by Bec McMaster
“What?” Thalia asks.
“If I tell you, then you have to talk me out of it,” I yell as we skid into a thorny corner of the maze.
“No promises!” Thalia yells. “You weren’t locked in a cage! I’ll let you do anything.”
I tell them.
Thalia’s eyes nearly pop out of her head. “You think he’s a solution?”
“You said anything,” I point out.
“Thiago will kill you. Blaedwyn will kill you. It’s a terrible idea!” Thalia says.
It’s Eris who surprises me though. A horrible, horrible smile crosses her mouth. “And it just might work.”
Sprinting through the maze, I lead the chase while Thalia and Eris slip away to safety. I’m the one Blaedwyn wants, after all. If she gets her hands on me, she has both the Queen of Thorns and the Prince of Evernight by the throat.
I reach out with my senses, trying to grasp that elusive whisper of power I’ve been able to feel ever since we arrived. The Hallow pulses somewhere ahead of me.
Power calls to me.
It quivers deep beneath the earth, the ley line lying dormant like some enormous torrent of magic that wants to be used. I can feel where it pushes up toward the surface, the power of the ley line channeled through the Hallow.
That’s where I need to go.
The only thing stopping me is the maze.
I turn a corner, intent upon the Hallow, and realize the hair on the back of my spine has risen. Wrong way. I know it as instinctively as I can sense the air on my skin.
Bolting back the other way, I feel the pull of the Hallow. It wants me to find it. It wants me to give myself over to the rush of power. Racing through dozens of narrowing passages, I finally leap through a hole in the hedge and find myself in a grassy field.
Skidding down the slope, I bolt between a pair of the enormous lintel stones just as lightning lashes the horizon.
This is the worst idea I’ve ever had, but if it works…. It might just be the only way to escape Blaedwyn and her Unseelie host.
I’m alone as I wait in the Hallow for my pursuers. Thiago will kill me if he realizes I suggested using me as bait, but if one is being positive, at least he’ll be alive and free to kill me.
The ground quivers, and Blaedwyn’s horn screams through the air.
The Unseelie burst from the maze, howling and gibbering as they spot me.
Blaedwyn stalks up the hill toward the Hallow where she defeated the Erlking, the thorny vines rustling in her wake as if they’re alive and aware. You can almost hear them whispering.
“Princess,” she says smoothly, holding a strung bow in her right hand.
“Your Highness.” I’m not above common courtesy.
“It’s over,” she says, with a smile that bares her teeth, as she draws an arrow from her quiver. “Angharad will be thrilled to see what I’ve managed to get my hands on. The Prince of Evernight and his little wife, all in one.”
“You have to capture me first,” I point out.
Her eyes narrow. “Put the sword on the ground, and you won’t get hurt.”
I grip the Sword of Mourning’s hilt in one hand and hold the sheath with the other. “As I recall, it knocked you on your ass last time. Think it can do so again?”
Blaedwyn smoothly sets the arrow to her bow and nocks it. “Think you can draw it before I put an arrow through your throat?”
“I set one trap for you,” I reply. “Do you think I’ve had time to set another? Do you think it will snap closed before you can let fly?”
I tweak the power beneath me, and the Hallow vibrates.
She glances toward the stones. “Didn’t you realize you need to power the Hallow first?”
To use the portals, the correct runes need to be activated in order to channel power and open the pathway to the Hallow you intend to arrive at. I shrug. I can feel the power of the Hallow alive and awake beneath my feet, waiting for me to call it to life.
And while I intend to open a portal, this one isn’t to another Hallow.
I draw the sword. This time there’s no detonation. This time there’s no visions. Blaedwyn’s answering smile is chilling, as if she didn’t think I could be this stupid.
“You can’t defeat me,” she points out. “I wielded that sword long before you were a speck on the edge of consciousness.”
The Sword of Mourning rings as if it cuts through the air itself, a high-pitched whine almost on the edge of hearing. It’s vibrating in my hands, forcing me to grit my teeth.
Blaedwyn holds up a hand, and the sword’s tip jerks toward her.
It’s all I can do to hang onto it.
“You’re invincible with that sword,” I cry. “I know. No mortal being could stand against you and hope to survive.” I suddenly smile, swiping my palm down the sharp edge of the blade. “But look where I’m standing. I think I know someone who can defeat you. And someone who might be very, very interested in seeing you again.”
I slam my bloody palm against the nearest ward stone. It’s the one with the symbol for Uraz on it. If you squint, the rune almost looks like something with horns.
My blood ignites the Hallow, but this time it’s not opening a portal to another Hallow. The ley line beneath us trembles as if it senses a new pattern in the runes. I’ve never felt so closely linked to it, and for a moment, it almost seems as though I can touch that power.
I don’t, because I’m not an idiot and would prefer not to be incinerated.
The Hallow starts shaking.
Dust and chips of stone shiver off the ward stones. The ground trembles, forcing me to soften my knees to maintain my stance.
Blaedwyn looks down sharply, then her gaze jerks to mine and her face goes white. “What are you doing?”
Lines of light sear through the snow on the ground, the heat melting it in an instant. The marble floor of the Hallow is suddenly visible, and every bronze glyph carved into the marble glows.
“Don’t!” Blaedwyn screams, as she nearly goes to her knees.
I drive the Sword of Mourning right into the middle glyph.
It’s the key, after all.
“Surprise, bitch.” I grab onto one of the ward stones for balance as power suddenly erupts through the Hallow, and a blinding line of light forms right in the middle.
And then the Erlking steps through from his prison in the Underworld, sucking all of the oxygen from the air.
The Erlking is enormous.
Violent, gleeful eyes lock on me with an intensity that almost makes me step back. That look says run, mortal. It speaks to every ounce of my being that’s ever frozen when you hear something moving out there in the woods. It lifts all the hairs down my spine, and my lungs seize as he steps out through the rift in the world.
Because while it says run, that look also says I just might want to be captured.
Every inch of him is built to conquer, to take, to hunt. The feral slash of his cheekbones and the cruel curve of his mouth speak of a primitive kind of carnality that make me want to swallow.
And his eyes are the eyes I saw in that vision.
I was in Blaedwyn’s head when she betrayed him.
“Freedom,” he whispers, holding his hand out as if he hasn’t felt air on his skin in centuries. Dressed in strict black hunting leathers, he wears a cape of raven feathers. A crown made of golden antlers settles on his brow, and his long, tangled hair has golden beads woven through it.
Of all the Old Ones, he’s both the most dangerous and the most mercurial, but also one of the only ones we might survive. He was Master of the Wild Hunt, and though his prey never escaped him, he was also known to be benevolent toward those with pure intentions.
“You freed me,” he says, turning his focus back upon me. “And so I owe you a boon.” Cruelty tilts that mouth in a wicked curve. “But speak wisely, little one, for I shall warn you only once—my gifts hold a sting.”
“A mighty favor, Great One.” I bow my head. “And one which I shall hold in
stead, for I want for nothing in this moment.”
His eyes narrow, and he steps forward. “If you want for nothing, then why did you free me?”
“I brought you a gift,” I say, pointing toward Blaedwyn.
She’s scrambling down the slope, fleeing as if the Wild Hunt is already on her heels. I can’t say I blame her. The wind is already whistling, as though a ghostly horde follows him. She’s the sole reason he spent centuries locked away in the Underworld.
The Erlking stills, his falcon-dark eyes locking upon her.
His answering smile is the kind of expression that shivers over my skin like a caress—one that can also cut like a knife. “And now I owe you two boons, child.” He snaps his fingers and a pair of golden antlers sear themselves into the back of my hand like a tattoo. “All you need do is call for me, and I shall appear.”
And then the wind whips around him and he vanishes in a swirl of ravens.
38
The castle is a hive of mayhem when I return, slashing my way through the brambles like some prince come to rescue his princess. I left the Sword of Mourning buried to the hilt in the middle of the Hallow. Let he who draws it know its misfortune.
I don’t want it.
Unseelie flee in all directions, and the wind whistles through the half-broken spires as if some otherworldly being is attacking the castle with the elements.
Stones fall as an arch crumbles, crushing a pair of hobgoblins beneath it. The thorns in the maze creep away from the castle’s flanks as if to distance themselves, and fire flares in the top tower of the keep.
Hopefully, Eris and Thalia managed to break the others out of their rotting cells before the Erlking arrived.
I sprint through the bailey, cutting down a pair of hissing Sorrows that try to flank me. “Eris?” There’s no answer. Only the wind, cutting now, like a knife. “Thiago?”
Thiago strides out of the tower, shadows rippling around him like a cloak—or a pair of wings. In that instant I see him as the Unseelie do; a fierce warlord who looks unstoppable. There’s nothing Seelie in his expression, and his eyes are completely black with the Darkness within him.
“What in Maia’s name did you do?” he yells, the fierce wind whipping his torn shirt behind him like a banner.
I can’t help myself.
I rush forward and throw myself into his arms. He practically lifts me off my feet, his arms closing around me like a trap. Despite his anger, I can feel the tension in him ease the second he holds me.
“What would I not do?” I whisper, and then capture his face in my hands before claiming a swift, furious kiss. “You promised you’d come for me. I could do no less.”
“Vi,” he says, eyes darting around. “What—”
“It’s a long story,” I yell, tugging him toward the gates. “And now is definitely not the time to discuss it. Hurry. Before he brings the rest of the castle down.”
“Did it work?” Eris yells, staggering out of some doorway. She has her shoulder under Finn’s arm, and his face is pale, blood matting his hair.
Thalia guards their backs, wielding two razor-sharp daggers with enough dexterity to convince me she knows how to use them.
“It worked!” I point to the stones that crumble around us. “I think Blaedwyn’s locked herself away in the tower. I also think we’re now the least of her concerns. But it might be wise to get as far away from here as we can.”
The Hallow spits us out in Valerian.
The entire city is blanketed in snow and darkness. A deathly quiet fills the air, a vast difference from the shrieking beasts that lumbered through the swamp toward the Hallow at Scarshaven.
Thiago wastes no time. “What did you do?”
This is where the payment comes due. I glance toward the others, and when Eris winces, I know I’m in trouble. “You see…. The first plan failed. I stole the Sword of Mourning from Blaedwyn, but then she set her entire court to hunting us. And I didn’t dare use the sword. So I… made a contingency plan.”
Thiago grabs my wrist, flipping it to reveal the pair of golden antlers marked on my skin. His nostrils flare, and then his gaze captures mine, burning with intensity. “What. Did. You. Do?”
“I had no choice!” I snap, tearing my wrist from his touch. “We couldn’t escape, and Eris didn’t dare release herself. I could barely hold the fucking sword, let alone wield it. The only thing I could think of was to unleash him.”
He turns on Eris, hot fury smoldering within him. Just one push, and I think he’s going to erupt. “I gave you sanctuary,” he snarls. “I put my life on the line to save yours, and this is how you repay me?”
She flinches.
I grab his forearm. “It’s not her fault. If you want to blame someone, then blame me. It was my idea. I was the one who released him. I was the one who made the bargain with him.”
Every inch of him quivers with suppressed rage as he turns his head toward me. Despite myself, I swallow. I’ve never seen this side of him. He’s always been so careful to play at the charming suitor, the wicked prince. I’ve heard all the stories, all the rumors, but I’ve never seen the darkness that lurks inside him.
Not until now.
Slowly, I let his wrist go and tip my chin up to stare him in the eye. His are completely black, but I’ve seen the Darkness within him and I know he’d risk his own life to save me from it.
I’m not afraid of you.
An Asturian princess does not yield.
“Blame me,” I tell him softly. “Or perhaps you should be thanking me, considering I daresay Blaedwyn would be mounting your head on her castle wall if we hadn’t rescued you. Your Highness.”
For a moment, I think I’ve pushed him too far.
Then he turns and stalks away, his illusions slipping just enough to give me a glimpse of his wings.
They’re pure black, made of soft black feathers that gleam beneath the moonlight. One blink, and then they’re gone again, as if he realized he’d lost control.
“Get your asses to the castle,” he snaps. “We need to clean up and gather in the war room so I can fix this fucking mess.”
I can’t help myself. “You’re welcome!”
39
It’s a cold trip back to the castle, where the group disperses to lick their individual wounds.
I watch Eris march away, her shoulders stiff, and I’m tempted to go after her, but there’s someone else I need to deal with first.
Of course, tracking down my elusive husband is easier said than done.
He’s not in his chambers, the library, the tower, or even the ruins of the ballroom. Indeed, he’s in none of his usual haunts.
I turn to leave the ballroom, and there’s Baylor, watching me from the top of the stairs.
I clap a hand to my chest. “You startled me.”
His mouth firms. “I’m sorry. I… Have I done something to offend you?”
“What? No.” I look past him, but there’s no escape.
“You flee every time I enter the room,” he says. “You refuse to meet my gaze. I don’t know why.” His expression grows pained. “I thought us friends, but you haven’t been the same this time.”
Friends.
Sweet Maia.
I close my eyes. I owe him this. I owe him the truth.
The words blurt out of me. “He’s dead.”
“Who?” His brows draw together in a frown.
“Your brother. Lysander.” The truth has been haunting me for weeks. I can’t stop the words. They spill from my lips, as Baylor’s eyebrows lift higher at each twist of my tale. “My sister killed him. I didn’t know who he was, only that he somehow knew me. I’m so sorry. So, so sorry. I shouldn’t have kept the truth from you.”
Stunned silence greets me.
Then Baylor releases a sigh. “Dead.” He gives a rough laugh. “He’s not dead, Your Highness.”
It’s not the answer I expected.
“He is,” I whisper. “I kept his amulet. It’s in my jewelry box i
n Ceres.”
“What did you do with the body?”
I blink. “I think my sister buried him in the forest.” It’s exactly what Andraste would do.
Baylor steps forward. “I forget how much you don’t know.” He captures my hand, and rests it against his chest. “Neither Lysander nor I can truly die, Vi. Feel my heart.”
His chest is hollow. Empty.
Nothing beats there.
I tug my hand back in shock.
“We were never fae,” he admits roughly. “I was born into a different body than this one. I was born with the howl in my veins and the scream of rage in my soul. I was once one of the hounds who rode with the Grimm, when he stalked this world. Over time we learned to shift skins, to better hunt our prey. The fae. But when the Grimm was trapped in his Hallow, we were set free. The Seelie Alliance wanted to destroy us, but Thiago bartered for our lives. We serve him now and forever, but as long as the Grimm still exists, then we cannot truly die. My brother would have risen from his grave with the moon. He’s still out there. Somewhere. Thank you for telling me.”
My shoulders slump. “I should have told you sooner.”
I can’t believe the guilt and grief I felt has no true purpose. He’s alive. Lysander is alive.
Baylor’s smile is a brief flash in the night. “Now you have no reason to hide from me.”
“I wasn’t—” I pause. I was.
I grace him with a hesitant smile.
“Go,” he tells me gruffly. “Find your prince. If I know him, he’s licking his wounds in the baths. He loves you, Vi. Don’t be too hard on him. He’s just worried. And thank you. Now I know where to look.”
One of the demi-fey watches me as I climb down the stairs into the cellars and I gesture it closer with my fingers.
“Do you know where the baths are? I’m looking for the prince.”
It blinks at me, cocking its head.
“The prince?” I mimic a big, scowling menace, and flap my arms.
