by Bec McMaster
“Some say?”
“There’s not a single locked door on this entire continent that is able to hold me out.” He replaces the book on the shelf beside my head. “They won’t let you in, but let me assure you…. There’s only one place where you may find what you’re looking for, and that’s within the library at Ravenspire.” He winks. “And now I think I’ve been more than generous with my information.”
The shop door slams open, and I jerk my head in that direction, but it’s only a scowling hob, carrying too many parcels in his arms.
“Thank—"
When I glance back, the assassin prince is gone.
“You,” I say softly.
I place the Sorrow rose on the middle of the council table.
Eris was leaning back in repose, but now she slams forward, all four feet of her chair hitting the ground. “That motherfucker.” Her dark eyes narrow on me. “Where did you get that from?”
Thiago prowls around the table. “I needed to talk to the Prince of Shadows—"
“You, what?” Eris stabs her knife through the rose. “You went to see him? When? How many guards did you take?”
“Just one,” Finn says, raising his hand.
A demonic light comes to life in her eyes. “What did he say?”
I tell them everything.
The Gray Guild. The storm coming. Ravenal. My mother’s plot.
But it’s the comment about one hundred horses that draws the most interest.
“My, my,” Thalia says, trying to hide her smile. “Someone’s confident.”
“I’m going to tear that sneaky little bastard apart with my bare hands,” Eris growls. She wrenches her knife out of the table, and shoves to her feet.
“That sneaky little bastard might be the only way we’re going to break Lysander’s curse,” Thiago calls as she’s halfway to the door.
Eris freezes. “Argh!”
She throws another knife at the door and it lands with a thunk.
“Fine.” Swinging around, she hauls her chair back out and drops into it. “I’ll murder him after his hexbreaker unwinds Lysander’s curse. And only because it would break Baylor’s heart.”
I hold my hands out. “Does someone want to tell me what one hundred horses have to do with all of this?”
Thalia’s still smiling. “Eris—"
“Not another word,” Eris growls out.
“You can only blame yourself.” Thalia can’t hide her amusement. “How many horses do you own by now?”
“Close to fifteen hundred,” Finn says in a cool voice. “She sold several herds.”
“Didn’t realize you were counting.” There’s something in Thiago’s voice that draws my attention.
I glance between him, Finn and Eris.
“Eris breeds horses?”
Thalia glides around the table, capturing Eris’s shoulders in her hands as she leans down and gives her a kiss on the cheek. “Permission, E?”
Eris groans, but there’s a nod there too.
“Two centuries ago, a certain visiting fae prince set his sights on Eris,” Thalia says. “No matter how much she rebuffed him, it only stirred his interest. He set out to woo her and he was incredibly persistent.”
“Thiago wouldn’t let me kill him,” Eris growls.
“He was here to sign a political alliance,” Thiago points out. “I thought sending his head home in a box would send the wrong kind of message.”
“To end the matter, she set him a challenge….” Thalia continues. “If he met her over the edge of a blade and defeated her, then she would become his wife. If she beat him, then she would take one hundred of his finest horses. She said she could only ever submit to a male who was powerful enough to beat her.”
“Oh.” I’m starting to see how this went wrong.
There’s no doubt in my mind that she destroyed him. But that’s the kind of tale that grows in the telling. And there are thousands of arrogant male warriors out there who must now see her as the ultimate challenge.
“That was only the start,” Baylor breaks his silence. “How many males have come?”
“Seeking the hand of our fair Eris?” Thalia muses. “Dozens. It’s been a while since the last one though. Thirty years, maybe? I think she broke every bone in his arm, and that’s put a few of them off.”
Eris slides her hand over her face. “I shouldn’t have said it. I was desperate. How was I to know every fae male in the southern alliance would see it as a personal fucking challenge?”
“There, there,” Thalia says, massaging her shoulders. “It weeds out those who know they can’t beat you. And if you’re lucky, one day a prince will stride through those doors and hold his own. You never know.”
“No one is going to hold their own against her,” Finn’s voice sounds like gravel, “because that implies that someone has to beat her in order to capture her interest. Males like that aren’t interested in Eris. All they see is the glory and the pride involved in crushing her spirit. That’s what they’re interested in, and frankly, if there is someone out there who’s good enough to take her sword off her, then I’m going to pick it up and drive it straight through his fucking throat.”
Eris stares at him incredulously.
“What?” he demands.
“This is the one time I actually agree with you.” She frowns. “It feels wrong to even say that.”
Finn shrugs. “Not that you need me to pick up your sword.” He cracks his knuckles. “Let me know when Lysander’s hex is broken. I might help you throw that prick off the tower.”
Eris considers it, then reaches over and bumps her fist against his. “It’s a deal.”
“No,” Thiago says, pointing at her. Then he turns to Finn. “No. I don’t want to start a bloody vendetta against an assassin’s guild. Besides, we might need him on our side come Elms Day.”
“I’ll talk to Vi,” Thalia promises. “Once I have a description of the fae she saw, I might be able to work out who they are. I’ll send my little birds out into the street and see if they can hear something interesting.”
She means that literally, for there are numerous birds up in the aerie that belong to her. She’s spent centuries cultivating the demi-fey of the city, and now she has hundreds of them that will ride one of her sparrows into the city and report back to her, in exchange for milk and honey.
The fae ignore the demi-fey, because they’re capricious and so difficult to keep focused that they make it seem easier to corral cats. But if there’s one thing the demi-fey are good at, it’s remembering something word for word, and if you actually can get them to communicate with you, they’re surprisingly effective.
Thoughts brew in Thiago’s eyes. “We need to get you inside the library at Ravenal.”
“I think concentrating on this plot is more important.”
“And Thalia will have information for us as soon as she can,” Thiago counters, “but I’m not merely trying to assist your search. Ravenal lost its queen. I’ve sent missives to the crown princess, but she’s been putting me off, and to be honest, I haven’t turned my attention to our allies enough.” He gives me a dangerous smile. “Your mother is waiting for a counterattack? Well, why not give it to her? Ravenal sits at her flanks, and she murdered their queen. If I can give the crown princess a reason to march her armies north, then we might be able to crush Asturia between us. I think it’s time we sent word to Kyrian and Lucere and see if they want to crush a queen.”
Chapter Eight
The towers of Ravenspire loom ahead of us as we ride from the Hallow we arrived at mere minutes ago.
Nervous energy runs through me.
Queen Lucidia ruled over Ravenal with a miserly hand for centuries, and I see the effects of that in the countryside as I ride past. The fae we pass wear tattered homespun, and everything is much-mended—though there are smiles on the faces of the children, and they run alongside our horses for miles, waving brightly colored ribbons.
Now that she’s dead, h
er eldest great-granddaughter, Lucere, has made a claim for the throne, and she’s well-backed by her brother, the Prince of Ravens.
Not every member of the Ravenal royal family agrees with that choice, but the Prince of Ravens holds the military and if he backs Lucere, there’s little the others can do about it.
“Do you think Princess Lucere will hold me accountable for her great-grandmother’s death?” I murmur as I ride beside Thiago.
Ravenspire looms over the forest, and a single watchfire in the main garrison looks like an eye watching us as we approach.
He reaches out and squeezes my hand. “She knows you have nothing to do with your mother. Adaia killed Queen Lucere, and it is Asturia who will bear the malice for that act. Not you, Vi. You cannot take on your mother’s sins.”
The Prince of Ravens waits at the balcony as we ride into the courtyard, fae light glittering over the obsidian scales carved into his tunic. Glossy black feathers rain from his shoulders, though I can’t quite see whether they’re wings or a cloak.
“Has to be a cloak,” I mutter.
None of the seelie would ever align himself with an unseelie trait.
“It is a cloak,” Thalia says. There was some argument over whether she should stay in Ceres or not, but they left Baylor in charge. By the time we return, her little spies should have enough information for us. “Though there’s rumor Corvin bears Lucidia’s gift in his blood. They say he owns the ability to both see through the eyes of his ravens and shift shapes. Eris always threatens to put an arrow through any ravens she sees.”
Beside him stands his sister, Princess Lucere, who is angling to replace the title with Queen. My breath catches when I see her gown. It’s pure white, carved of tiny white scales that blink in the night. Gold netting is woven through her blond hair, and the way she’s standing makes the light fall on her just so….
Beside Corvin’s pure black, she’s a glowing moon.
“Ah,” mutters Eris. “There’s the bitch herself.”
“White.” Thalia tsks under her breath. “Always wearing white. Who does she think she is? A maiden of Maia?”
“You’re wearing white.”
“That’s because I look good in white,” Thalia replies.
I gather my mare’s reins. “We don’t like the princess of Ravenal?”
Eris’s eyes thin. “Shall we just say that ravens aren’t the only creatures in the vicinity I’ve threatened to put an arrow through.”
I share a glance with Thalia, but though she goes to speak, she clearly thinks better of it.
“Later,” she promises with a nod toward our audience.
“Welcome to our friends from Evernight,” Lucere calls. She gestures to her retainers, who leap forward to take our horses. “Please come. We have refreshments prepared. And Prince Kyrian is already arrived. He will be joining us shortly.”
Thiago makes a great show of moving to lift me down.
“I can do it myself, you know?”
His hands come to rest upon my waist, and there’s a twinkle in his eyes. “Maybe I just enjoy touching you?”
He lifts me down easily, and as the toes of my slippers touch the ground, I rest my hands on his shoulders.
“I think you’re going out of your way to play the gallant.”
He tucks my hand through the curve of his arm as he turns to face the prince and princess of Ravenal. “Maybe I’m merely enjoying the fact I no longer have to hide my affection for you when we’re in public.”
Nobody’s fooling anybody.
He’d said Ravenal would be a snake pit, so I let him play the surly, protective overlord. “Would you like me to simper at you?”
He laughs under his breath. “What’s that going to cost me?”
“Everything.”
“You already have everything I own. My lands. My heart. My soul.”
Very smooth.
“Prince Thiago,” Prince Corvin greets, though he waits for us the climb the stairs—like supplicants. “I see you’ve made good time through the Hallow. They’re so unpredictable these days.”
“Corvin,” Thiago replies with the tilt of his head. “My condolences on the loss of your great-grandmother.”
The Prince of Ravens’s smile thins. “She is with Kato now. His judgement shall allow her to pass onto the Bright Lands. Or not.”
“And the Princess of Asturia,” Corvin says, his dark eyes glittering as he takes my hand from Thiago’s arm and lifts it to his lips. “Beautiful enough to bring two countries to war and an entire Alliance to the brink of shattering.”
I tug my fingers from his hand with the faintest arch of my brow. “If you knew my mother at all, you would understand I was merely the pawn she used to give herself an excuse to march.”
“And she is the Princess of Evernight now,” Thiago corrects with a dangerous edge to his voice as he replaces my hand on his forearm. “You would do well to remember that.”
“Either way, my beloved great-grandmother is dead, and Ravenal stands without its queen. We do remember that, Prince Thiago.”
His sister, Lucere, claps her hands as if she wishes to draw attention to herself. “Ah, but Corvin…. Great-grandmother would have chided your manners. These are our guests, and we have given them poor welcome.”
Stepping forward, she rests her hands on Thiago’s shoulders and reaches up to brush a kiss to his cheek that manages to completely pretend I don’t exist. “It’s been too long, Thiago. You are most welcome here. And you always will be.”
I look at Eris.
Did she just—?
Eris rubs her mouth and then turns the gesture into a finger drawn sharply across her throat. She, at least, agrees.
“Thank you,” he says, lifting my hand. “Iskvien and I are most thrilled to partake of your hospitality.”
He turns to me, and now I have to pretend the bitch didn’t just practically invite him into her chambers.
“Princess Lucere.” I smile and nod, but I don’t bow.
She’s not a queen yet.
“Princess Iskvien,” she replies. “As lovely as you were the first time I laid eyes upon you.”
“Thank you,” I manage to say, though I cannot recall her. At all.
I hate these moments.
She snaps her fingers to the servants. “Bring wine and set the feast. We have to celebrate the first appearance of the mighty Prince of Evernight to humble Ravenal.” She graces Thiago with another smile that promises wicked delights. “If you would follow me.”
I exchange a glance with Thiago as we follow them inside the Great Hall.
We’d hoped for allies here, but it’s clear tension exists.
Ravenal’s always been the poorest of the kingdoms, though some say Lucidia had more of a hand in that than any other. There’s gold enough in the treasury, and from the decadence of the jewels that glitter on Lucere’s and Corvin’s fingers, they’ve managed to unlock the mighty vault.
But the castle stands in stark repair, and though the great hall has been swept, with bunches of feathers and flowers strewn in every corner, a close look reveals the threadbare quality of the tapestries on the wall.
“Let us talk,” Thiago says as they offer us wine.
Corvin raises a goblet of wine to his lips with a vapid smile. “Later. Tonight is a night for dancing.”
“Your Highness.” Lucere sets her wineglass on the stand and shoots Thiago a coy look as she holds out her hand. “I would be most honored if you would assist me in opening the celebrations.”
Bitch.
The muscle beneath my hand tenses as if Thiago agrees with me.
And while the insult is clear, I’ve been playing these games for far too long.
“Go and dance with her,” I say, shooting him a light smile. “I plan on stealing you all for myself for the rest of the night, so it will do the court good to see two monarchs playing nicely.”
There’s a light in his eyes that tells me he understands perfectly. “As you wish.”
And then he stands and slips through the crowd toward her with a dangerous grace, and I enjoy the view for several seconds before I realize I’m not the only one doing so.
Princess Lucere watches him with hungry eyes, her hand outstretched toward him.
I turn to Eris with a bright smile. “More wine? Please, more wine?”
She leans over my shoulder and fills my glass. “I can make sure nobody ever finds the body.”
When we first met, I was certain Eris hated me, but I’ve started to understand who she is. And I earned her loyalty. If I say the word, Eris will head out into the forest with a shovel.
“Not yet.” My cheeks ache from smiling. “We’re running out of allies.”
Eris snorts as she watches Thiago take Lucere in his arms. “We can find more.”
We’re not the only ones here to celebrate.
Prince Kyrian of the Kingdom of Stormlight is Thiago’s closest ally, though the last time we met, he thought I’d betrayed my husband. He was the only ruler to walk away from the Queensmoot unscathed, considering he refused to watch my mother attempt to execute Thiago.
I’m a little nervous as the prince saunters down the stairs into the throne room, surrounded by several female warriors dressed in red. A leather thong binds half his hair back off his face, though his green eyes lock on me with an intensity that threatens to set my undergarments on fire.
Or no, not on me.
Behind me.
I suddenly feel like I’m standing between a cat and its prey. A glance over my shoulder reveals Thalia, glaring back at him mutinously.
“Thiago,” Kyrian calls, greeting him with clasped hands. “You survived.”
“You doubted.” There’s a hint of reproof in my husband’s voice, though he returns the swift embrace.
Kyrian turns that dangerous stare upon me. “It’s not so much your wife I doubted, so much as the nature of true love.”
