Smack! My knees hit the polished obsidian floor hard. I’m a gasping, bloody, sweaty mess, but I struggle to my feet. If I’m going to die I won’t do it kneeling down.
No way. Mom and Glamma raised an Irish warrioress, not a damsel in distress.
I stand before the arch-Eld, and just as King Gloomy opens his mouth, I interrupt him. “You can stop this.” I search the faces of the arch-Eld. “If he kills me, it will start a war, but if I live, Roue and I can stop the fear, the war, the killing. Isn’t that what you really want? To raise your children in peace?”
My words strike each of them, even the ones who’ve sided with Reinghûl. Mizumichi stands, the koi tattoo on his arm swishing its orange and white tail. “We do wish for the war to be ended, child, but we cannot disobey the king.”
Etana said the same thing. “I cannot disobey.”
I look to her, but she only wrings her hands.
Vanya Visya stands. “Reinghûl, if you do this, if you damn us to war, it will be on your head.” Several of the other arch-Eld nod in agreement.
But the king is all dark-self smugness. “I’ll gladly lead my people to war and victory over the fair Fae.” He grabs me by the arm and jerks me toward the throne on the opposite side of the Adamant Hall. “How do you think they’ll fare without their princess, their future queen?”
Well, he’s got me there.
I am the last sleeper-princess of the Summer Court.
If there isn’t a new queen on the throne by Midsummer, all of Fair Faerie will die.
I strain against him, but he lifts me, carrying me up the dark dais. Little by little, the Adamant Throne comes into view—a ginormous grand chair carved of obsidian, hematite, and gleaming adamant shaped like a black dragon.
In its wintersteel jaws is the hearthstone, dull and lifeless. It looks worse than before.
As I watch, the king unleashes his rotten magic on the hearthstone. Sticky black tendrils shoot from his hand and wrap around the dark gemstone. It pulses once, and then giant thornlike spikes erupt from the Throne.
“This,” says the king, “is what happens to those who defy me.”
He throws me onto the spikes.
Chapter Fifteen
Rouen
I’ve always believed in you
But never in me
Never in me
“Never Ever,” Euphoria
Two doors. That’s all that stands between me and saving Syl.
But I can’t budge them an inch.
Blast and bane! With the four kids hanging off me, I push and shove with all my might. I try my lightning, searing against the iron, violet sparks flying in the darkness.
Still no good.
Twenty feet tall, ten feet thick, made of pure cold iron laced with adamant and sealed with royal dark Fae magic and sorceroscience, the doors to the Oubliettes are no laughing matter.
I come away with my muscles aching and my pride hurting.
I’m failing myself. I’m failing these kids. Worse, I’m failing Syl.
Frustration and fear wash me in exhaustion. I stand on the last platform that Marrow and Miz made with their magic—magic that I asked them to use. Einslie and Kshirin look up at me expectantly, like I’m some kind of hero.
I’m not.
They’re counting on me. And I’m letting them down.
“What’s wrong?” Miz peers at me where she’s wrapped her tail around my shoulder. Her wide-set teal eyes are filled with concern. At my leg, Kshirin looks up, hope shining right out of her adorable little tiger face. Marrow tries to make himself smaller under my arm while Einslie leans in, encouraging me.
“You can do it, Your Highness.”
“I…” But my voice fails, and all that comes to mind is: I’m not ready to be queen. I thought I was, but now I’m realizing there’s a lot more to it than just doing whatever you want. Being queen means caring about your people, governing them, having them put their lives in your hands, like these kids are doing right now.
It’s a lot.
I can’t even handle being responsible for four children. Never mind an entire race of dark Fae.
Syl’s words come back to me. “Sometimes even princesses need help.”
A tiny glimmer of hope kindles in my heart. She’s right.
If princesses need help, it stands to reason queens do, too.
“I can’t do it alone.” I look at each of the kids. “I’ll need everyone to give the doors everything they’ve got.”
“’Kay!” Kshirin claws her way up my leg—ow, ow, ow—to perch on my other shoulder. Her claws glow green. Miz readies her water funnel. Marrow hunches down, preparing to use his curse touch.
Only Einslie looks down. “I can’t help.”
“Sure you can.” I tell her. “You say when.”
She brightens a bit. “Okay! Ready…?”
Everyone braces.
I blow out a breath. Even with the kids helping, I still need to pull my weight. But how? Only Father can command the power of UnderHollow. At least, that’s what he said. I’ve never tried. A thought flashes into my mind: What if he’s been lying all along? Not telling me the rules to the game.
What if the only reason I couldn’t is because I didn’t believe I could?
That’s ridiculous, my dark self scolds.
But is it?
Now I wish with all my heart that Syl was here. I could really use a dose of good old-fashioned hope right now, rather than realism.
Well, it’s about to get real any second now, Roue, so buck up.
“Steady…” I inhale, taking in the rusted iron stench of the doors, the swirls of adamant. I imagine the magical seal on the outside of the door, the coiled black dragon. The sigil of House Rivoche.
I am of that House. That blood runs in my veins. Royal blood.
“Go!”
As I reach out to call the magic of UnderHollow, the kids blast the hell out of the doors. The gloom lights up with blues and ghastly greens and cursed reds. Water shoots from Miz. Marrow punches, his curse touch crumbling the doors in a rain of rust. Kshirin slashes, her glowing claws carving great big divots down the sides.
They barely make a dent.
And me? I can’t seem to grasp UnderHollow’s power. I grab and struggle, I tug and strain, I even beg. Please, UnderHollow, hear me. Help me.
Nothing.
“At this rate, it’ll take hours!” Marrow whines.
“Keep at it!” I grab for the power of UnderHollow, but it slips from my fingers like smoky black ribbons.
The kids pour on the power, but the doors don’t budge.
You’re sucking, Roue!
I grab and grab, but the power spins away, threads in the wind. Despair settles into my brain, eating my confidence like a cancer. Father’s the one that gets UnderHollow to come to his beck and call. Not me. I can’t—
Wait, that’s it! Father doesn’t grab for the power like an old hag scrabbling for persimmons at the Goblin Market. He calls it like a king. I close my eyes. I take a deep breath.
Believe, Roue, believe.
I stop struggling, stop trying to grab. Instead, I reach out a hand.
I call the power of UnderHollow. “Come to me. Hear me.”
For a moment, nothing happens.
Panic slicks my guts, but I shove it down. Stay calm, serene. Father’s always so serene, so confident. He knows the power is his. He calls it, claims it.
“UnderHollow, hear me. Come to me. Obey your princess.”
Little by little, the doors begin to rutter and rumble. They shiver on their hinges, raining rust. The kids keep blasting away.
“Pour it on! Everything you’ve got!” I shout encouragement to them while I coax UnderHollow. “Hear me. Obey.”
Suddenly, all the power I’ve been coaxing slams into me, filling me up as though I’m a bridge between the earth and the sky. My chest expands, every breath a painful pulse. I sense everything in UnderHollow, down to the tiniest tadpole and the last snowflak
e.
I’m filled with so much power, it glows from my eyes, a deep, darkling midnight-black. “UnderHollow, free us.”
Crrrraaaack! A flash of dark lightning erupts, and outside, the black dragon seal cracks open, the midnight glow radiating from every seam in the doorway.
“Get back!” I scoop up the kids and shield them with my body. They cling to me, their little faces stark in the flashing black lightning.
With a great boom, the doors fly open.
We’re free!
“Come on!” I windwarp into the hallway.
“Yay!” The kids drop down to the floor, dancing around my legs.
“We did it!”
“Wooooo!”
“Take that, stupid doors! Yahhhh!”
“Shhhh!” I silence them with fingers to my lips, doing that awkward you’re going to get us caught dance, which is an awful lot like the pee-pee dance.
Kshirin scales the wall with her claws, all agile kitten, and peers around the corner. “There’s no guards.”
“They weren’t expecting us to break out,” Einslie says matter-of-factly.
“You know what else they weren’t expecting?” I ask, the fight rising up inside me.
“No, what?” Marrow asks.
“Us to team up.” I hold out my arms, and the kids leap onto me again. “Come on. We have a fair Fae princess to save!”
I only hope we get to Syl in time.
Chapter Sixteen
Syl
The Adamant Throne of Dark Faerie
Deadly to any fair Fae
Who touch it
- Glamma’s Grimm
You know that feeling you have when you first jump into an icy cold lake? The pain like tiny needles prickling your entire body?
This is like that dialed up to a million.
The second my butt hits the chair, the hearthstone bursts with shadow, and a thousand thorny barbs shoot out of the Adamant Throne, from the dragon’s spine, its forelegs and back, from its claws. Shunk! Shunk, shunk! The impacts rock my body, throwing me back against the polished seat, dragging me deeper into the wave of thorns.
The agony of the vorpal wound is nothing compared to this. I scream and scream.
Barely, I hold onto the power of Summer. I should let go, let the pain and blood loss take me, but as long as Roue’s alive, I’ll hang on.
“Roue, hurry…please!”
The hearthstone brightens with every painful pulse of my blood onto the throne. Flashes come to me, memories of how Agravaine hunted the other sleeper-princesses, how he used their blood to stall the breaking of Dark Faerie’s first hearthstone.
But that’s not what Reinghûl’s doing. He wants only to torture me.
He’s succeeding.
I scream, racking on the Adamant Throne, hoping, praying to pass out. Above on the rise, I catch a glimpse of Etana. Her eyes are no longer a bright hypnotic green. They’re a sad, murky grey, and she wrings her hands, looking down. On her right, Mizumichi doesn’t embrace her, but he does move closer. His shoulder touches hers as he lends her his strength.
They’re clearly together, a couple. A team.
I wish I had that right now.
I wish—
“Syl! Hold on!”
Roue! Her voice sends hope soaring through my heart. My Roue is alive!
“I’m coming for you. Hold on, princess.”
“I’d wait forever for you.” Suddenly, the agony doesn’t seem so bad. Just a few more minutes, I tell myself, and then Roue will be here.
Shink! Shunk! More thorn-spikes shoot into my arms, my legs. I barely feel them. Knowing my Roue is alive, that she’s coming for me galvanizes me. I defiantly grip the sides of the Adamant Throne and look up into Reinghûl’s eyes. “You might be healed, but you’re still a huge jerk, and you know what?”
“No.” He smiles, all cat that got the cream. He’s got the upper hand, and his confidence oozes like slugs. “Tell me.”
I thrash on the Throne as more spike-thorns pierce my skin. My blood drips onto the carven adamant, the hearthstone whirring wildly at my head. “Come…closer…can’t…”
Humoring me, he steps in, putting his smug face down close, close, closer.
“Dummy.” With the last of my strength, I smash my forehead against his nose.
Blood flies, and for the first time it’s not mine.
“Argh!” He reels back. An effervescent, mad laugh bubbles up from me, even though every movement sends splintering pain shooting through me.
He whirls on me, eyes flashing, blood flowing down his face. Slowly, he draws the vorpal blade. “I was going to let the Throne drain you, but you know what? Now I’m just going to kill you.”
“Don’t!” Etana shouts from the rise. “Your Majesty, you’ll rekindle the war!”
But he doesn’t listen.
He steps in, grabbing my red curls, yanking my head back.
“Roue…please…”
Boom…boom… From far off, my heart seems to be pounding its last beats.
I look up. My vision fills with the hearthstone spinning, black shadows whirling around it like dervishes. It’s going to be the last thing I see.
“Roue, I love you. I’m sorry.”
Boom! Closer this time.
Boom! Wait…that’s not my heartbeat.
BOOM!
In a blast of violet electricity, the closed doors explode, the Rooks guarding them shatter into a million black shards, and Roue—my Roue—bursts into the room with a bunch of…
No. Way.
I wish my hands were free so I could rub my eyes.
But, yup, there’s Roue, Princess of the dark Fae, badass goth rockstar, with four kids hanging off her like little monkeys.
I can barely believe it. Maybe it’s all the blood loss?
But, nope. The second they enter the Adamant Hall, three of the kids leap off her and streak into the ranks of Rooks. In the blink of an eye, Rooks shatter and explode, shadows and black shards flying everywhere as water funnels, glowing green claws, and crazy curses careen through the throne room.
I fight to get free. “Roue!”
She smiles so gently at me it makes my heart ache. “I’m here, princess.”
The tables are turning. I just hope they turn faster than the Adamant Throne can kill me.
Chapter Seventeen
Rouen
Ever and ever
Princess, my princess
I’ll always come for you
“Ever and ever,” Euphoria
Chaos erupts in the throne room as water funnels, claws and curses fly, but I only care about one thing.
Syl.
My sweet Summer girl, she’s trapped by the Adamant Throne, its spikes punctured through her arms and legs, two sticking out of her side, pinning her in place. Father stands next to her on the dais, watching her bleed out.
I’ll deal with him and his dark self later.
“Syl!”
As all the kids except Einslie leap headlong into the ranks of Rooks, I race toward Syl where she sits on the Adamant Throne. So many thorns piercing her. So much blood. My heart cracks open, but I steel my resolve.
She’ll be fine, Roue. Just get to her.
I have to get her out of here before the Adamant Throne and Winter kill her.
Easier said than done.
The chamber shudders as a black wave of Rooks crashes over me, pikes threshing. I sing my violet lightning to my hands and meet them head-on. Smoke and shadow explode, ozone burning the air.
Tension thrums in the chamber.
I punch the first Rook, shattering his helm in a burst of spitting lightning. The second goes down under my lightning. Black shards skitter to the ground, turning to shadow. More Rooks rush in. My world becomes an intense grind of gramarye, flashing pikes, and slashing lightning.
Through it all, Syl burns, a bright beacon.
“Syl, I’m coming!”
But too many Rooks block my path. I can’t even get space
enough to windwarp.
“You’ll never make it, Rouen,” Father taunts. With a wave of his hand, the hearthstone set in the throne’s jaws bursts with shadows that solidify into more and more Rooks.
I don’t rise to his taunting. I’ll save you, too, Father. Even if it kills me.
Truth is, it just might.
His Rooks swarm me.
“Get out of my way!” I scream, twisting the next notes of my power ballad into discord, searing Rook after Rook with forked lightning bolts. They shatter, raining black shards down all around me.
I move a foot closer to Syl. Not fast enough.
“Hold on, Syl. Hold on!”
“Highness, we gotchu.” Marrow leaps over the Rooks’ heads, using each as a stepping stone, and cursing them as he goes. Their armor flushes with the red glow of unpredictable bog-hag magic. Two of them fall apart, three others lose their footing and crash to the floor. Kshirin spins and whirls through them, giggling as she carves them up with her glowing green claws. Miz blasts away with her water funnels, hammering at the Rooks. For her part, Einslie leaps onto my shoulder and cheers the others on.
It warms my black heart.
I join the kids in battle, and we form a line, forcing our way toward the Adamant Throne, toward Syl, crushing Rook after Rook with all the ferocity of dark Fae on the warpath.
In seconds, all that’s left are shattered black shards and wisps of smoke.
Across the haze, I meet my father’s eyes.
A wild idea forms in my head. If I can knock him out, maybe I can somehow separate the real him from his dark self.
Fwoosh! I windwarp toward him, but my father’s dark self is crafty and cunning. Flinging his arm back, he gestures. Sticky black tendrils shoot from his hand, wrapping around the hearthstone, snatching it from the jaws of the throne and pulling it to his grasp. The stench of rotting decay and scorched asphalt hits the air. Shadows erupt from the gemstone’s facets, falling to the floor.
Dozens more Rooks coalesce in the chamber, weapons bristling.
“Take her!” he commands, and they all swarm me. “Ebon Knights!”
Thundering bootsteps rock the chamber as the Ebon Knights rush in, Stavrin in the lead. I’m surrounded, hemmed in on all sides by Rooks and Knights. On my shoulder, Einslie gives a small whimper.
Dethroned_An Inimical Prequel Novella Page 10
