To wage war, Malechus would need to convince Prince Angmar of the Court of Storms to allow him to cross his kingdom with an army. There’s no love lost between the Court of Blood and the Court of Storms. And the Lord of Mistmark has enough power to ward off a blood curse.”
“Who knows? Maybe Mistmark is a coward?”
“Alaric is many things, but he’s not a coward.”
Alaric. “You know him?”
“I know all of them,” Keir replies. “Alaric plays the game and deeply. If he’s marrying sweet Belladonna, then there’s a reason for it. And that’s where my trail vanishes.” His gaze holds mine hostage. “I need someone to enter the Blood Court and discover if the Lord of Mistmark truly has the horn and if he’s promised it to Malechus as a bridal tithe.”
Oh no.
No Blood Courts for me.
Soraya disappeared from there.
I close my eyes, trying to harden my heart against the little piece of me I haven’t managed to kill.
Soraya can handle herself. She left you to the Prince of Dreams’ mercy, after all. She wouldn’t come looking for you.
The problem is, I’m not entirely convinced of that.
You can spend an entire lifetime threatening to murder your sister, but if anyone else dares try and touch them….
Still… how do I even escape the Abyss? I can’t. I’ve tried. And Father will never let me go.
If he even suspected the Prince of Dreams owned some part of my loyalty….
“I’m sure if you attended, they’d let you in,” I point out. “You are the Prince of Dreams, after all. Powerful, mysterious, handsome, and… a bachelor who’s recently
made it clear he’s searching for a bride. They’ll roll out a red carpet of welcome and fling a dozen nubile virgins in your direction.”
His smile holds teeth, as if to say I am a very good dragon, and I’m not trying to put your back against the wall at all. “Oh, I can get in. But I’d be watched. I haven’t left my court in three centuries. If I attend that wedding then all eyes will be on me.”
“Take a spy. I’m sure you have dozens.”
“This is the Horn of Shadows, Merisel. I want the best. I want you.” He holds up his arm, his sleeves falling around his elbow. Little golden marks flare to life on his skin, and I gasp as I feel mine answer his magic. “You very nearly stole my most powerful asset—my heart—and I didn’t even suspect you until it was too late. You’re good.”
I am good.
But I’m not going to fall for that little bit of flattery.
“It’s a pretty story,” I point out, “but unless you force me, I’m not going anywhere near the Court of Blood and this mythical horn. Sorry, but I’d rather let you torture me than dare fall into Malechus’s hands.”
Something tells me Keir’s punishment would be eminently less painful than having every ounce of blood wrung out of me by the Prince of Knives.
Keir stares at me, drumming his fingers on the table. It’s a test. He could do it if he wishes. He’s marked me and until the end of the year and a day, I must obey him.
But to do so means he must force me to his will.
Hot flame licks at his irises and then it’s swiftly smothered. Reaching inside his shirt, he tosses something on the table in front of me.
It’s a locket.
Ancient silver, heavily pockmarked with use. A crescent moon linked by a trio of stars. Barely worth a handful of groats, but valuable all the same—because the last time I saw that locket, it was hanging around my sister’s neck.
The breath slams out of me. “Where did you get this?”
“I told you I have my sources.”
I snatch the locket into my palm. Soraya would never lose this or leave it behind. It belonged to her mother and was all she had of her when she was stolen from her people and brought to the training camps. Sometimes I’d find her sitting on the top of the tallest tower of the wraith court, staring at the moon and rubbing the locket between thumb and forefinger.
