Dethroned_An Inimical Prequel Novella

by Genevieve Iseult Eldredge

  In a wave of bristling black, the Adamant Guards crash into the ranks of Ebon Knights and Rooks. The clash of weapons and the echo of battle cries rip through the throne room.

  Rouen wastes no time. She saws on her violin, the strings screaming with violet lightning. Bolts fly as she blasts her father, but with a casual wave of his hand, he throws up a shadow-shield. Crack, crash! Her electricity zaps off it.

  As his Rooks and Knights rush us, he leaps lightly to the throne. “Seize them!”

  Yeah, we’ve gotta free him from his dark self, if only because his villain lines really suck.

  We spin back to back, Roue all lit up with violet gramarye, and me…

  “No more Miss Nice fair Fae.”

  Stuffing down my pain, I call on the Summerfire in my blood. Whoosh! White flame leaps around my hands, washing the dark throne room in stark brightness. A thousand screams and cries deafen me as the nearest dark Fae hiss and shriek, covering their eyes, dropping weapons.

  The Rooks and Knights nearest me back way off.

  “Good boys.” I smirk, blasting a fiery path for Roue.

  White flames rip along the floor, and my Roue races through them. We’re soul-bound now, and she doesn’t have to worry about my flames burning her down.

  The other dark Fae, though? Not so much.

  They all jerk back from me, all except Stavrin, the leader of the Ebon Knights.

  Glaive flashing, he lunges for Rouen’s back. I blast him a good one, knocking him into a wall. It cracks beneath the force.

  Eeep. Maybe that was a little too hard.

  Then again, he did just try to steal my girl.

  “Syl, behind you!” Roue’s sending is bright with fear for me.

  I whirl, firing at the Rooks trying to sneak up behind me. A circle of black-armored warriors rings me, edging close, close, ever closer. I blast them back even as Reinghûl pulls on the hearthstone, creating more and more.

  I’m being surrounded. “Roue!”

  She leaps, turning midair, violet bolts singing from her strings.

  In front of me, two Rooks explode into glittering black shards. They patter to the floor then wisp away into shadow. I sail through the gap, landing on the throne’s dais at the same time as my Roue.

  A quick nod, and we rush her father.

  Roue clashes with him, violet lightning against shadow shield. I dart in to help.

  Whoosh! In a spray of icicles, Stavrin’s in front of me, glaive flashing.

  “Seriously, guy?” I duck a slash and front-kick him in the thigh.

  He falls to a knee, sweeping out with his weapon, six feet of polished adamant and wintersteel smashing me to the stones. Adamant stairs rush up to crush the wind from my lungs. Wham! Gasping, I roll to my feet, barely dodging a Rook’s sword.

  “Syl!” Rouen turns from fighting her father.

  No, don’t! “Roue!”

  Her father spins, plants his boot in her ribs, and she falls down the stairs, tumbling down to sprawl at my side. Blood trickles down her temple. She growls, and I feel it vibrate in my own chest, feel myself growling in unison. She picks herself up.

  “Take them!” Reinghûl roars, and we’re set upon by dozens of Rooks.

  Again, we spin back to back, white flame and violet lightning crackling the air around us. Roue’s singing like a dark angel, fighting like a demon, black hair flying, her eyes glowing with cold rage.

  The throne room becomes a swirling, flashing mess of white and violet, leaping shadow and pluming frost.

  Reinghûl pulls again on the vorpal blade.

  “Ngh!” I double over. Three Rooks slash in at me, but Roue blasts them back, violet lightning shattering them into slivers of black.

  Poof! The Rooks explode into the shadows that made them.

  Slowly, slowly, we’re carving our way through them.

  Weapons clash and gramarye flies, the Adamant Guard battling Ebon Knights and Rooks, arch-Eld battling arch-Eld. Everything is a mess of flashing snow and frost and clashing weaponry.

  “Enough!” Reinghûl’s voice rings out.

  He stands at the edge of the dais. With one hand, he grips the hearthstone, shadows sticking to it like gross black candy floss. In the other, he holds up the wicked-looking vorpal blade. From here, it seems to be made of razor-sharp glass. The only indication that it’s really ice is the frost pluming off it.

  It flashes blood-red.

  Agony stabs into me, freezing waves shooting through my limbs. “Arghhh!”

  “Syl!” Roue’s right by my side, her hands gentle on me, but the agony blossoms in my side, stabbing, sucking.

  “Roue…he-he’s…” Draining my blood.

  The blade pulses in his fist. Little by little, it flushes deeper, darker.

  Somehow, my blood’s infusing the icy blade.

  I get all woozy, my vision greying out.

  “I’ll drain every last drop from her body, Rouen.” Her father’s threat is casual. They could be speaking about fashion or whatever dark Fae do for fun—probably torture people like yours truly.

  “Don’t give in to him, Roue.” I plead with her, but I already know what she’ll do. “Don’t! Please!”

  “Stop!” Roue commands, and the Adamant Guard and arch-Eld loyal to her freeze, midfight.

  Her father’s smile is triumph and malice. “Surrender,” he says lightly, popping the hearthstone up and down in his hand like it’s a baseball.

  Seriously. Dark self or no dark self, I want to knock his block off.

  Roue closes her fists, snuffing out her lightning.

  I grab her arm. “Roue, don’t.”

  “Syl, I can’t.” Her fear for me is a bright spear down the soul-bond. “I have to protect you before he...” She trails off, and I can’t help but see her sinister thoughts, some of the things her father might do. Everything from draining my blood out to evisceration. I hate to say it, but evisceration looks more appealing.

  At least I’d die quick.

  Roue can’t even stand the thought. She lets her violin and bow fall and orders the others, “Drop your weapons!”

  The clatter of swords and daggers, glaives and knives echoes in the chamber as the Adamant Guard does as she commands. On the curved ramp, the arch-Eld close their fists, snuffing out fae-fire, undine water magic, and illusion.

  “Take their weapons.” Reinghûl’s the picture of calm as his Ebon Knights collect the Guard’s weapons and Roue’s violin and bow. We’re corralled in the middle of the throne room, hemmed in by Ebon Knights and the magic of the arch-Eld serving him.

  There’s nowhere to run.

  I slip my hand into Roue’s. She squeezes lightly.

  “I’m sorry, princess.”

  “Don’t be.” I send her all my love, my confidence. I believe in us. “We’ve been in worse scrapes than this.”

  “Well, daughter,” the king calls from the top of the dais, the vorpal blade pulsing in his hand. “It looks like you’ve failed. Stavrin!”

  “Your Majesty.” The Ebon Knight leader steps to.

  “Hold this.” Reinghûl thrusts the vorpal blade into the Knight’s hands. The king’s gaze flicks to me. “If the fair Fae princess so much as flinches, drain her to death.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  As soon as he touches the blade, that stabbing agony hits me again.

  With a cry, I double over.

  “Syl!” Roue holds me, her sapphire-blue eyes hot on her father. “You bastard!”

  Smiling, Stavrin holds up the vorpal blade. “You should have agreed to marry me, Highness.”

  “Ugh, seriously?” I groan, straightening up. “Hold him for me so I can hit him.”

  Roue’s hand tightens in mine, and she bares her fangs at Stavrin. “We’ll be all right, princess.”

  “I know.” Roue and I are together. We can do anything.

  Reinghûl steps back and addresses the entire chamber. “Now you will see what power a true king can wring from the hearthstone.�
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  The stench of rotting decay bursts in the air as he calls upon the source of power for all Dark Faerie. He pulls on the hearthstone, the sticky black tendrils from his fingers flying off the gemstone to wrap around the Adamant Guard, binding them tight, invading their bodies, their minds, taking over their hearts.

  The air pressure changes again. My ears pop.

  I see it as clearly as day, my Fae-sight showing me the brutal truth of his takeover. They struggle, but one by one, the Guard’s eyes glaze over into a dull, lifeless grey.

  The hearthstone wails.

  “It’s not meant to be used that way, Father.” Roue’s voice trembles. I feel the turmoil swirling inside her like a snowstorm.

  “I told you, daughter” —Reinghûl’s grin flashes his fangs— “the hearthstone is mine to do with as I will.” He gazes up at the arch-Eld. “And it is my will that you all bow to me.”

  Just like that, the tide turns.

  The Adamant Guard that once stood for Roue now surrounds us, and the arch-Eld look down in fear.

  One way or the other, everyone’s under the control of the king.

  “Take them away,” he orders, and the Adamant Guard seize us.

  “I will save you, Father.” Roue’s defiant to the end.

  “I don’t need saving, daughter. But you do.” His fangs glint sharp. “You and your sleeper-princess. Before the night is out, I’ll have her blood. All of it.”

  Roue’s panic spikes down the bond.

  “Roue, I—” A sharp blow to the back of my head dizzies me. My vision greys, then blacks. Roue’s screaming my name.

  The last vision I have is of King Reinghûl taking his throne, his laughter filling the grand hall.

  Then everything goes dark.

  Chapter Eleven

  Rouen

  Two worlds

  And in between

  The girl or the queen?

  “Royal,” Euphoria

  As soon as the Adamant Guard drag me from the throne room, as soon as I can no longer see my father reveling in the evil power of his dark self, or the Knights dragging Syl away, I force myself to take a breath.

  Calm down, Roue. Think.

  I know where they are taking me.

  Down the winding dark halls, beneath heavy archways, down spiraling stairs to the bowels of Castle Knockma.

  To the Oubliettes.

  Soon enough, the iron doors rise up, red-orange and rusted, at the end of a gloomy hall lined with carved black dragons. Sealed by dark Fae gramarye, the double doors loom twenty feet tall, impenetrable, solid, power-sapping iron.

  The sorceroscience used to create the Oubliettes was something Father stole from the first witch, long ago. A deep, dark eldritch combination of magic and technology.

  Shivers claw my spine. No one’s ever escaped the Oubliettes.

  Father follows behind the Adamant Guard, his boots thudding like the drums of doom as they drag me to the doors. Emotionless, under his sway, even Alystin and Liriel, my staunchest supporters, are deaf to my pleas. Even now, I can see the shadowy, rootlike ropes that bind their hearts and minds against me.

  Hearthstone power twisted by my father’s dark side.

  “Why?” I twist around in their hold, find my father in the gloom. “Why didn’t you just control me, too?”

  I would’ve walked to the Oubliettes on my own.

  “I don’t want to control you, sweet child.” His cold smile cuts the darkness. “I want you to see that what I do is for your own good. I want you to obey.”

  So that’s his game. He knows Fae can’t be forced to do certain things—like love. Like take marriage vows. “Fat chance,” I snarl through gritted teeth. “I’ll die before I marry anyone but Syl.”

  “Perhaps you’ll change your mind when you see the Oubliettes.” His expression softens, and for a moment, the good side of my father shines through. “Surely marrying a prince and being a dutiful daughter is better than being locked away in the darkness, forever, with only your dark side for company.”

  He sounds so reasonable, the Adamant King I once knew.

  But even the thought chills me to the bone. Fae have gone mad in the Oubliettes, their dark sides slowly consuming the rest of their personality until all that’s left of them is foul, wicked, and malicious—a stark raving beast with no feelings or remorse.

  As horrid as that fate is, life without Syl would be worse. “I won’t marry anyone but Syl.”

  He sighs, already summoning his magic to open the doors. “Very well then. Put her in.”

  Morudain pushes me forward as my father mentally commands the seal to open. Frost lines the coiled dragon sigil, black light pulsing from the seal as it splits. The doors rumble, and from within, a loud, grinding noise throbs.

  Slowly, slowly, the doors crack open.

  Red rust plumes down in a shower, decay puffing from the depths of the chamber beyond.

  Darkness stretches out beyond the portal, a vast, black nothing.

  I imagine I hear screams. But that’s impossible.

  No one imprisoned in the Oubliette, surrounded by iron, should have the strength to scream. In fact, there’s so much iron in that chamber I can taste it. It coats my tongue and stings my nose. My eyes water as the noxious stench stains the very air.

  “Alystin! Liriel!” I struggle, but they join Morudain in dragging me forward, toward a blackness even my dark Fae eyes have trouble piercing.

  There’s nothing beyond that doorway but an abyss.

  A long, long fall through darkness.

  “Perhaps I’ll check on you in fifty years.” My father’s good side vanishes beneath the smug smirk of his dark side. “Perhaps not.”

  “You—” I fight, but they clap me in chains. The slightest touch singes my skin; agony shoots through every nerve-ending. Summersteel! I cry out as the lethal metal burns around my wrists, my throat. It saps my strength and all my dark Fae powers, and then they push me.

  I fall. Down, down, down.

  I can’t even windwarp. Definitely not my best moment.

  I hear Father chanting the sorcero-spell to activate the Oubliettes.

  Below me, the darkness shivers.

  With a breathy groan, cogs whine, gears grind, and things begin to light up.

  Greenish glows pierce the blackness. I see the outlines of cages—so many cages—tossed carelessly as if by a giant’s hand, thrown over and on top of one another. The glow illuminates them as if they were skeletons heaped on top of skeletons.

  Inside, small, hunched figures huddle in the gloom, eyes blind, bodies broken.

  Will I become one of them?

  The bars gnash and grind, empty cages clanging open. Howls rise from the green gloom as the wind picks up, buffeting me. I’m tossed like a leaf, then sucked toward the closest empty cage.

  Fear shoots through me. I try to slow my fall, to windwarp, anything.

  Whoosh—wham! The empty cage slams up to meet me, swallowing me like a fish, then clanging closed.

  My head’s dizzy. It takes a long moment for the world to stop spinning.

  I realize I’m lying on my shoulders, my legs thrown up over my head, arms thrust back at an odd angle. Good thing I’m resilient.

  I right myself, and my cage pitches, ruttering against the others.

  At least I’m on top?

  Sort of?

  I jerk to my feet only for the chains around my wrists and throat to drag me to the bottom of the cage. The hot metal swelters. My skin breaks out in a sweat. Agony shoots through me, sapping my strength.

  Blasted summersteel!

  The magical metal is forged by the fair Fae. Super rare and hard to preserve in the Winter Court. Father reserves it only for the most hardened traitors.

  Traitors like me.

  And the fact that he thinks that of me? It’s just more proof that his dark side’s taken total control. If I don’t find a way to save him, it’ll be too late. His dark side will rule him forever.

  I slump
back to the floor and check out my surroundings.

  More than just a dungeon, the Oubliettes are cages laced with iron and stacked one on top of another like a massive tangle of shipping crates, bars jammed against bars, wedged together. Some hang by chains from a ceiling obscured in darkness. They sway and pitch precariously over the ones below, while others are bolted to the walls far above.

  There aren’t any pitfalls or traps.

  Because reaching the doors far, far above… It’s impossible.

  Even if you could get out of your cage, any dark Fae alive would be too weak to windwarp, fly, or jump to it.

  The Oubliettes is a place you put people to forget about them.

  I take in a deep breath. I can still feel Syl’s pain, but it’s a dull stabbing now instead of a sharp stabbing. I breathe a sigh of relief. She’s alive.

  But for how long? my dark self whispers.

  Father wants her blood. He said he’d drain it all before the night was out.

  “No! Syl! Syyyyllll!” I surge up against the bars, but the chains drag me back. The stench of iron is everywhere, clogging my nose, stinging my eyes, the touch of it against my back sends shudders racking through me.

  All right, Roue. Calm down. Take a breath. Think!

  To distract myself, I puzzle it aloud. “He’s drawing off the hearthstone to revive himself. Unless…” A thought shoots through me. “Unless the hearthstone can’t heal him fully. He has to keep siphoning off it.”

  But sleeper-princess blood is powerful, my dark self whispers. He could heal himself with only a few drops.

  “Then why kill her?”

  Inside my soul, Dark-Rouen smiles, cutting and cruel. Because he needs her blood for something else, dummy.

  Fury speeds through me. With a roar, I fight against the chains, I grab for the bars of my cage, dragging the chains behind me, but they only get heavier and heavier.

  “Syl? Syl!” I send and send to her, but she must still be out cold.

  I blow out a breath.

  “There’s no use in fighting, dark lady.”

  The small voice sounds like it’s being filtered through an aquarium—all bubbles and fizz and small piping notes.

  I turn in my chains, craning my neck. Above me, to the left is another cage, its edge balanced on mine. Suspended in the bars is a child with round teal eyes and pin-straight black hair. Her tawny skin shimmers with ocean-teal scales, but she looks sickly.