by Bec McMaster
“It’s time,” Eris says behind us.
I break away from him, breathing hard. It’s done. No matter what happens, Amaya will be safe.
Thiago tugs on the gauntlet that will conceal his powers. It makes his magic a mere whisper, and I can barely feel him through the bond we share, but his powers brew within him, and the second he needs to unleash his full strength, he can.
“Are we all ready?” Thiago calls.
“To serve the Darkness, I am ready,” Finn replies.
“To serve the Darkness,” Eris says with a nod.
“To serve the Darkness,” Baylor growls, reaching over his head to draw his massive broadsword.
Grimm leaps up on my shoulders. “I only serve myself,” he sneers. “But I’ll accompany you to the end, if need be.”
“Let’s go then.” Thiago reaches out and smears his blood across the glyph that will take us to the Black Keep. The Hallow hums, the earth staring to vibrate beneath our feet. The Hallow snaps shut around us, spinning me into nothingness.
An instant that seems like forever.
And then I slam back into my body as we finally arrive in the foothills above the Black Keep.
Right into the middle of a pack of unseelie warriors armed with banes on leashes.
Chapter Thirty-Five
There’s blood on the snow. Blood on my clothes.
I can feel it hot on my cheeks and wet in my hair.
And even though they’re dead—even though they’re all dead—something inside me howls for more blood.
There’s no way directly inside the Black Keep—the Hallow there is on an unconnected ley line that doesn’t cross any others besides this one—so the nearest Hallow is here, in the foothills of the Dragon’s Teeth mountain range. It’s the main source of transport for Angharad’s troops, and there were over twenty stationed here before we arrived.
I didn’t know that until Eris tortured it out of one of the guards.
Thiago slowly lowers his sword, breathing hard. “Are they all down?”
Eris moves through the snow, stabbing her blade into bodies with ruthless efficiency. “Down and dead.”
Blood still hums through my veins. It was a short and brutal fight. We’d caught them by surprise, and by the time they’d drawn their weapons, we were upon them. The leader barely had time to scramble for his horn before Eris drew her sword behind her head and then heaved it at him from across the clearing.
She puts her boot on his head as I watch and yanks her blade free. The horn remains silent in the snow.
“Do you think anyone heard?” Thiago demands.
Baylor scans the hills, his nostrils flaring. “There’s no sound of anyone nearby. And I can’t scent anything.”
“None of them are loaded with equipment to stay out here for the night, which means they’ll be due to check in sometime in the next half day,” Eris guesses. “Or another company will be coming to replace them, but I don’t know how soon. And the Black Keep is only an hour away. There will be patrols out and about.”
“Drag them out of the Hallow and strip them of their armor,” Thiago says, “then cover their bodies with snow. We need all the delay we can get.”
And then he turns and uses a blast of wind to stir the snow so that it covers the blood.
The Black Keep looms below us in the valley, a central spire soaring toward the heavens. Thick walls guard it, and steep cliffs slide away from it like skirts. There’s only one way in; a long narrow bridge that arcs over nothingness toward it.
Now I know why Thiago insisted upon bringing the armor.
We strip off our outer clothes and fit ourselves into the bloody assortment of armor we stole from the Unseelie. Everything is black—which hides the blood well—but there’s a soaring white wyvern emblazoned on my chest, and another one on the shield I can barely lift. It’s taller than I am.
“This isn’t going to work,” Baylor mutters. “Iskvien’s too short to be mistaken for one of Angharad’s warriors.”
Thiago considers me. “He’s right. Get dressed again. You can be our prisoner.”
“You do realize it’s freezing,” I growl, dumping the shield with pleasure. “You could have realized this flaw in the plan before I removed my nice warm coat.” I strip out of the black leathers and haul my own clothes on again.
“And now we just need some fog,” Thiago whispers, staring at the valley. “Vi, can you see through our fetch’s eyes?”
It makes my skin creep every time I try, but I need to know what’s happening inside the keep. Grimm promised that no harm would come to Amaya until night falls—and the Black Keep is much further west than Old Mother Hibbert’s cottage was. Though the sun is slinking toward the horizon, the moon hasn’t bared her shimmering face yet.
Taking a deep breath, I slip the bracelet off and reach for the fetch that’s bound to me.
—chanting echoes through an enormous hall, and unseelie sway as they call for their dark god to rise. A little girl yanks at her chains, her teeth bared in fury as I step between the stones of the Hallow—
I pull back and slam the bracelet on so that the fetch won’t sense me. “She’s alive.”
Just scared and desperate.
“How soon can you call in that fog?”
“Give me twenty minutes,” Thiago murmurs, his eyes distant as he stares across the gulf between us and the Black Keep. “Anything faster will draw attention.”
I pace the ledge.
It surprises me how beautiful it is up here.
Despite the snow and the sheared-off mountains in the background, there’s a purity to the world that makes my chest hurt. Ever since I bound myself to Evernight, I’ve been able to feel the land breathing beneath my feet, and though we’re a long way from home, there’s something stirring beneath me.
I reach down and stir the snow away from the ground with a wisp of wind before placing my palm flat on the ground.
Somewhere beneath the castle the earth bucks and twists…. It feels like the land is screaming, like it’s trying to force solid stone to become diamond.
And then I find that pressure point.
“Who are you?” asks a little voice.
I rip my palm away.
And realize Grimm is watching me.
“You can hear her,” he murmurs. “She’s always been gifted. She’s always been drawn to the land. She is a natural queen who will rule this world if she’s given the chance.”
I slowly press my palm back to the rock. I don’t dare reply—I don’t know who else is listening, or if they even can.
But I don’t want her to feel alone.
“Amaya?” I breathe.
There’s a sense of stillness as if she’s listening to me. Wondering, perhaps.
“I am someone who loves you very much,” I whisper, and I can sense her reaching for that thread of thought.
Somewhere inside that keep, my daughter stirs and places her palm flat on the stone beneath her, the chains jangling around her wrist.
And I gasp as I feel our palms touch.
“You’re like me,” she whispers.
I close my eyes and curl my fingers through hers. “I’m like you.” I want to tell her that I’m coming for her, but I don’t dare, just in case someone else hears. All I can give her is this…. “You’re not alone. You will never be alone.”
“I’m so frightened.”
“Be brave.” I squeeze her little hand, sending all my love down the bond between us.
And then there’s the sensation of a sudden looming darkness turning toward me. I give Amaya one last squeeze, and then I tuck myself up small and quiet, severing my link to the lands.
Silence.
Nothing follows me down that link.
But I can almost feel a pair of eyes turning outward from the keep, as if that other entity knows that something’s not right.
I don’t know how long I’ve been gone, but fog blankets the valley.
The walls and towers of
the keep are carved from obsidian that’s been strengthened with spell craft, but with the sun no longer shining, it merely looks like a dull black castle now.
“Are we ready?” I ask.
Thiago lowers his hands.
And then he nods.
We cross the bridge, the other four marching in unison around me. My hands are bound loosely in front of me with rough rope, and the hood of my cape is drawn over my head.
“Halt,” calls a rough voice, and a sentry strides through the gates. “Who are you?”
“Isbarrion of the Wyldwoods, come to rally to Angharad’s banner,” Thiago lies, his helmet obscuring most of his face.
“I’ve not seen you before.”
Thiago stares at him insolently. “I’ve not been here before. We came to make a pledge to our queen, if she’ll have us.”
“Oh, she’ll have you. War’s on the winds.” The sentry grins. “Vengeance is coming to those down south who thought to force us to our knees.”
“I’d like to see that. Do you know where the royal sorcerer is? We were riding for the keep when we caught this one”—he jerks a thumb over his shoulder toward me—“by the lake. Thought she’d make a nice little gift for Isem, considering we’re late. You know he likes them young and pretty.”
The sentry glances at me. “The pet is busy.”
“Careful where you say that,” Thiago growls. “The walls have ears, and I’ve heard it said the sorcerer is always listening.”
Their eyes meet, and maybe there’s enough truth in that to disabuse the sentry of any uncertainty here.
Isem sits at Angharad’s right hand, and I’ve met the pale little weasel several times; enough to know that to the common folk—the warriors in Angharad’s armies—he’s probably not well-liked.
The sentry spits. “They’re in the Well of Tears. His Pastiness gave the order that they weren’t to be disturbed.”
“Guess there’s time for me to have a little fun with my prize,” Thiago leers, grabbing a handful of my backside, “until he’s got time for me.”
A horn suddenly cuts through the mountains behind us just as I try to slap his hand away.
I freeze, my head whipping around.
And then Thiago growls under his breath, still playing at being the guard who’s drawn a shitty duty. “Now what?”
“Trouble,” the sentry says, then curses under his breath. “Looks like none of us are getting any rest tonight. Take her to the dungeons and lock her in. Then you’d best get your ass back to the yard. That horn belongs to Vargas, and he was due to take over the watch at the Hallow.” The sentry steps aside. “Let them in, boys. And send a runner up to the keep to fetch Urivel. Tell him they’re calling for backup out there by the Hallow.”
Thiago tugs on my ropes and jerks me into the keep. The others follow.
“Prize?” I growl.
“They’re a little more primitive here in Angharad’s court. This way,” Thiago says, taking an abrupt left into the heart of the keep. He grabs me by the forearm. “Glare at me as though you want to bite my throat out.”
That won’t be difficult. “Did you have to grope me in front of that prick?”
“Yes, I did. He was trying to peer under your hood.”
He shoves me past a trio of marching soldiers, barely even looking at them. I can’t believe nobody’s raised a cry yet, but Thiago moves as if he owns the castle. Of course, he always moves like that, but there’s something about the set of his shoulders and the look on his face that makes it very clear he knows where he is and where he’s going.
Nobody dares get in his way to question him.
“Do you know where we’re going?” I gasp, scurrying to keep up with him, “Or are you simply guessing?”
“I know where I’m going.”
I shoot him a look.
His lips press thinly together as he pushes me toward the left. “I came looking for my father once. I wanted to kill him, but he was riding at Angharad’s side then, surrounded by an entire army of unseelie. I was much younger, and the only way to get close enough was to infiltrate her army and work my way closer to the keep. I served here for several months before I realized that even if I got close to him, I was never going to be able to kill him.”
“Will… Amaya…?”
I can tell he hasn’t thought of it. His brow furrows. “I hope not. I hope there’s no piece of me inside her. Not like that. She deserves to know peace.”
“Which way?” Eris asks as we reach a branch in the tunnel.
Thiago pauses and glances to the left. “This way. We’re going down now. The Well of Tears is not far. I think it best if we keep our mouths shut from now on.”
Torches line the walls of the Well of Tears, and banes prowl the open cavern. But it’s the set of standing stones that have been hauled into an upright position by pulleys that captures my attention.
This is where the Horned One is bound.
And I can see from the cleave lines through the base of the stones that they fell at one stage. When the Alliance of Light came for the Horned One, he clearly didn’t go easy. Power sheared through those stones, and someone’s resurrected them and resealed them with melted brass.
The Hallow pulses.
But it’s an odd beat.
An echo.
As if the power that flows through the stones meets that brass line and takes a second to skip over it through the rest of the stone.
Dozens of banes are chained to the walls. Another dozen or so unseelie warriors stand guard with their hands on their swords. They’re not like the ones in the foothills. No, these ones wear black markings tattooed on their cheeks, and there’s a hardness to their eyes and bodies that assures me they won’t be easy to defeat.
But it’s the sight of the three fetches standing between us and the Hallow that makes my heart pound in my ears.
“How are we going to get past them?” I whisper.
Grimm suddenly shimmers into the physical world, wending his way through my legs. “Consider them mine, Princess. I’ll make the Shadows so dangerous they won’t dare fade into them.”
And then he’s gone again.
A guard turns, frowning at our sudden appearance. “What are you doing down here? The queen is not to be disturbed while she—”
He suddenly sees the blood dripping from Thiago’s short sword, and his tongue trips over itself. There were five guards outside, but Thiago dispatched them with ruthless efficiency.
The guard’s eyes widen. “You’re not—"
Thiago lunges forward, grabbing him by the helmet and yanking him onto the blade. A soft cry chokes out from the guard’s mouth, but Thiago catches him as he slumps, and tries to ease him back into the shadows.
Too late.
Another guard notices. “What are you—?”
One of Finn’s arrows suddenly sprouts in his throat. He goes down with a clatter, and every head in the Well turns sharply toward us.
“Well, fuck,” Baylor growls, drawing both of his massive swords.
“Cover me,” Eris yells at Finn, and then she’s leaping over the edge of the stairs and landing in a crowd of unseelie.
“Vi!”
I turn at Thiago’s yell, and he slashes his sword through the ropes that are bound loosely around my wrists. Tugging a dagger free, he tosses it toward me, and then he’s turning, the arc of his sword gleaming as it slices through the throat of an unseelie warrior.
They attack us in droves, and there’s no time to think. Only time to move. I duck the whine of a sword, grabbing the bastard’s arm as he extends and stabbing my dagger into the vulnerable patch under his arm. A wheeze escapes him as I hit the lung, and then I draw it out and whip it across his throat.
Blood splashes my cheeks.
I kick his fallen sword into my hand and leap over his body, bringing both weapons up to block an overhead swing. The vibration jolts up my arms. But all my training has been against warriors both taller and heavier than I am. I deflect
the blow to the side and spin low, onto my knees, the bite of my dagger slashing through a hamstring.
The fight is short and brutal, and some part of me relishes the blood.
I drive my sword straight through a guard’s gut. This is for Old Mother Hibbert.
Another one lunges at me.
For all those children who ran in fear….
For me.
For Amaya.
It’s that thought that nearly undoes me. Amaya. I turn for the Hallow once more, and this time I catch a glimpse of her, gaping at us as if she can’t believe her eyes.
Bending low, I smack my palm against the stone floor, feeling the ripple of my blow vibrate through the floor toward her. “Be brave,” I tell her. “We’re coming for you.”
Amaya looks down at her palms, as if she heard me.
The room seems to vanish.
All I can see is her.
A little girl dressed in a pale white smock, her tiny wrists manacled to the middle of the Hallow, where she cowers from the banes that snap at her and the fetches that laugh as she begs.
Fear drains away.
I know what I must do.
“Cover me,” I say, walking toward her.
As much as I yearn to smear blood across the floors, my fight doesn’t begin or end with a sword.
“Vi!” Thiago snaps, but I’m already past his reach.
“Just get me to that Hallow.”
I am going to get my daughter back.
He lunges forward, turning a blade that was meant for me. Another unseelie sprints toward me, but he goes down with an arrow in the throat. And then Eris is there, her sword held low as she guards my right flank.
“Can you hear me?” I call out to the Mother of Night.
There’s no answer, but I can feel her presence over my shoulder, like thunder thickening the air on the horizon. The little hairs down my spine lift. And I give myself to the Hallow.
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.
