And then I see it.
Huge scars of scorched earth carve up the landscape, as if some massive beast dragged burning claws across Dark Faerie, leaving snow melted and ground burned-black. The scars drive toward Castle Knockma, killing snow-blooming flowers, splitting wintry trees, and ending at the ice-clogged moat. The stench of burnt Winter hangs foul in the air.
Shock cascades through my system. “What is that?” The words escape before I can bite them back.
“Don’t you know?” Stavrin’s voice is bitter, the accusation obvious. “It’s the burning power of Summer.”
Dread sinks into my heart. I know instantly that he’s telling the truth. This is the devastating power of Summer unleashed in the Winter Court. But something doesn’t sit right with me. “That’s impossible.”
Stavrin shoves me forward again. “Your fair Fae girlfriend and her people have been attacking us with these Summer…bursts. They come out of nowhere and scorch everything in their path—trees, creatures, homes, people.”
His words alarm me, but I lock my emotions behind the icy expression all dark Fae practice since birth. “All the fair Fae are slumbering in Summer’s Rest. And Aldebaran’s still imprisoned by the deep wards.”
Stavrin’s scoff is ugly and jagged. “Is that what she told you?”
“Syl wouldn’t lie.” My voice is a deadly growl.
But ol’ Stavs doesn’t take the hint. “Sure she doesn’t. You’re a fool, Rouen.” He goes to prod me again.
Mistake.
Whirling, I rip the weapon from his hands, spin it around, and hold it to his neck. “Who’s the fool now, buddy-boy?”
Instantly, seven blades cross my throat, my heart, my stomach. The Ebon Knights crowd in, threatening to skewer me. Even the Adamant Guard point their weapons at me.
Safe behind his pack of bullies, Stavrin smiles. “My glaive, please.”
Anger swells inside me, so huge I feel like I’ll choke on it. I’m just about to put Mr Pushy in his place, when Liriel steps in between us.
“We need to move silently here.” Her silver eyes are serious as she takes in the frozen river. On the far bank, a rickety, thatched hut sits cradled by wicked-looking blackthorns. “We cross the ford of the bain sidhe.”
Shivers spike my spine. I could kick myself for starting something so close to the ford. Bain sidhes are incredibly crotchety, territorial old crones who see the future. Every royal family has one, a powerful dark Fae who wails for them when Doom or Death approaches.
The last thing I want to do is disturb her.
It’s only me and my father left in House Rivoche. Neither of us needs to suffer a dark fate or death. I have no intention of turning a simple talk with him into World War: Faerie.
Grudgingly, I hand Stavs back his glaive. He whips it out of my hand, but simmers down. Even Mr Pushy isn’t dumb enough to risk rousing the bain sidhe’s wrath.
We move silently across the icy ford. Not one of us breathes until we round the castle and the thatched hut vanishes from sight. Finally, the main arch of the castle looms, dark and glittering with jagged ice. My captors march me right toward it.
I raise my chin. Dark Fae sense weakness the way a shark smells blood in the water.
I might be a prisoner, but I’ll meet my father with strength.
Our footsteps echo through the hollow halls of Castle Knockma. With every hall, every chamber we pass, I feel the faint, dying pulse of the hearthstone, and I realize how much I love my homeland, how much I want to save it, too.
I will.
Finally, the dim glow of faerie-fire lights up the gloom, heralding the Adamant Hall, Castle Knockma’s throne room.
The Ebon Knights and the Adamant Guard form up around the doors. This is the only door in or out, so they know I can’t escape.
Stavrin gestures me forward. “The king awaits.”
Ahead, the cold darkness looms as if to swallow me. The chill doesn’t bother me, but something about that darkness freezes me to the marrow.
What will I find inside? It can’t be worse than the last time—Father, fallen to his dark self, hunched over the hearthstone, sucking its power dry.
Dread seizes my heart.
If I take one more step, I’ll find out the truth about him—good or bad.
But I can’t stop now. My people need me. Syl needs me.
Taking a deep breath, I cross the threshold.
Instantly, I know something is wrong. In that one step, my world turns from a tranquil wintry twilight to a raging snow squall. Winter’s freezing winds howl, buffeting me like icy wings. Snow crystals fly in the air, creating a whiteout even in the darkness.
It’s like stepping into a snow globe that someone’s viciously shaken.
Somewhere in this storm is the hearthstone. Pulse…pulse-pulse…pulse… Like a second heartbeat, it beats in my chest, drawing me deeper. Pulse…pulse…
I have to find it and my father.
As a princess, I have more control over my realm than some people might think. Tapping into the Winter in my blood, I reach out to UnderHollow. Hear me. Obey. Instantly, the power of Dark Faerie responds, slamming into me, filling me up.
It’s so much I nearly burst at the seams.
My control’s messy—I’m no Fae king—and much of the power leaks out, but I manage to turn the rest to my will. Slowly, ever so slowly, the winds recede, the squall’s fury ebbs, and the last of the snow spirals down lazily, blanketing the throne room.
Finally, I can make out what’s before me.
The throne room is crumbling. The vaults sag under their own weight, fluted columns cracking. The polished floor is dull, all the wintersteel lost its gleam.
At the chamber’s far end sits the Adamant Throne—a massive chair carved in the likeness of a black dragon, coils heavy with onyx, hematite, and adamant, dark claws curved upward, and within its jaws…
A huge black stone pulsing like the heart of the dragon.
The hearthstone. Only, its darkling light is flaring violently, uncontrolled and dangerous. I feel that runway pulse in my chest, hammering hard and wild.
Reinghûl, King of the Dark Fae, my father, looms over it. When I see what’s in his hand, what he holds over the hearthstone, all the light goes out of my heart.
A fist-size egg sac, gooey and glowing sickly red. A Moribund ovo.
If that ovo cracks open, thousands of those crimson Moribund circuits will infect the hearthstone. All of Dark Faerie will be corrupted.
We’ll all turn into Circuit Fae.
Oh, hells no. I sing a single note, flick my fingers, and… Zorch! My violet lightning bolt shears into the Moribund egg, flash-burning the ovo and all the circuits within.
My father whirls, his face purple with rage, madness in his eyes. Across his cheek cuts a glowing red spiral like a fiery runic tattoo. It’s same color as the crimson Moribund. Tiny circuits glint and gleam within it, but one is infinitely more intricate than the others. Localized crimson lightning licks over its surface.
Dread slicks my guts. A master-key circuit.
Master-keys control other Moribund circuits, but that control comes with a heavy price. A master-key twists your DNA, overwriting it until you become nothing more than hollowed-out machinery, or worse.
Just ask Fiann. You can find her ashes on her parents’ mantelpiece.
Looks like Father’s dark self’s gotten a head-start. Maybe I can still reach him.
“Father.” Hope beating in my heart, I step forward, snuffing out my violet lightning. “What are you doing?”
“Rouen, I see you’ve gotten more powerful than ever.” The smile that curves his lips is proud, and my hope grows stronger.
There is still something left of the Adamant King in him.
“Yes, Father.” I beckon him, trying to draw him away from the hearthstone. “Come away. Let us talk. I have a plan to save Dark Faerie.”
But he doesn’t move. He only laughs at me, cruel and cutting. “This is your fault, da
ughter.”
I swallow hard. This is not going to plan. “Father, listen to m—”
“You soul-bound yourself to a fair Fae, and now, this.” Rage edges his deep voice in thunder and fury, the darkness in him returned full force. He gestures at the sagging vaults, the cracked stained glass, the dying hearthstone. “Dark Faerie and Fair Faerie are on a collision course. I will not stand by and do nothing while our world is destroyed.”
“So you want to infect the hearthstone with Moribund?” I try to calm my thrashing heart, hoping he’s not too far gone to listen to reason. “Please, Father. Syl and I have a plan. We—”
“I’ll not have the name of that foul fair Fae spoken here!” He touches the glowing Moribund spiral on his cheek, and it flares up, fiery. “This is our only hope.”
A cold sweat breaks down my back. My plan to talk to my father, get him on board with me and Syl healing the hearthstone is falling apart. The trauma of losing my mother, coupled with the years he spent in the stasis of Winter’s Sleep, has ravaged his mind, left nothing but his darkness.
Now it’s eating him alive from the inside out.
Still, I have to try. “No, Father. The Moribund knows only how to corrupt!”
“Better corrupted and powerful than powerless and dead.”
“What will you do, then?” Desperation is a bright pulse within me. I’m losing him! “Will you corrupt the hearthstone, infect us all, turn us all into Circuit Fae?”
“Not just Circuit Fae.” The reddish glow makes his face a demon’s mask. “Inimical.”
The word brands itself on my mind. Inimical. I’ve heard only legends. A powerful type of Moribund, rare, extremely dangerous, it gives the wielder of the master-key circuit full and total control over anyone, anything infected.
Father walks to the Inimical ovo and toes it. The ashes crumble beneath his hobnail boot. “No matter. I will crack open the Ebon Vault and seize the Moribund Heart, the source of all Moribund in Dark Faerie. I will fuse it with the hearthstone—Moribund, Ouroboros, Inimical and the power of Dark Faerie combined.” His eyes shine with the madness. “We will have enough power to overcome the fair Fae, to destroy Fair Faerie and survive the Convergence.”
I see it now: he’s not afraid of dying, he’s afraid of losing power.
“And the Inimical would also conveniently make everyone your slaves.” I’m starting to see how his plan to save our realm plays into the scheme his dark self’s been hatching.
I step forward. “I won’t let you, Father. I’ll stop you. Me and the Winter Council.”
“Will you now?” A smile slashes his face. “Stavrin, bring them in!”
Stavrin, the little toady, hustles out the archway with the rest of the Ebon Knights. They come back prodding seven familiar figures.
My heart gives a leap of hope as I see the arch-Eld, our seven most powerful elders. When last I was here, I set up them up as the Winter Council, able to veto any of my father’s selfish decrees.
It was a bad day for Team Reinghûl.
But now the tables have turned.
Mag Mucklemouth drags her claws as she slumps next to redheaded Etana, her hypnotic green eyes dull. Vanya Visya, the golden clawed rakshasi tigress shuffles in, docile as a kitten, followed by Mizumichi, the water drake, the koi and dragon tattoos on his forearms still for once.
Even the three who sided with Father are here.
Griffa Gris, the blue-skinned, ram-horned troll placidly trudges in while Zoba’ah the ifrit appears in a lackluster whirl of sand. Prattlerattadooley, the mischievous hob, shuffles along, silent where normally his foul humor would fill up the room.
Crimson circuits glow beneath their skin.
Each one of them is infected with crimson Moribund—no, Inimical—circuitry.
His smile widens. “You see, Rouen? They are already my loyal subjects. You tried to turn them against me, but now… Watch.” He points at Etana. “Come to me.”
The crimson circuits in her flesh flare. Mechanically, she crosses the chamber to stand by his side. Her once-hypnotic green eyes burn a fiery red.
“See how well she obeys?” His eyes still on me, Father summons his power. In a burst, frost rushes down his forearm, coalescing into a bright ice blade. He rests the tip of it on Etana’s cheek, just beneath her left eye.
My heart skips a beat. He wouldn’t.
Father’s grin is nothing short of sadistic. “She would let me carve those hypnotic eyes from her head, if I commanded it. Shall I prove it to you?”
Fear pulses through me, bright and spinning. “No. Father, don’t!”
Fangs flash in his smile. His hand tenses on the blade and—
Zzzorch! I sing a single note and violet lightning lashes from my fingers, striking the blade from his hand.
In that moment, my entire world changes.
Etana falls to the floor. My father hisses in pain, cradling his scorched hand against his chest.
What I see takes the breath from my lungs.
Beneath his skin….that’s not flesh or blood or bone.
It’s black-magic circuitry. Moribund.
Across his whole body, his skin ripples then roils, spidery black circuits swarming beneath it. They poke tiny feelers through him and pull at the wound, stitching it back together, threading more black circuits through his system.
No. No, no, no, no, no… I want to scream, vomit, pass out—anything so I don’t have to see this anymore.
Because my father, the man I was hoping to save… He’s been completely taken over by his dark self and infected with Moribund. There’s nothing left of him.
Only a soulless, hollow shell. A Circuit Fae.
I take a step toward him, as if to touch him. Touching him will dispel the illusion, won’t it? Desperation races through my system. “F-father?”
“Come, daughter. Embrace me, and let us put this conflict behind us.” He steps forward, his skin still rippling, roiling, revealing glimpses of black circuits chittering beneath.
He opens his arms. The flesh runs off them like wax, leaving only a teeming mass of Moribund.
“No!” I lash out with my lightning. Zzzotch! The violet bolt hits him dead center, carving up his body in forks. The stench of burned ozone and circuits hits the air.
Where I burn him, the Moribund rebuilds him, more machine than man.
My heart shatters, just like our Faerie plan.
My father is gone. All that remains of him is evil Moribund circuits wrapped up in a skinsuit. My people are in immediate danger. Healing the hearthstone won’t help.
I have to dethrone him again, this time permanently, and there’s only one way to do that. The oldest dark Fae laws, the fádo, allow a king to be challenged if he proves he’s unfit for rule.
It’s a formal, grim affair.
A duel to the death.
Against my father. A tumult of emotions swells up inside me, but I push them all aside. It’s because he’s my father that I have to do this. I was the one who let him live the last time.
Syl and I never discussed this, but I have no choice. I’m sorry, Syl.
The pressure in the room changes, the temperature dropping. It’s like Dark Faerie knows what I’m gearing up to do. The hearthstone flashes wildly. As if in answer, my heartbeat amps up, pounding against my rib cage like a wild animal.
“I challenge you, Father.”
My words no sooner hit the air than the bain sidhe’s wail rips through the chamber. The wail for Death.
I meet my father’s eyes in the gloom. “Now one of us must die.”
7
SYL
If the Shroud should tear,
The realms of Faerie will Bleed
Into the mortal realm
And change it forevermore
- Glamma’s Grimm
* * *
You’ve never been kicked out of somewhere until you’ve been kicked out of Fair Faerie. One second, I’m talking to the king—my dad!—and the next, wham! The realm s
hoots me out like a pilot from an ejector seat, back through the Gates of OverHill.
Brightness flashes in my face, my stomach drops, and I ping-pong all the way back through the sunlit labyrinthine Snickleways. Icy winds and summer heat blast me—
No, wait. Icy winds?
Uh-oh.
I break into a panic-sweat, then that sweat freezes. The sun eclipses as I pass through an area of sub-zero, blinding snow.
Any doubts I had about the Great Convergence die.
Because even the two Snickleways, moonlit for Dark Faerie and sunlit for Fair Faerie, are colliding.
Not to mention…
The Shroud, that inky fabric-like barrier that separates every realm in existence—Dark Faerie, Fair Faerie, Avalon, the mortal realm, Tir Na N’Og, Oz, you name it—is tearing. Wisps of black velvet float around me, ragged and tattered.
I reach for the wisps, but it’s like grasping at ghostly straws.
This is bad. The more the Shroud tears, the more Faerie energy bleeds into the mortal realm. And that can cause all kinds of mayhem. Worry seeps into my mind.
Looks like it’s not just the Fae realms that are in danger. Great.
One more jolt down the Snickleways, a flash of snow, a flash of sun, then…
“Oof!” I catapult into the mortal realm and land on my butt.
I notice two things right away. One, I’m still in sweats and a tank top. And two, I’m not in my room, I’m on the Canal Walk, barely after dawn. Also, there’s a line of red toadstools trailing away from my landing spot.
Okay, that’s three things.
Plus, my phone is vibrating my pocket off.
Four things.
Right away, I recognize Mom’s ringtone. Pulling out the phone, I get up off the asphalt, rubbing my behind a bit as I get my bearings. “Hi, Mom.”
“Syl, where are you?” Mom’s panic makes my anxiety ramp up to the stratosphere. “You’re going to be late for school.”
That doesn’t help, either.
If I’m late one more time, I’m going to flunk my junior year. I won’t be able to do any good for Faerie then, because I’ll be dead. Mom will officially kill me.
Inimical Page 6
