Dethroned_An Inimical Prequel Novella

by Genevieve Iseult Eldredge

  Instantly, all the light goes out of my heart. Syl!

  I don’t even think. I windwarp to her bedroom, not caring that Winter winds blast the small apartment, kicking empty takeout boxes and stray paper cranes into a whirlwind.

  In a flash, I’m at Syl’s bedside.

  The stabbing pain in my side flares. Sweat breaks across my brow. “Syl? Syl!” She’s thrashing on the bed, legs tangled in the covers. Her pale face is ashen and she’s sweating, too.

  I touch her forehead.

  “What is it?” Georgina’s suddenly here, worry etched across her face.

  “She’s burning up.” My Syl runs hot, sure, but not like this. Her skin is clammy-sweaty, her pain jolting down the soul-bond, twisting like someone’s shoving a white-hot knife through her—and my—guts.

  “Syl?” I send to her, gripping the headboard to keep from keeling over. No answer. I try again, this time out loud. “Syl? Can you hear me?”

  Still nothing.

  Helplessness waves over me. I look to Georgina, my love and concern for Syl stamped all over my face.

  She snaps into Mom mode— “I’ll get a cool cloth” —and hurries from the room.

  Syl jerks on the bed, crying out.

  “Syl!” I call, then I send it, “Syl, please, answer me, princess.”

  “Roue?” Her consciousness struggles up through the fever. She barely cracks open one eye. It’s bloodshot. She kicks again, and the covers fall down to her waist. Her cami rides up, and I see…

  The wound.

  It’s reopened. And it looks even worse.

  Fear pounding in my heart, Syl’s pain pounding in my side, I lean closer. She’s gashed open, the skin an angry bruised-purple on the outside, but inside…

  I suck in a harsh breath. No…

  It’s all raw, red flesh, and thousands of tiny icicles hooked inside, rows and rows of razor-sharp teeth glittering like a shark’s maw. Worse, they’re growing, digging deeper and deeper into her.

  My fear amps way up, my pulse hammering in my ears. “It’s…draining her blood.”

  “That’s why it’s not bleeding.” Georgina steps back into the room, cold compress in hand.

  Blast and bloody bones! A sneaking suspicion worms its way into my brain—there’s only one kind of blade that can make a wound like this.

  Ancestors, please let me be wrong.

  Georgina presses the cool cloth to Syl’s forehead and jostles me as she bends to inspect the wound. Her green eyes narrow. “There’s only one blade that cuts but doesn’t bleed.”

  She meets my gaze.

  “A vorpal blade,” we say in unison.

  Vorpal blades are very rare. In fact, there’s only one in all the Dark Faerie realm.

  Faerie-forged, it’s utterly lethal and can cut through anything—flesh, bone, stone, iron, wintersteel, even adamant. Its other two powers are even more terrifying: one, limb-severing, snicker-snack, just like in that Jabberwocky poem; and two, exsanguination, to drain the blood of the one you’ve wounded.

  The only cure is the blood of the blade’s owner.

  Georgina knows this, too. She smoothes Syl’s sweaty curls back from her face, but that doesn’t take the steel from her green eyes. “Who’s the owner?”

  I swallow hard, my emotions a whirling, spinning mess inside me. “My father.”

  Instantly, her shoulders stiffen. “Your father? What would he want with Syl?”

  Now’s probably the worst time in the history of ever to tell Georgina the truth about myself, but I’ve sworn no more lies or secrets.

  Especially not when Syl’s life is on the line.

  “My family. My father and I… We’re baobhan sidhe.”

  Georgina’s eyes fly wide. She didn’t know. How could she? She was only a sleeper-princess for a hot second before she gave it up. “You. A baobhan sidhe.” She knows those words, though, knows what they mean. She also knows that baobhan sidhe can use a vorpal blade to steal and store their victim’s blood. I see it written all over her face. Her instinct is to grab Syl and whisk her as far away from me as she can. Because certain dark Fae like baobhan sidhe?

  If they steal your blood, they can steal your magic, your very soul.

  Having your daughter soul-bound to one is every Wakeful parent’s nightmare.

  She’s right to fear me.

  “I would never hurt her,” I say gently, laying my palm on Syl’s cheek.

  Georgina levels me with her serious mom look. “I know, but your father…”

  “My father…” Even the words make my heart hurt.

  I launch into my Etana theory.

  It takes me a few minutes to give Georgie all the backstory about Etana and her redcaps, ending with, “So, yes, it’s my father’s blade, but it could’ve been stolen.” I ignore the fact that, one, my father rarely lets that blade out of his sight, and two, stealing from the dark Fae king in the realm where he’s supreme?

  Impossible.

  Not to mention, Etana hates my father but was a longtime friend of my mother’s. It doesn’t make sense for her to thwart my rise to the throne.

  My theory sounds so fishy it might as well have scales and a hook in its mouth.

  Still, the alternative… I can’t bear it.

  “I’m sure it’s Etana.” Reasonably sure.

  “Uh. Huh.” Georgina’s giving me the side-eye. She doesn’t believe it, either.

  Standing, I pace, pouring it on thick. “Etana’s gone rogue before. She could have stolen the vorpal blade, given it to her redcaps, then commanded them to attack Syl, in order to ruin my reunion with my father and my chances at becoming queen. I—”

  My voice chokes off. Please let this be Etana’s fault.

  Because the alternative is that my father used the crown as bait so I’d be off-balance and he could attack Syl. I run a hand through my dark hair. I’d do anything to go back to simpler enemies like Fiann, Syl’s old bestie who got obsessed with becoming the dark Fae queen. A few months ago, she was the one trying to steal my crown.

  That was child’s play compared to this.

  “Etana.” Georgina’s green eyes never waver. “What does she want with Syl?”

  “I don’t know exactly. Sleeper-princess blood is powerful. There’s no telling what she could do with it.” I pace faster, racking my brain to put this together in a way that makes sense.

  You’re ignoring the facts in front of your face, my dark self taunts. This is just like his insane plan to murder all the sleeper-princesses and use their blood to heal our dying hearthstone.

  But no. The hearthstone is fine. Isn’t it?

  I touch my chest, remembering that one painful pulse where it called out to me. It’s silent now. Utterly silent.

  That’s not good, either.

  Sweat slicks my skin. My throat is so dry it clicks painfully. When it comes out, my voice is a rough rasp. “I still want to believe there’s a shred of decency left in him.”

  “Of course you do.” There’s no judgment in Georgina’s tone, and for the first time ever, I feel like I could hug her.

  But no. Soft emotions aren’t going to save my Syl. I’ve got no time to waste.

  I need to get to Dark Faerie, force Etana to admit her crimes, then get the vorpal cure from my father. He’ll understand why I need his blood.

  It’s to save my fair Fae girlfriend, Dad. Yeah, she’s our mortal enemy and all, but no worries, right?

  My heart racing, I windwarp back to the living room, sweep back the curtain that separates my tiny alcove. In two seconds flat, I’ve pulled on my leathers and grabbed my jacket. Next, I grab my violin and bow, the best focus for my gramarye, my personal destructive magic.

  All geared up, I hightail it back to Syl’s room. “Keep it up with the cold compresses.”

  “Where are you going?” Georgina asks.

  Deadly determination steels my resolve. Syl’s life is at stake. We need the cure, and that means one thing: “I’m going to find Etana and get th
e truth out of her.” Even as I say it, my already-bruised heart aches at the possibility that my father’s really behind this.

  Please, Father. Please don’t let this be your doing.

  Calming my runaway heart, I reach out with my dark Fae power and dowse for the moonlit ley lines that make up the intricate web of the earth’s natural magic. Goosebumps ripple across my skin as I brush up against a vibration of power, a glowing blue cord of energy.

  There! Cutting right across the room. A glimmering ley line.

  My ticket to the Dark Faerie realm.

  Leaning down, I kiss Syl’s cheek. “Hold on, princess. Wait for me.” My heart cracks at seeing her in so much pain. It stabs through me down the bond. Tears prickle my eyes, but I clench my fangs and stave them off.

  “Roue?” Her eyes crack open. She’s lucid for the first time since we found her like this.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Calling on the powers of Winter, I tap the ley line. Shivers of cold ripple through me as the ley line thrums, opening up into a pathway of glowing blue. With a wave of my hand, I part the Shroud between worlds. The tingle is like velvet sliding over bare skin.

  But just as I step snickle—

  A hand grabs me. “Roue, wait! I’m coming with you!”

  “Syl!” It’s the last thing I want, but it’s too late. I’ve already activated the ley line.

  Trying to stop its magic is like trying to stuff a genie back into a bottle.

  Whoosh! The next thing I know, both Syl and I are rocketing down the labyrinthine Snickleways to UnderHollow. For better or worse, we’re in this together.

  I can only hope I’ll find answers, not deliver Syl to whoever’s trying to kill her.

  Chapter Six

  Syl

  Fair Fae of the Summer Court

  Are forbidden to enter

  The Winter Court

  of the dark Fae

  -Glamma’s Grimm

  Can I just say that grabbing onto Roue as she snickle-steps to UnderHollow ranks in my Top Five worst ideas ever? Stands to reason, since her world is totally deadly to me. Plus, someone in Dark Faerie’s trying to murder me.

  But it’s too late now.

  UnderHollow’s already heard my girl’s call.

  She’s a princess. Royalty sings in her blood, and that blood sings to all things Winter and Dark Faerie. With a dizzying tug, UnderHollow pulls her—and me—in.

  Together, we zip through the gloomy-dark Snickleways.

  Imagine flying through a twisty labyrinth of murky, snowy passages, black abysses, and puzzly rooms within rooms within rooms. A runaway roller coaster, carts broken off the tracks, you feel like you’re going to plummet to your death with every spinning second, but at the last, you swerve, near-missing that wall or door or sealed-off archway.

  Snickle-stepping is easy. As Fae, it’s in our blood.

  But snickle-stepping into Dark Faerie as a fair Fae?

  Bad idea.

  Ice and snow and sleet pelt me and Roue, stinging my cheeks, numbing my toes and fingers blue. It doesn’t bother my Roue one bit. She could stand in subzero temps in her skivvies and not even get goosebumps.

  But me? Not so much.

  My breath goes out from the cold. My eyes water from the swirling snow, and sleet coats my eyelashes, frost creeping over my skin. I tuck in closer to her side, desperate for a little warmth.

  At least my fever breaks.

  Almost instantly, I feel less like I’m being stabbed by a serial killer. Maybe it’s a sign that Dark Faerie doesn’t totally hate my guts?

  Ha-ha. So funny, Syl.

  Because really, I feel like death frozen over. One minute, we’re soaring down the wintry Snickleways. The next, we’re dumped out into the snow. “Oof!” I lose my hold on Roue and go headlong toward a four-foot drift.

  Okay, yeah, Dark Faerie does really hate me.

  Fwoosh! In a blast of Winter, Roue rescues me before I plow face-first into a ginormous drift of snow and ice. Despite the pain in my side, I can’t help but swoon just a little.

  My hero!

  “Always, princess.” Roue snags my thought from thin air as sets me down, shifting her violin beneath her arm and hovering like the gothiest mother hen.

  “Nghhhh...” I force myself to straighten. Standing, walking, even breathing hurts. I guess that’s to be expected with a vorpal wound, but I’m able to grit my way through. Some parts of being Fae are still new to me. I’m still discovering all my cool powers and the strength and resilience of my body.

  If I were mortal, this wound would’ve killed me.

  As it stands, I’m hurting—a lot—but I’m not dying. So at least there’s that. I give Roue the weakest ever thumbs-up. “I’m good.”

  In return, she shoots me a lot of side-eye. “Syl…”

  “No, really.” I take a few steps away from her to prove a point. “See?”

  That’s when I realize… Bare feet and snow do not go well together.

  Suddenly, the pain of my wound drops to the background, and all the freezing, biting cold rushes in, overwhelming me. Instantly, my teeth are chattering, my body shivering down to my last freckle.

  I stagger, but Roue’s there, sweeping me up in her strong arms. “I’ve got you, princess.” I snuggle into her embrace, soothed by her body heat and the rich scents of autumn leaves, musky vanilla, and broken-in leather. She hands me her violin and bow, and I cradle them, too.

  “We’re definitely not in RVA anymore, Toto.” Ugh. I’ve got total brain-freeze if I’m telling crappy jokes like that.

  All around us, Dark Faerie is a wash of silvery twilight and thumbnail moon. It’s a cold, stark beauty, the landscape a glowy, wintry white, frozen solid and glacial. We stand outside the rear shield wall, the dark castle jutting up in sharp angles, its towers black knives shooting from the snow.

  Roue straightens and reaches for the Shroud. “You’re going back home, princess. You can’t be here.”

  “No way! I’ve gotta help you. You can’t go alo—”

  “Syl.”

  She’s right. There’s snow in my hair and stuck to my eyelashes. Frost coats my skin, my clothes. I’ve got no shoes, no jacket. I’m not even wearing a sweater. Plus, everything in me that is Summer and sunfire and warmth is screaming in alarm.

  I’m slowly freezing to death.

  Plus, the pain’s reaching a level I’ll just refer to as “stabby.”

  Even so, I raise my chin, determined. “I want to stay and help you.”

  Roue’s aura flashes pale blue with worry. The not-so-great thing about the soul-bond is that I really can’t hide how I’m feeling from her. Especially not when it’s this bad.

  She knows I’m in agony because she feels it, too.

  “You’re going back,” she says in her no arguments tone. But when she parts the Shroud and tries to snickle-step, it only shimmers like black velvet.

  The Shroud refuses to let her in.

  Roue frowns. “What the—?”

  Now that’s not right.

  “The Snickleways aren’t working.”

  “Th-that doesn’t make sense,” I say through chattering teeth. We just reforged the hearthstone, the source of all Dark Faerie’s power. And Roue is the princess of this realm. She should be able to snickle-step, easy-peasy.

  She tries again. Shimmer, shimmer, nope. Nada.

  Her eyes meet mine, and in their sapphire depths, I see her struggling, trying to come to terms with what we both already know.

  Her father is the king. His will controls the land.

  If he doesn’t want us to leave by Snickleways, they simply won’t work.

  My heart goes out to her. I know she wants so much to believe that Etana’s behind this, but not even the most powerful arch-Eld can control the Snickleways. I open my mouth to gently voice the truth, but then I see Roue’s face.

  Despair darkens her expression, her blue eyes gone dull.

  I can’t bear to hurt her. I’ve always been a
look on the bright side kind of girl, too, so what I say is, “Maybe there’s some other reason for it.”

  “Maybe.” She doesn’t sound convinced.

  I wrap my arms around myself, shivering violently in the cold as I try to crack a joke. “I g-guess you’re stuck with me.”

  Her look softens and she sighs, running a hand through raven-dark hair damp with snow. “I love being stuck with you. But…” She turns her face up to the snowy twilight and scans the broody castle walls. “Keeping you safe from Winter is my first priority.”

  In one smooth move, she sets me down, sweeps off her leather jacket and settles it over my shoulders. She bends, and her boots come off, one, two. With her help, I step into them. They’re way too big, but the warmth that soothes my frozen toesies is worth clunking around like a kid playing dress-up. I hand her violin and bow back and slide my arms into her jacket. It’s heavy and big on me, but I love it.

  I feel armored in her scent, her power, her.

  I’m still cold, but I’m no longer in danger of being killed outright by the elements. My teeth stop chattering as her leftover body heat and autumny scent surround me, soothing my frayed nerves.

  I blow out a breath of relief.

  “Well, we’re definitely stuck,” I say, then venture gently. “Let’s go talk to your dad?”

  “Yeah.” But all her conflicting emotions keep her from moving an inch.

  Barefoot and jacketless in the snow, my Roue looks like a gothy goddess, all flying black hair and smoky eyes, curves and badass attitude. But down the soul-bond, I feel all her old pain, every burden she carries, every hurt she’s buried down deep from her messy relationship with her father.

  She was once a little girl who looked up to him, who thought he hung the moon and stars. Now she’s faced with the very real possibility that he’s the villain the fair Fae think he is.

  I want so much to ease her mind I push my own suspicions away. “Let’s operate under the assumption that your father’s innocent until proven guilty, okay?”

  “All right.” She gives me a weak but grateful smile. “You’re too good to m—ahhh!” She cries out, doubling over and clutching at her heart.

  Her pain shoots down the soul-bond, a lance stabbing me in the heart, too.