by Bec McMaster
Promise of Darkness
Dark Court Rising
Bec McMaster
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever, without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.
* * *
This novel is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locales or organisations is entirely coincidental.
* * *
Promise of Darkness
Copyright 2019 © Bec McMaster
* * *
Cover Art 2019 © Gene Mollica
Editing: Hot Tree Edits
Created with Vellum
Contents
What readers are saying about Bec’s fantasy-fuelled romances…
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Also by Bec McMaster
About the Author
What readers are saying about Bec’s fantasy-fuelled romances…
“The chemistry between Caleb and Ingrid jumps off the page. Sexy does not do justice to the explosion of love between them.” - Nikkia, Mission: Improper
* * *
"Rich, dramatic, romantic, and dangerous..." - Publishers Weekly on My Lady Quicksilver
* * *
“Dark, intense and sexy... A stunning new series with an intriguing twist on the vampire theme..." - Library Journal on Kiss Of Steel
* * *
"McMaster has the uncanny knack for outdoing herself... a perfect finale to a phenomenal series, and readers can only hope for more to come soon from McMaster's limitless imagination." - RT Book Reviews, 4 1/2 Stars, Top Pick for Of Silk And Steam!
* * *
Forged By Desire – RITA Finalist Paranormal Romance 2015
* * *
Of Silk And Steam – RT Reviews Best Steampunk Romance 2016 and SFR Galaxy Award winner
* * *
Kiss Of Steel – Georgia RWA Maggies Best Paranormal Romance 2013
* * *
Heart Of Iron – One of Library Journal's Best Romances 2013 and nominated for RT Reviews Best Steampunk 2013
* * *
Mission: Improper - #1 Amazon Steampunk Bestseller
* * *
Nobody’s Hero - Two-time SFR Galaxy Awards winner
* * *
Hexbound — Historical Fantasy PRISM winner 2017
* * *
Soulbound–Historical Fantasy PRISM winner 2018 and overall PRISM Best of the Best
* * *
The Last True Hero–Dark Paranormal PRISM winner 2018
Prologue
Eons ago, the invaders came from beyond the stars.
They travelled through portals that tore space and time apart, riding on steeds that trampled all in their wake. They were bright and glittering and malicious, beautiful and terrible. Their faces could conjure love in a mortal’s heart, and their smiles held no mercy.
They rode into a world where magic came from the earth and from the blood, and where the people worshipped their Old Ones. They cut the forests and raised their cities and palaces. They enslaved those they found on this world, calling them monsters.
And they waged war upon each other, until two peoples were formed: One bright and merciless, and one dark and vicious.
But as the years passed, they forgot the power of those that lurked in the forests. They stopped placing salt on their windows, and ignored those monsters that prayed to their Old Ones and made sacrifices in the places where power dwelled.
Until one day, those Old Ones rose.
A new war began. The Wars of Light and Shadow.
The bright ones won. They trapped the Old Ones within those precious Hallows where power lingers. And they forgot once again.
But the Old Ones merely wait.
For they are immortal, and their memories long.
And they know…. That the prison walls are weakening.
* * *
—Prophecies of Arcaedia
1
Kill the beast.
And don’t disappoint me this time….
My mother’s words play in my head in time to the drumming hoofbeats of my gelding.
It’s a song that’s been repeating itself for years, though the verses often change depending on her latest critique. Disappointing my mother seems to be my greatest ability these days.
Golden leaves drip from the trees in a steady tumble as autumn starts its slow, seductive slide into winter. I ease Jaeger to a halt, and he snorts, no doubt catching scent of the rank musk I too can smell.
“I know, boy.” I pat his neck as I slip from the saddle, landing lightly on the leaf mulch. Smells like a troll’s breath the morning after a feast of decayed corpse.
Late afternoon sunlight ripples over the ground, the wind whispering through silent trees. It feels like the forest itself is holding its breath.
Watching.
Waiting.
Drawing my sword, I tie Jaeger to a tree and then creep toward the ruins.
There are eyes upon me.
I can feel them.
“That’s right, you ugly bastard. I’m here.”
The trail of blood leads directly toward the thorny tangle ahead. Where it fell, the leaves have shriveled into brittle shreds, as if the blood itself is tainted.
The news came from the borders three days ago. An empty hamlet discovered on the edges of Vervain Forest, the woodcutters within vanished. Instead, there’d been claw marks in the door and a bloodied fingernail on the floor inside, as if someone had been dragged out by the ankles.
Other empty cabins were slowly discovered. Tales of a beast stalking the edges of Vervain and whispers of hunters not returning from relatively easy hunts began to grow in strength. Chickens slaughtered in their coops over the summer months, though nobody had mentioned it until it was too late.
It always starts with the chickens.
Banes are big, ugly brutes, curse-twisted into half-animal, half-human shapes. It takes a powerful witch or spell to create them; and to break the curse is both dangerous and difficult. True love’s kiss. Eating the heart of the witch. Sometimes another spell will gift them with the ability to remain a man during the day and a beast at night, but magic often sloughs off them.
Which leaves me with one option.
The cold kiss of iron, straight through the heart.
It’s my first bane hunt.
Preferably not my last.
“Let’s make this nice and easy,” I mutter as I slip through the forest with murder—or mercy—on my mind.
Thorns encircle the ruins, some of them bearing spikes as long as my forearm. Poison drips from their tips; they call this particular bramble Sorrow’s Tears. It sprang from the ground the night the King of the Sorrows was slaughtered by his new Unseelie queen. Where his people wept, the brambles grew. It’s deadly to the Unseelie and excruciating to my kind, though it won’t kill us.
How, in Maia’s name, am I going to get inside the ruins?
I can hear the snuffling of the bane in the distance. No doubt it made its lair deep inside where it will be safe from predators. Which means there must be a way in. I just have to find it.
Skirting the brambles, I hold my sword low. Demi-fey peer at me from the shadows, their golden eyes vicious and unblinking. Sweat drips down my spine. I’m practically jumping at shadows, my skin prickling at the faint whisper of claws on stone.
“You can do this,” I tell myself quietly.
I have to do this. I have to slay the beast at my mother’s bequest or suffer her consequences—as well as her disfavor.
After all, if it tears my head from my shoulders, then at least I won’t have to hear about it for the next ten years.
Or worse.
Girding myself, I follow the bane’s blood trail to an overgrown arch. Shadows loom beneath it, and I don’t know where it leads, but it’s clearly the only way into the castle.
This was once the ancient stronghold of my kingdom, many years before my mother took power. The king who ruled wore a gauntlet coated with pure iron. A literal iron fist. Though the main tower’s half-shattered, with stones strewn about it like rumpled skirts, it wouldn’t surprise me if the tower once bore a certain phallic resemblance.
My mother overthrew him nearly a thousand years ago.
Nobody even remembers his name—she had it wiped from public record, and no one dared speak it upon pain of death. The years passed, and he faded from memory, crushed to dust just like this keep. Now only the forest remembers him, slowly swallowing what remains of his grandeur.
I wonder what he did to her to earn such a fate, such enmity. My mother is petty and vicious, but to ensure even history forgot him speaks of an enemy she saved her most vengeful acts for.
“This way, Princess!” a voice cries through the ruins. “I can see its tracks!”
I freeze.
Hooves echo on half-buried cobblestones, and then a glint of gold shines through the brambles as a stunning young woman canters into view. Her blonde hair is knotted into tight braids that circle her head like a coronet. A trio of Seelie hunters clad in hard leathers are at her heels.
Son of a dryad.
The Crown Princess Andraste. Strong. Dangerous. Powerful.
She looks the epitome of a warrior, with a battle-hardened leather corset protecting her slim waist and boots that cling to her calves. A lush dark green cloak wraps around her shoulders, but it’s the bow at her back and the knives tucked into her boots that make her dangerous.
Andraste doesn’t miss. She doesn’t fail.
I might have once called her sister, though it’s been so long since we’ve been close enough for such a word. It’s not encouraged anymore.
After all, in my mother’s kingdom, there is only one ruler, only one heir.
And I’m not the favored child.
I have to kill the bane first.
Darting up the spiral staircase of the tower, I slip my knife from its sheath so I’m well armed. Blood is spattered on the steps, and it will be only a matter of time before Andraste follows me. I can’t afford to rush this and make a mistake, but I cannot afford to lose the chance.
My mother granted the task to the both of us, and I know it’s another one of her little tests.
Thighs burning, I make it to the highest level, my steps slowing.
Wounded grunts and soft whispering sounds echo from within the chamber at the top. I dart toward the door, pressing my back to the stone wall beside it and softening my breath. A glance shows the turret room inside, dust and dead leaves covering the floor. In the middle of the room is an enormous, twisted mass of fur and sinew.
It looks like a wolf and a lion had a baby.
Or no, not quite.
There are enormous teeth that don’t belong to either animal, and claws that are two inches long. It moves like a man, though its spine is curved like a cat’s, and it loped along on all fours when we were hunting it.
Blood drips from the wound on its flank where my arrow sank between its ribs, and it licks the ravaged wound, wincing a little. The broken shaft of the arrow’s been snapped off, and the creature tries to bite at it, as if attempting to remove it.
The movement’s so familiar that my fingers curl around the knife. The sound it made when my arrow sank into soft gray fur lingers in my memory. A cry. It sounded like a man’s pained cry.
No mercy for the monsters, sneers my mother’s voice.
But is it a monster?
It was fae once, whispers my conscience.
Aye, and now it’s terrorizing local villages.
Year by year, it will lose itself to the curse, until all it craves is blood. All it will hunger for is flesh. There’s no turning back. If the curse hasn’t been broken yet, then I doubt it ever truly will be.
This is mercy.
Or at least, that’s what I tell myself.
My fingers flex around the knife as I creep closer, picking my way between dead leaves.
The creature freezes.
So do I.
“Schmell you,” it whispers, the sound like the skittering of dead leaves. “Coming to finish job.” The word comes from an inhuman mouth, but it freezes me right to the core.
Banes are violent, magic-twisted beasts. There’s no reasoning with them. No means to save them or break the curse. All you can do is put them out of their misery and stop them before they slaughter entire villages.
But this one is fae enough still to speak.
The slight hesitation almost costs me.
The bane lunges toward me, muscle rippling beneath its fur. I drive to the side, blade swinging up. Its claws lash out, smashing my sword to the side. The weight of it slams into me, and then I’m going down. Only pure luck—or years and years of practice with my mother’s swordmaster—mean that my knife drives into its side.
Stupid. So stupid.
As my back slams into the stone floor, I kick my heels up, driving it over the top of me. Lines of heat sear my thigh. Its claws glance off me with the momentum, but if I hadn’t reacted so quickly, they’d be buried in my gut.
Rolling ungracefully to my knees, I scramble for my sword. I have no idea where the knife went. Probably still in its flank.
The bane lashes out, claws swiping my boots from under me. I hit the floor, my hand closing over the hilt as I flip over. Like a turtle on its back, I shove the sword between us, scrambling back across the floor until my back hits the wall.
The beast stretches its spine, eyes glowing an amber gold in the dying afternoon light that pours through the open arch window.
It laughs, a faint, wheezing sound, as it prowls back and forth. “In trouvle now, little fae.”
It’s between the door and me, and even though it’s bleeding heavily, it’s still twice my size. And I’m down a weapon.
Curse it.
I clamber to my feet, forcing my voice full of a false bravado I don’t feel. If in doubt… bluff. “I don’t know. It seems I swapped the knife for a star-forged sword. I’d say I just traded up.”
It snarls and swipes the air threateningly in a mine-is-bigger-than-yours kind of way.
Okay, fine. “Yes, I know. My, what big claws you have….”
One day my mouth is going to get me in trouble.
“Come closer and see dem,” it hisses.
I lunge forward, sword whining as it cuts through the air. Right into the sunlight that streams th
rough the arched window, which blinds me for half a second. The bane avoids the blow, but instead of lashing out and taking advantage of my blunder, it hesitates.
“Prinshess….”
What? My sword hovers in the air. “Do you know who I am?”
Its lip curls as it backs away. “Ish-vien.”
Close enough. I stare at it in horror. There’s only one way it could recognize me by sight. “Who are you?”
“I am loyal, my princhess. I am Evernight,” it whispers, holding up one paw, claws curled inward. “Pleashe. Pleashe don’t hurt me.”
Evernight?
The Kingdom of Evernight is the enemy. Evernight and Thorns have been at war for centuries. How would it know me?
When I was a little girl, I remember playing games of Strategy across from my mother. Each game was a lesson, and if I played well, I would not be punished. It made me wary, thoughtful, hesitant…. And Mother noticed. Trust your instincts, Mother would say, eyes alight upon me. Instinct is the cold kiss of warning that something is wrong, but hesitation is a death knell.
