by Bec McMaster
“Found them,” Finn murmurs, appearing out of nowhere. “The Asturian embassy have set up on a grassy knoll overlooking the sea. Three tents. Only twenty guards, from what I could see, which means she obeyed the set terms. The area around them is clear for fifty feet.” He nods to me. “Your mother’s banners are there. And I caught a glimpse of her within the main tent.”
“Then let’s do this,” Thiago says grimly. He turns to Baylor. “Ready?”
Baylor stares toward the tents with a hard glare. “Ready.”
“Keep it reined in until I give the signal.”
Baylor turns wolfish eyes on him, filled with blood and vengeance. But he nods.
The tents are red and gold.
Horses shift and whicker at their moorings, and guards stand to attention beside them, gleaming as brightly as the gemstones that linger in my mother’s vaults. She’s always insisted her personal guard wear armor coated with thin gold scales for appearances sake, though a single blow will leave a dent that requires days of buffing.
My mother’s banners snap in the wind, and I catch a glimpse of a golden throne hidden within the main tent, though there’s no sign of her.
Every inch of it is planned.
It says: Did you think you had won at the Queensmoot? I let you live, and now I will crush you, as was my intention all along.
“Subtle, Mother.”
The silk parts as Thiago strides toward it, and he ducks within, leaving me to suck in one last fortifying breath before I face her. This is no time for nerves, but I can’t quite extinguish the breathless feeling inside me. Nor can I fight the urge to rest my hand on the hilt of my sword. I’m dressed for war in a brown leather corset that’s hard enough to turn away a glancing blow, and a mulberry-colored cloak over my shoulders, but the skin between my shoulder blades tickles.
The last time we met, I drove her back with the power of the Hallow.
My mother doesn’t forget such insults.
And the Ruthvien Hallow is far enough away that I can barely feel the quiver of it. With our recent arrival, it won’t be ready to use again until another hour has passed, at least.
“Excellent,” I mutter under my breath. I’m practically defenseless, except for the sword.
“Princess?” Finn murmurs.
“Nothing. Just enjoying my last moment of non-judgmental air.”
“Relish it. I’m sure she’ll manage to suck the wind out of our sails somehow.”
Then I’m inside, the lack of light abruptly plunging me into a moment of disorientation. A lantern gleams within the tent, platters of sweetmeats and figs spread across a black and white lacquered table. The scent reminds me of summer days and fields of golden grain whispering in the wind.
Not the musky perfume of a well-lit brazier that my mother prefers.
Curse it. I knew this was a fucking trap.
“Your Highness,” Thiago says, recovering from the surprise well. “You appear to have shrunk.”
A tall, straight-backed figure reclines before us, her long, lean legs laced over each other and both hands resting negligently on the arms of the throne. Every inch of her is poise, from the braided coronet of hair that settles like a crown on her head, to the slick golden silk of her cloak, pinned at one shoulder with a ruby as big as my palm.
“Hello, Sister,” says Andraste, meeting my eyes.
“Andraste.” The word trips over my tongue.
The last time I faced my sister, I’d felt alone. The revelation of the truth—that I was Thiago’s wife with my memories stolen away from me—had been a recent blow, and I’d been trying to find my feet in this new world.
I’m no longer alone.
A hand comes to rest on my shoulder, Thiago’s thumb stroking there with gentle reassurance.
I stare into her face, and I see a little girl lying in the grass of the meadows with me as we slice our palms and press them together.
“I will always protect you,” Andraste had whispered. “You’re my little sister. We will always watch each other’s backs.”
I don’t know where that girl vanished to, or even why.
My stepbrother, Edain, reclines at her feet in silken robes the color of a night sky, that reveal a healthy expanse of his chest. Rings glitter on his fingers and his cheekbones are sharp enough to cut as he reaches for a grape. It’s rather like having a leopard at her feet. Edain might be mother’s little trinket, but I’m one of the few who knows the truth of what else he is.
My mother’s knife.
A blade she wields from the shadows.
In public he’s the queen’s pet, but they say that if you meet him in the dark of night, then he’s the last thing you’ll ever see.
“Dearest stepsister,” he purrs, “it’s lovely to see you again. Married life must be agreeing with you.”
“It’s all that fresh air,” I bite back, “and freedom. You should try it.”
Bottling my rage, I turn to Andraste. She’s no longer my sister. She made her choice. “Your Highness. The Queen of Asturia’s message claimed you had a gift for us.”
She waves magnanimously at the laden table before her. “Should we not take repast and discuss—”
“We’re not here for your fucking figs and cheese.” I smile. “And who knows what drug the wine is laced with. You always were good at providing such sweet poison.”
A flash of guilt dances fleetingly through her eyes—so fleetingly it might even be imagined. “Our countries are at war, but that doesn’t mean that our negotiations—”
I step toward her. “These are not negotiations. You have something of ours and you will give him back.”
“Or?” Edain stretches with a yawn.
Even I feel the coldness in my smile. “Or I will show you what drove my mother back at the Queensmoot.”
Thiago remains conspicuously quiet at my side, letting me lead, though his hand comes to rest on the small of my back. A warning. They’ve got me off-balance, which was precisely what they wanted.
But Edain’s no longer entirely at ease either. He wasn’t there when I drove my mother back, but no doubt he’s aware of it.
“You’ve grown bolder, dearest stepsister,” Edain says, pushing to his knees. “I always wondered how you would flourish once your mother stopped turning your brain to mush every spring.”
“Remarkably well, now that those I trusted aren’t stealing a year of life from me.”
“Don’t blame me,” he says. “I was merely a spectator.”
“Oh, did you think I included you on the list of people I trusted?”
“Edain,” Andraste warns.
“What?” He spreads his hands with a boyish smile. “We’re just having fun. Vi and I always were like oil and water.”
I ignore him and focus on her. “Well? Why bother with this affair if all we’re going to do is insult each other?”
“First strike,” she whispers.
What?
Our eyes meet as memory assaults me. My mother sitting across a fari board from me as she moves her last piece into place.
“First strike,” Mother murmurs with a smile as her knight decapitates my king. Three of her little metallic warriors abruptly turn on my general. “Second strike.”
And the third.
The third will always come.
My prince abruptly steps behind my gold queen and drives a knife through her back.
“Third strike,” Mother says, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes as she sits back in her chair with her hands folded neatly in her lap. “You failed to see the plays, Daughter. You have lost.”
And the fari board devolves into a melee as her pieces cut mine down to the last man, until only my little golden prince remains, bowing at the feet of her Red Queen.
Lysander is the first strike.
Andraste’s warning me.
Thiago slowly removes his gloves as he stalks forward. “You brought us here for a reason. Let us hear it.”
“It’s easy,” Andra
ste replies with a small shrug. “There doesn’t have to be war between our kingdoms.”
“I think it’s far too late for that, Princess. Your mother murdered a queen and tried to have me executed. She attacked a sacrosanct meeting—”
“And she is prepared to make amends.”
“I don’t see her here,” he snarls, “on her knees, begging for mercy. Or is that why she sent you? Did she think I might be somewhat more lenient if my wife’s sister pleaded her cause?”
My eyes narrow. “It’s more that Andraste is meant to be the distraction while Mother slips around behind our backs.”
“So trusting, little sister.” Edain laughs. “We are here because your Mother doesn’t trust him to contain his daemons if he saw her.”
“Of the two of them, Thiago’s shown remarkable restraint,” I grind out.
“Has he?” Edain offers Thiago a little smile that seems to suggest otherwise. “Indeed, he does seem to have himself well in hand. Far more so than I was warned to expect.”
What does that mean?
“Oh.” Edain feigns surprise. “He hasn’t told you….”
“There’s nothing to tell,” Thiago replies.
“Mmm.” Edain sips his wine with nonchalant grace. “We shall see.”
I don’t look at my husband.
I can’t.
Because I won’t give Edain the satisfaction of knowing his arrow hit its target.
Instead, I rest a hand on Thiago’s sleeve. “You always did like to hear the sound of your own voice, Edain. Even though your conversational skills are terribly boring.”
“We’ll see. A gift from our queen,” Edain whispers, holding his fist up to his face. He opens it and blows the black dust held there directly toward us.
Within a second we’re enveloped in a cloud of shadows. I cough as it hits my lungs, fist clenching around the sword as I shove free of the dust. The bitter taste of it sinks into my tongue, but I breathe a sigh of relief as I realize what it is.
“It’s harmless,” I say, waving a hand in the air in front of me. “It’s merely a binding agent intended to lock a curse to its target.”
Too bad mine was broken completely. There’s nothing there for it to grab.
Eris locks eyes with Edain as she waves the black cloud from her head. “Permission to kill him?”
Edain merely smiles as his knife slips from his sleeve into his hand. “I would love to dance, sweet Eris. I’ve heard so much about you.”
I grab her arm. “Not now.”
Second strike.
There has to be a second strike.
“Nothing to say, Your Highness?” Edain prowls toward Thiago.
And I realize the arm beneath my hand has tensed.
Eris detects danger.
“Only that if you continue coming toward me with a knife in hand, I’ll consider our negotiations over.” There’s a cold, emotionless edge to my husband’s voice, but I can sense him trembling with the urge to step forward and repay Edain for his “gift”.
Edain pauses, but not with fear, I think. He cocks his head. “I don’t think I need the knife. I think the damage is already done. You contain it well, but it’s eating away at you, isn’t it?”
And then he laughs.
Andraste stares at Edain as if he’s suddenly turned into a snake. If this was meant to be mother’s strike, then she knew nothing about it.
“State your terms,” Thiago says coldly. “Then let us be done with this mockery.”
“A gift,” Andraste replies, visibly gathering herself, “to beg forgiveness and open negotiations toward peace.”
Baylor holds his breath.
“Bring the beast,” my sister says, a tiny gesture slicing toward one of her attendants.
A commotion echoes outside. Some kind of snarling, along with the dangerous scrabble of claws in the dirt. Men shout. Steel rings as a sword clears its sheath and then the tent flaps part, and an enormous beast is dragged inside the tent by four fae warriors.
Its arms are bound behind it and gold winks around its throat. The collar is as thick as my forearm, but even with the chains, it looks like it will barely hold the creature.
A bane.
Standing well over seven feet tall, he’s a monster of sinew and fur. Half-wolf. Half-lion. All rage and fury. Curse-twisted into a half-animal, half-human shape, he growls as he sees us.
Few have the power to create them, and breaking the curse is near-impossible. Sometimes it requires catching a cockerel’s first cry in a bottle, and then drinking it down. Or hunting a phoenix and swallowing its flame. There’s an old story that tells of a witch who managed to use her love and magic to keep her bane lover in fae form during the day, though her spell broke the second the moon rose and he would be a beast until the sun cleared the horizon.
Lysander.
“Xander!” Baylor surges toward him and Thiago hauls him to halt. A murderous flash of fury darkens Baylor’s face, but the second their gazes meet he visibly restrains himself.
There’s no acknowledgement in the creature’s eyes.
It merely huffs and snarls as each warrior fans out, hauling on the chains so that it can barely move.
“Asturia keeps its promise,” Andraste says, her shoulders suspiciously straight.
She clearly doesn’t like having the bane within the tent.
I can’t say I blame her.
“Asturia is renowned for keeping its promises,” Thiago says, his fist clenching around his gloves. “To the very letter of the law.”
His smile could ice over an entire kingdom.
Andraste tenses as if she suddenly senses the predator in the room.
She’s always been smart enough to gauge a room with a single glance, and right now, my husband looks like murder dressed in black leather. He knows he unsettles people so he usually reins his powers in hard. He moves slowly. He reclines. He watches but doesn’t loom. But right now, the leash is off.
Right now, he’s a wolf prowling into enemy territory and though his illusions shield his wings, there’s a menacing shadow trailing behind him as if to suggest pure Darkness looms over his shoulder.
“But there’s always a twist,” Thiago continues. “What does your mother want in return for Lysander?”
“Eidyn and its surrounding lands.” Andraste eases into familiar territory. Bartering is second nature to her. “Forswear them now and forever, and she’ll allow you to keep the bane.”
The border lands have been in dispute for nearly a century. Mother claimed Thornwood and its surrounds, but Eidyn—though it once belonged to Mother—has since stood mockingly out of reach.
Thiago sinks into the chair that is placed opposite my sister. “It’s a tempting proposition. It’s even believable. Your mother wants Eidyn desperately. She even bartered her daughter away to me for the chance to claim it. And now she’s lost both.” He unleashes a smile upon her—the deadly kind. “Unfortunately, I don’t believe either of you. Adaia thinks herself invulnerable. She has an army poised at my doorstep and Eidyn is within her reach. If she truly wanted it so badly, she would have sent her armies marching across our borders.”
“Maybe Mother desires peace.” Andraste leans forward. “What happened at the Queensmoot was unsettling for all of us—”
“She murdered a queen,” Thiago replies. “The only thing that unsettled her was that Prince Kyrian and I got away before she could slit our throats too.”
Andraste continues as if he didn’t speak. “And now the Alliance stands in disarray. We must stand strong against the unseelie threat from the north.”
“Again, a striking argument. Again, a lie. There is evidence your mother has been in contact with Angharad, and has used the unseelie for her own purposes.”
They stare at each other.
Thiago leans forward, resting his forearm along his thigh. Edain doesn’t quite shift, but he’s no longer at ease. Every inch of him tenses, and a dark flame flares to life in his blue eyes.
My breath catches.
“Perhaps I will make a counter-offer,” Thiago purrs. “I will give your mother Eidyn….”
What?
“In exchange for?” Andraste asks boldly.
“Clydain. And everything within it.”
Clydain? My gaze snaps toward him. Clydain’s an old rotting border keep with a broken waterwheel. Half the lower garrison is flooded. Nobody lives there anymore. The place is supposed to be haunted, and frankly, it holds no strategic value.
But he may as well have thrown a serpent directly into my sister’s lap.
“It’s a rotting old keep in the far north of Asturia,” she says. “And it borders Mistmere. It’s miles from your kingdom.”
“True,” Thiago replies. “But then, I’m not interested in the keep.”
And everything within it, he’d said.
My mind races. This has something to do with Lysander. He’d said the reason Lysander was sent to the northern forests of Asturia was to hunt for a weapon my mother was rumored to be keeping.
“Clydain and the surrounding forest is haunted, Your Highness.” Andraste loads her voice with scorn. “You may forgive me if I think this a trick, for Eidyn is a treasure trove, and Clydain is… a moth-eaten old cloak.”
When on the back foot, attack….
“Unless, of course, you want to gain a foothold in Mistmere,” she suggests.
“It’s my final offer,” Thiago tells her. “Tell your mother I will trade Eidyn for Clydain and everything currently within it as of this moment. And I will take her gift back home with me, provided there are no further tricks.”
“No tricks,” Andraste murmurs. “Mother says if you can tame him, then he is yours.”
I don’t trust this.
They’re too polite. And Andraste keeps staring at me.
“If you can tame him.”
It has to be that.
Mother thinks Lysander is uncontrollable. It’s a gift with a bite, for if we can’t control him then…. What? Thiago won’t kill him—he can’t be killed—and Thiago doesn’t turn his back on his loyal subjects.
Baylor pauses an inch from his brother. There’s no anguish upon his face, but I feel it within him. “Xander.”
