“That’s why you must eat. Food won’t wake you up, but it will give you stamina and replenish the energy from transferring through the Dream Time.” He stepped back. “I must return. Thorn will be in touch. We will begin testing the warriors en masse and work around the clock until we are done.” And with that he vanished.
The others weren’t hit as hard as I was. Full Cambyra Fae were still more resilient than I, even though I was the Queen. But everybody looked like they’d been dragged home by the cat after a long night on the town. Druise headed for the door, but I stopped her.
“Druise, you’re going to get food?”
She curtseyed. “Yes, Your Highness. With your permission.”
“That’s fine—we all need it. But remember: No one must know what’s going on or that the shamans are testing people. News will filter out soon enough; there’s no help for that, but we want to keep it secret as long as possible.” The longer we were able to keep the matter quiet, the less chance there was the spy would be able to report back to Myst that we knew she was out and about.
Druise nodded. “Yes, my Lady.” And then she slipped out the door.
I leaned on the table, resting my chin on my elbows. The others looked as wiped out as I felt. “So . . . what do we do next? I’d send out a scouting party, but if the spy is among the guards . . .”
“You make a good point. And you cannot afford to risk Check or Fearless on the pursuit.” Strict frowned, tapping his fingers on the table. “We may have to wait on that. Unless . . .” He paused. “There is one possibility—the Wilding Fae? The Snow Hag seems to be firmly in your Court. Myst can trap them but not turn them, as far as I know.”
“Courting favors with them is a tricky business. What about my father’s people? The Uwilahsidhe? Is there any there we might trust? They could fly in owl form, scout out from above.” I would have done it myself if I thought they’d let me get away with it, but I knew better than to even make the suggestion.
Strict frowned. “You might be onto something. There is”—he paused, as if searching for the right words—“I must walk softly on this one. There is someone we can trust, but . . .”
My advisor wasn’t usually so reticent. In fact, he was downright bossy and domineering at times—but always in a respectful way. I wasn’t sure what to make of his pussyfooting around. Rather than push, I decided to wait.
After a moment he shook his head. “I have an idea, and as soon as I determine whether it’s viable or not, I will inform you. After I’ve eaten, I will feel it out.” And with that he pressed his lips together, and I realized we weren’t going to get anything more out of him at this point.
Grieve cleared his throat. “We should talk to your cousin—the Court of Rivers and Rushes must know that Myst is back in the area. If she’s infiltrating the realm of Winter, you know she’ll be after Summer’s heart, too.”
“We’ll go after we’ve eaten. And, as much as it pains me to agree with Thorn, we do have to figure out how to make certain Peyton, Luna, and Kaylin are on our side. I believe I know a way. While the shaman’s ritual won’t work on the magic-born . . . Kaylin’s night-veil demon can invade minds. He did that to me once.” It had been horrible, but he’d done it to help me.
“Yes, but who will vouch for Kaylin?” Grieve smiled softly. “There’s the question.”
At that moment, Druise returned with food, and I insisted she sit down and join us. She was as tired as we were. As we broke bread and passed around the venison cooked with juniper berries, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of the overwhelming odds we were facing. But this time, there would be no reprieve. We were headed to the final battle. I could feel it in my bones.
As we stood at the edge of the Twin Holly trees that sheltered the portal into the Golden Wood, I steeled myself. The bracing energies raging between the trees were buzzing like a hive of bees, a network of sparks that raced through the body. The energy jarred me, but I was getting used to it.
We’d sent word ahead to Rhiannon that we needed to meet at the Veil House. It seemed easiest to go there rather than face the risk that spies might also be in the Summer Court.
As Check and Fearless moved to flank my sides, Grieve took the front. We had to make it to the Veil House on our own. We didn’t dare put our trust in the other guards until we knew they were safe. Though, it occurred to me that if they were out to assassinate me, they’d had plenty of time.
Maybe they aren’t aiming for a simple assassination, Cicely. Remember, Myst has a long memory. She prefers to toy with her quarry before she swoops in for the kill. She might be saving you for herself because she considers you a traitor, even though it was several lifetimes ago that you turned your back on her. Ulean was with us—she was sticking to my side like glue, for which I was extremely grateful.
The thought that Myst might be out for more than just my blood was almost more terrifying than the thought of actually fighting her. What she could—and probably would—do to me was more horrific than I wanted to think about.
“Come on, then. We’d best get a move on.” The Golden Wood was still covered in snow even though it was early February. Normally, New Forest, Washington, claimed some snow during the winter, especially out in the woodland areas, but nothing like this. This season had been like no other. Myst had rolled out her long night and blanketed the town with perpetual snow. But after spending a month in the realm of Winter, the weather felt almost balmy to me. While it was colder than normal in the forest, it was far colder in my new home.
We glided across the snows, running atop the four-foot-deep banks that filled the forest. The woods here were like most of those around western Washington. A playground for cedars and towering firs, the undergrowth grew so thick you needed a machete to get through the bracken and brambles, huckleberries, and waist-high ferns.
The ground beneath the snow was spongy during the spring and autumn, soft and filled with detritus from the long seasons gone past. Moss blanketed the sides of the trees and spread across the fallen logs and over the boulders that had tumbled through the valleys during the slow retreat of the glaciers during the last ice age.
But a new ice age was what Myst sought to bring about. Not content with the balance, she was looking to rule over the world, creating a snowy hunting ground for the Indigo Court. And the Golden Wood was her chosen place to make her stand. Home to both the Summer and Winter Courts of this region, the Twin Hollies led into my realm—the Court of Snow and Ice. Twin Oaks led into my cousin Rhiannon’s realm—the Court of Rivers and Rushes.
We shared the wood, and the balance entailed handing over rule on the summer and winter solstices, with each of us guarding our half of the year. Mine was the waning half, hers was the waxing. But Myst had destroyed the balance before we came to power. She had managed to wrest it away from Lainule, the former Queen of Rivers and Rushes, and Tabera, the late Queen of Snow and Ice. She had destroyed Tabera’s heartstone, killing the Winter Queen, and had managed to drive Lainule back to the Golden Isle.
Skimming the top of the snow was still a novelty for me. I hadn’t gotten used to being able to traverse the wintery fields as if I were gliding on air. Suddenly, for pure joy, I twirled, skating on the crust, delicate in my movements for the first time in my life.
Behind me, Check laughed gently. “Be careful, Your Highness. You can still slip and hurt yourself.”
“I’ve fallen so many times in my life it’s second nature.” And it was true. I’d spent my youth honing my skills in running away, dodging danger, and sneaking into apartments in order to ransack them for money. I’d learned how to climb through windows, drop down fire escapes, and edge out onto ledges in order to avoid people coming home before I was done pilfering their apartments. But, given all that, while I’d developed muscle and speed, I’d never considered myself graceful.
“Be that as it may, perhaps the skating should wait until we’re
safely at home in our own realm.” Grieve glanced over his shoulder, a smile spreading across his face. He stopped suddenly, staring at me. “Cicely, you are so beautiful—look at you, in a mantle of white.”
I glanced down. I was wearing the owl-feather cloak, but the softly falling snow had blanketed me in a layer of flakes, freezing against my skin, against my hair. I was outlined in frost, in winter’s lacework shawl. I held out my hand and watched as the snow landed on my palm, not melting—but sitting there, crystalline and pristine.
The realization slowly filtered through that I was now colder than the snow. Colder than the dead. I had truly become the Queen of Snow and Ice, and though my heart pumped and blood raced through my veins, heat no longer translated through my body. I was winter incarnate, as frozen as the icicles hanging from the eaves.
Grieve moved to my side, reaching out his hand. In the same silence, we turned and began to run again, heading toward the Twin Oaks.
We were nearing the turnoff leading to the Marburry Barrow when a flutter of wings caught my attention. I glanced up. A great horned owl—looking much like my father, though I knew it couldn’t be—swept past. I shaded my eyes to gaze up at the circling form. As the owl swooped lower and lower, a noise of rustling bushes sounded behind us, and Check whirled, pulling out his sword. But it was Strict sweeping out of the trees, taking long strides.
He was almost to us when the owl suddenly spiraled down to land on a nearby log. Strict passed me with a perfunctory nod, then knelt by the owl and waited. My heart fluttered. I knew it wasn’t my father, but for Strict to kneel to anybody meant this was someone terribly important.
The owl was larger than my father was in owl form, with a wingspan that must have stretched over five feet in width. He was white, mottled with brown markings, and I had the feeling this bird had seen the decades come and go. I knew he was Uwilahsidhe—I could feel the connection between us even though I was only half-blood.
Strict motioned for me to come forward, and so I did, slowly approaching, all the while wondering whom I would be facing. Grieve followed behind me, as did Check and Fearless. We formed a semicircle around the log, with Check and Fearless holding our backs, keeping an eye out lest anything should come out of the undergrowth to attack us.
I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply. The scent of winter was all around—the smell of ozone from the storm tinged the air with its acrid scent. The tickle on the back of my neck told me we were expecting snow-thunder. The world felt on edge, poised and waiting. Ulean swept around me, and I could sense she was both excited and nervous.
Who is this? What’s going on?
I cannot tell you.
You know, though?
I do, but I was bound to silence by Wrath. Now, though, you shall know. I did not believe this day would happen—and I am both overjoyed that it is happening and filled with trepidation. I don’t know how you’ll feel. Or what you will think about this.
Yet another thing she hadn’t been allowed to tell me. Over the weeks, I’d discovered that Ulean knew far more about my life than Lainule had allowed her to reveal, and it appeared that was still the case. Ulean was bound to me, yes, but she was still enjoined by promises to the former Fae Queen.
I was about to push her for further information when the owl began to shift form. As we watched, he morphed, shimmering as wings shifted to arms, beak to nose, tufts to ears. A moment later, there, sitting on the log in front of us, was one of the Uwilahsidhe. His jet-black hair was streaked with gray, which told me he was incredibly old—the Fae didn’t gray the way magic-born and yummanii did, not until they had reached a great age. The man in front of us had probably lived for centuries, if not longer.
As Strict slowly stood, hands patiently folded behind him, Check let out a gasp and stepped forward, kneeling in the snow. Fearless looked as clueless as I felt, but Grieve—my beloved Grieve hung his head and slowly knelt before the aging man.
“Am I the only one left out of the loop?” I didn’t like being the odd one out when it came to things like this. I never liked surprises—be they a birthday party or an unwelcome trap. I’d dealt with too many unexpected snafus and bugaboos over the years.
The man stood, his clothes shifting to take on the appearance of a feathered cloak like mine, beneath which he wore brown trousers and a tunic. There was something oddly familiar about him. He looked . . .
“Oh my gods . . . Wrath . . .” This couldn’t be my father, and yet the resemblance was uncanny.
“No, I am not your father, Cicely. My name is Hunter, and I’m Wrath’s father. I’m your grandfather.”
And with that the world fell away.
Chapter 4
“Grandfather? You’re my grandfather?” I didn’t know how to react. I’d barely gotten a chance to know my father, let alone learn anything about his heritage. The only thing I knew is that he had been born into the Court of Snow and Ice. Check had been his oath brother, pledged to marry Lainule, but the moment she laid eyes on my father, the rest was history. Wrath had fallen in love with her and changed his loyalty to the Court of Rivers and Rushes. That my guard leader bore them no ill will both humbled and amazed me, but Check had become their most loyal supporter.
Hunter slowly circled me, eyeing me up and down, his expression carefully set to neutral. I restrained any impulse to throw my arms around his neck and give him a hug. One thing I’d learned the hard way, starting with my mother, is that blood didn’t always mean fealty.
“My son did you a disservice by not telling you about your heritage early on.” Hunter did not look pleased. “You have much to learn. You know nothing about your people—my people. I know”—he held up his hand when I started to protest—“I realize this is not your fault, but you must spend time with us, to understand what your heritage and lineage means.”
My heart leaped. This is what I wanted, though I wondered if the Uwilahsidhe would resent me, considering my background. Hell, when it came down to it, I knew very little about the history of the magic-born, either. Krystal had kept me in the dark. Whatever she’d been taught, she’d repressed with the booze and drugs, and a deep disdain for her own abilities.
“You wouldn’t mind teaching me?” As I spoke, my voice cracked, and I realized this meant more to me than I could ever have imagined.
The only family member who’d ever truly loved me was my aunt Heather, and she was long gone now. I’d had to play a part in her death, which still hurt. Rhiannon and I were rebuilding our relationship—so far, so good. But when it came down to it, Ulean was the closest thing to family that I had left. She alone I trusted not to let me down. While Grieve was my husband and I loved him with all my heart, I also knew how fragile love could be. It was hard to let myself believe that we might have our happy-ever-after ending.
I guess Hunter sensed my need because he paused, staring down into my eyes, and his face filled with a compassion that I seldom saw in any of the Cambyra. He placed his hand on my shoulder.
“My granddaughter. I know your story, and I know what you’ve been through so far in your short life. It’s never easy to be destiny’s pawn, nor to believe that your existence was engineered merely to fill a need. You are Wrath’s daughter. You are my blood. Beyond the crown you wear on your head, beyond the title you assumed . . . you are my family, and I will do what I can to help you connect with your roots.” He backed away then, turning to Strict. “I have scouts I trust. They are wild and feral, belonging more to the wing than to any Court or allegiance. I will send them on reconnaissance to see if we can search for the upstart and her armies.”
And with that he turned to go, but stopped. He glanced over his shoulder and, looking at me, said, “I will be in touch, girl. Now is not the time to begin your studies, though I know you are champing at the bit. But after this war is over, we will take wing and fly together. You will learn what it truly means to be one of the Uwilahsidhe. Half-blood
. . . is as good as full.”
And then he shimmered and in a blur, transformed back into his owl form, and winging his way through the falling snow, he vanished into the depths of the Golden Wood.
I wanted to cry. I wanted to laugh. I had a grandfather. I had family and roots. Krystal and Heather had spoken very little of their parents. My mother and her sister had been closed mouth. After Heather died, Rhiannon had confided that she’d found nothing about our relatives in the trunks that had remained undamaged during the fire at the Veil House. Our mothers had been chosen by the Fae. Rhiannon’s father was also Cambyra Fae, but a snake-shifter.
Neither of us had known the truth about our fathers until the past few weeks. We were still navigating our way through the labyrinth of what felt like a conspiracy surrounding our birth. And truth was we had been bred for the thrones of Winter and Summer. Hunter was correct in his statement that our very existence had been engineered. We were created to fill a need rather than conceived out of love. So many unanswered questions remained, that I doubted we’d ever know the full story.
I turned back to Grieve, who smiled at me. He held out his arms, and I slipped into his embrace, pressing my head against his chest.
“I have a grandfather,” I whispered.
“I know.” He kissed the top of my head. “Hunter is very old and very wise, and from what little I know about him, he seldom takes form in human shape anymore. He’s one of the elders of your father’s people, you know.”
“I didn’t know, but it doesn’t surprise me.” The wind was picking up, and the snow was starting to fall harder. As much as I wanted to shift into owl form and follow my grandfather, he was right—now was not the time.
When—if—we all came out of this war intact, then I would try to forge a relationship with him. A spark in my heart told me that I’d be very disappointed if it didn’t work out. Family had always been important to me, but I’d had to push the desire into the background in order to put my focus where it had mattered: surviving day to day, and sometimes hour to hour.
Night's End Page 6
