The Gatekeeper's Trials: The Complete Trilogy

by Emma L. Adams

  “I hope so,” I said. “You never know who might turn on you now the Seelie Queen’s got the upper hand. She and Lord Daival might be planning to murder the heir or manipulate them into acting as their puppet while they rule the Vale.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that,” said Lady Aiten. “In fact, many of us believe that the Erlking’s wishes should be only one factor in choosing the next monarch of Summer. The Court as a whole needs to support the heir, or else there would be no peace.”

  I arched a brow. “Does everyone agree with you?”

  “No,” she said. “Many believe the Erlking nominated an heir and that nomination should stand, but others would prefer to put their own names forward. And still others would argue that the strongest Sidhe should be heir, and there should be a contest to determine who should wear the crown.”

  “That sounds like the Unseelie way,” I remarked. “Don’t they pass their ceremonial talisman around and let its magic destroy everyone except the person it deems worthy of holding it? I mean, it’s efficient, I’ll give them that.”

  “There is… merit, to that approach,” she said. “However, the Erlking’s talisman is far too destructive to be allowed to determine the heir, even if it wasn’t missing.”

  Uh, yeah. Also, that would make me the heir.

  “Does Summer have an equivalent talisman that might be an effective test?” I said. “I’m not saying Winter’s approach is the best one, but being chosen by a talisman is more decisive than being picked by a person, and everyone would have to agree with the choice.”

  She shook her head. “There is no equivalent talisman here in the Summer Court. There is the Erlking’s crown, but that contains no magic, and I’ve stored it in a secure location until the heir is tracked down.”

  The Summer Court wasn’t a typical monarchy—the immortality factor meant most monarchs did not give up their thrones willingly—but everyone seemed to think the crown would go to the next of kin. Ancestry was seen as important, and for half-faeries, their sole connection to Faerie was via their family, assuming their relatives hadn’t spurned their half-fae offspring. For instance, as the son of a major Sidhe lord, River had been gifted with one of Lord Torin’s talismans upon his entry to the Court despite his lack of any experience with the faerie realms.

  But for a monarch, just having the right heritage would never be enough. They’d need to know how to lead, and if the Erlking hadn’t given his heir any instruction, they’d be at a disadvantage from the start.

  “So,” I said, wondering what she was getting at, “are you prioritising going after Lord Daival?”

  “We are,” she said. “We believe he must be hiding in the Grey Vale.”

  “I know.” If any of the Seelie Queen’s other allies had survived the Erlking’s talisman, that’s where they’d be hiding, too. “Are you sending a team in?”

  “No,” she said. “You will go into the Grey Vale and search for Lord Daival yourself, Gatekeeper.”

  4

  “She wants you to go into the Vale?” said Ilsa. “Alone?”

  “I’ve been there before.” I’d stand a better chance of finding Lord Daival with the Erlking’s talisman, but I wasn’t that desperate yet. “I’m allowed to take iron with me, too.”

  Mum wasn’t up yet, but Ilsa sat awake in the armchair, dishevelled and bleary-eyed. The house’s magic had also conjured up breakfast, so I shoved a slice of toast into my mouth and made for the stairs to get dressed and stock up on weapons. Since my Gatekeeper status held no influence in the land of the outcasts, I needed all the iron I could get my hands on.

  When I returned downstairs, laden with iron knives, I found Ilsa and River waiting in the hall, fully dressed and looking a little more awake.

  “We’re heading back to Edinburgh,” she said. “Let me know when you get back, okay?”

  “You should have told me you had a shift at the necromancer guild,” I objected. “I wouldn’t have let you stay up half the night working on the family tree if I’d known. This heir crap is my problem, not yours.”

  She yawned. “Maybe, but it affects the future of humanity, so…”

  I shook my head at the portraits of Lynns in the hall. “Nobody in our family has even tried to be normal, have they?”

  “Tried it for five years,” said Ilsa. “Didn’t quite stick. I don't think it's possible for a Lynn to have a regular life. No wonder people say we’re all cursed, Gatekeepers or otherwise.”

  “Some of us don’t mind.” River took her arm and pulled her close to him.

  I made gagging noises. “You two are too much to deal with on little sleep, you know.”

  I was only half joking. Ilsa and River had the kind of relationship that would probably never be in the cards for me. Since the Gatekeeper’s rules forbade me from dating faeries, my only option would be to start a relationship with a human who didn’t mind me staying in Faerie for weeks at a time and would tolerate being targeted by every hostile fae in the vicinity. No wonder Mum had never tried dating again after Dad left.

  Sheathing my last knife, I went through Summer’s gate into the Court. Brightness dappled the leaf-strewn path and shone through the windows of the ambassadors’ palace, warming my skin beneath my thick, armoured coat. I’d need it where I was going, so I bore the discomfort and went in search of Lady Aiten. She stood outside the palace, her slim form clothed in green that blended with the surrounding foliage.

  “You do have your own quarters here at the palace, Gatekeeper, and you’re welcome to use them.”

  That was a not-so-subtle dig at me for spending my nights in the Lynn house in the mortal realm. “I assumed the party would carry on all night, and I’m a light sleeper. How am I getting into the Vale?” Only Sidhe could cross between realms at will, which left me at their mercy the instant I stepped onto the other side.

  “This way.” She beckoned me into the palace itself. No signs of the party remained, not so much as a wine stain on the floor or a discarded item of clothing in the bushes. Through a door on our left was a sparsely furnished room, hung with tapestries and marked with swirling symbols drawn onto the floor.

  “You’re opening a doorway into the Vale in here?” I guessed.

  “Yes,” she said. “This room is well-protected. If Lord Daival tries to invade the Court via this route, he will find himself surrounded in an instant.”

  You’d better be right. I’d prefer not to have to claim a talisman to get out this time around. They didn’t exactly fall out of the sky on a regular basis even in the Vale.

  “Good,” I said. “How long should I stay?”

  “You will stay there until you find Lord Daival, or else find proof that he isn’t there.” Lady Aiten faced me, her green eyes glimmering, every inch of her glowing with magic. A breeze stirred my hair, and then the room vanished as a doorway appeared at my back, propelling me out onto a path bathed in silver.

  Trees flanked me on either side, bleached of colour, as though a filter lay over the whole world. Creepy even by Faerie’s standards, the Vale was the polar opposite of the magic-filled Summer Court. No sun shone here, just that same constant greyish light, while the trees never regrew the leaves they’d shed before the Sidhe’s magic had ripped this part of the world away, leaving it frozen in time.

  Few came into the Grey Vale on purpose. Beasts too depraved for the Seelie and Unseelie alike wandered in search of prey, death-stealers sucked the life from any living creature they happened upon, while sluagh wandered the divide between death and life. Disembodied howling noises, rustling in the bushes and the sounds of some poor creature being torn to pieces greeted me like a rambunctious welcome party from the depths of hell.

  In my first visit to the Vale—when the Seelie Queen had kicked me out of Summer in the hope that the Vale’s monsters would keep me from interfering in her attempted coup—I’d nearly been murdered by a group of merrows and then been buried alive. Last time, I’d fought an armoured troll and a gang of murderous outcasts a
nd only the Erlking’s talisman had prevented me from becoming another corpse lost in the Vale. I’d escaped by the skin of my teeth both times, yet I had a leg up on most exiles because the Sidhe’s last act before exiling someone from the Courts was to rip out their magic and leave them powerless. Ilsa had used the same spell to rid me of the Erlking’s talisman, so I knew first-hand how painful it was, and without magic or weapons, I wouldn’t last ten minutes here.

  I drew my iron knife with a snick that echoed among the silvery trees. Grey paths extended left and right, but it didn’t matter which I chose. If Lord Daival wanted to be found, I knew how to reach him.

  “Take me to Lord Daival,” I told the Vale, and started walking, my footfalls cushioned by a carpet of silver leaves.

  The path wound around corners and wove among the trees, the scenery bare and unchanging. In the Vale, nothing died, but nothing really lived, either. Hence why the Seelie Queen and her kind found it a perfect place to hide out and plot against the Courts. I kept my iron weapon at hand, tensing at every small noise, and with every step, my frustration grew. Where the bloody hell was Lord Daival? I’d have thought he’d want me to find him, so he could boast about defying the Courts the same way his precious queen had.

  On the other hand, he and I both had equal control over the Vale’s magic, and if he didn’t want to be found, we’d end up locked in an eternal battle of wills until I got the upper hand. Why did I let Lady Aiten talk me into staying here until I got my hands on the bastard?

  A bolt of magic whistled over my head, crashing into the nearest tree. Silently thanking the invisible shield of my family’s name, I spun to face my attacker.

  The path appeared the same as before, no disturbances at all—on the surface, at least. Squinting, I peered to the left, and another blast of magic raised the hairs on my head and skimmed my arm like a mild electric shock. Thorny vines sprouted where it struck the path, giving away its owner as a Summer faerie. Based on past experience, I’d guess a wraith—a dead Sidhe who’d perished here in the Vale, reduced to nothing more than magic and the relentless will to annoy the shit out of me.

  “Look, mate, you've picked the wrong target,” I said to the patch of empty air. “You can't kill me, and I can't kill you, and I have better things to do than play games with you. So if you don't mind…”

  A rushing noise cut through my words, and a torrent of green light surrounded me in a whirlwind. Thorns protruded from the light, threatening to break through my shield.

  My circlet glowed on my forehead. Green energy lit up my hands, forming a barrier between me and the whirling torrent of magic. It flickered around the edges, as did the thorns. Aha. They’re not real. The wraith is using illusion magic.

  I reached out, searching for the threads of magic encompassing the spell, and gave a firm tug. The illusion shattered in my hands, in a move I’d like to think Darrow would be proud of, and the whirling thorns disappeared. In their place, a shadow shaped vaguely like a person hovered before me. Magic pulsed around its edges, tinged with the green of Summer. A wraith, as I’d suspected.

  “Hey, there,” I said. “You’re not much of a talker, are you?”

  I’d never particularly envied Ilsa’s gift for necromancy, but I wished I could just say I banish you beyond the gates of death and have the ghost vanish rather than following me for the next hour. Suppressing a sigh, I sidestepped the wraith, and the path vanished from beneath my feet.

  The ground became transparent, and an odd cloud-like substance formed a bridge where the path had once been. Worse, the bloody wraith was still there, blocking the way onto solid ground. If I wasn’t careful, I’d end up falling straight into whatever oblivion lay below the clouds.

  “Seriously?” I stared at the point where I thought the wraith’s eyes should be. “This isn’t gonna go the way you think it is.”

  A green-blue torrent of magic smashed into the wraith, sending it reeling backwards, and a tall, lean figure ran up the path to join me, his silver hair streaming behind him. There was only one person I knew who could use both Summer and Winter magic: Darrow.

  The clouds dipped below my feet, but he was at my side in an instant, reaching out a hand. His skin was warm to touch, a welcome change from the chill in the air.

  “Darrow.” I stepped onto solid ground, unlocking my fingers from his. “Thanks.”

  Faeries didn’t make a habit of using the word thanks unless they didn’t mind owing the person a debt. Unfortunately, by faerie standards, I did owe him for saving my life. Like the wraith’s trickery wasn’t humiliation enough in itself.

  Darrow straightened upright, his silver hair falling to his shoulders. His aquamarine eyes betrayed his status as one of the few hybrid half-bloods who’d inherited magic from both Summer and Winter. The Aes Sidhe were an independent Court who’d split off from Summer several centuries ago, but while their own magic might be unique, it resembled Summer’s on the surface. On the other hand, his skills with glamour made the wraith’s look amateur by comparison. The one time he’d hit me with it, I’d been on the brink of spending the rest of my life worshipping him—which was just one reason I shouldn’t be glad to see him again.

  “What are you doing in the Vale?” he asked.

  “Looking for Lord Daival.” I decided to opt for a truthful approach this time around. “Did you hear he broke out of jail? You weren’t at the party last night.”

  “I wasn’t in the Court at the time,” he said. “I didn’t know about Lord Daival, but it doesn’t surprise me.”

  “Then what are you doing here?” This seemed an odd time to pay a visit to the land of the outcasts. “Etaina wanted you to pick her some man-eating flowers, did she?”

  “I’m here to look for the Erlking’s missing talisman.”

  My throat went dry. I should have known the leader of the Aes Sidhe wouldn't lie down and accept my cover story that I’d left the talisman in the Vale after its magic had killed Lord Veren and his fellow conspirators. While Darrow had no more idea than anyone else of the talisman’s real location, he’d suspected I’d omitted information when I’d told him of its fate.

  “Really?” I arched a brow. “Isn’t it safer in here, where its magic can’t harm anyone?”

  He gave me a look which implied my breezy tone hadn’t fooled him in the slightest. “No. If another outcast claims the talisman, they might use it against the Courts. I’ve been searching for some time, but I haven’t seen another person until now.”

  Crap. Had the Vale’s magic brought him to me because I knew where the talisman was? “The Vale isn’t playing nice today. Lord Daival must want to stay hidden.”

  “Are you sure you asked nicely enough?”

  “Ha.” I wasn’t sure he’d meant it as a joke, but I was reasonably sure I knew more about the Vale than he did. “Maybe you should have covered the Vale in my Gatekeeper training if I was going to end up spending so much time here. Not that I’m volunteering to resume our lessons.”

  I wouldn’t lie, I’d missed our sparring matches. I did not miss the bond he’d put on me when I’d agreed to take the Trials, nor did I miss having to duck around his attempts to corner me while I tried to investigate the Erlking’s death. But if he found out I had the talisman in my own back garden, our alliance would come to a crashing halt and I would find myself at the mercy of his Court and its leader. However fun our banter might be, I wouldn’t allow myself to become complacent.

  A bright flash drew my eyes. The wraith was back, firing a bolt of vivid green energy at Darrow. I opened my mouth to warn him—he didn’t have a shield like mine—but he sidestepped with dizzying speed and returned the wraith’s attack with one of his own. I’d forgotten how bloody fast he moved. The wraith’s half-hearted blasts of green light seemed dim compared to the vivid green-blue light gleaming in his hands. I joined him on the attack, but being dead, the wraith remained stubbornly present, a patch of shadows etched against the misty backdrop.

  “Gatekeeper,” it gr
owled. “Your days are numbered.”

  Well, well. The wraith had a voice, after all.

  “Hey,” I said. “Where is Lord Daival? If you’re gonna follow me around, you might at least make yourself useful.”

  Darrow’s next attack blasted into the wraith, sending it flailing over the edge of the cloudy mass.

  “Hey, we were chatting,” I protested. “We had a real rapport going.”

  He scowled at the spot where the wraith had merged with the clouds, and it didn’t return. “The wraith wouldn’t have been able to tell you his location.”

  The wraith might have backed off, but it’d given me an idea. If I couldn’t find Lord Daival, I’d go with the next best thing: finding his allies. “Then I’ll find someone who will.”

  “Go ahead.” Darrow let me take the lead. He'd once admitted to being intrigued as to what I'd do next, but his unquestioning acceptance left me a tad flustered, especially as I had no idea if my plan would work or not.

  I concentrated hard, my thoughts hammering in time with my steps. Take me to someone who can tell me where Lord Daival is. Take me to someone who can tell me…

  The path warped and changed before our eyes. Ahead, a serpentine figure coiled around the base of a thick oak. Sharp teeth jutted from its jaws, dripping with venom, but its facial features otherwise resembled a man’s. Curtains of raven hair hung to its shoulders, and a forked tongue flickered between its teeth.

  “Human,” said the creature.

  “Hi,” I said. “Can you tell me where I might find Lord Daival?”

  “Lord Daival?” said the creature. “I do not know that name.”

  So much for that idea.

  “He was the Seelie Queen’s assistant once. He carries a bunch of talismans. Silver hair. Uh, not him,” I added, when his gaze went to Darrow. “The Vale told me you saw him. He enjoys throwing thorns at people.”

  “Thorns,” said the faerie. “The Lord of Thorns?”

  “Is that what he’s calling himself now?” I shot Darrow a triumphant look. “Is this Lord of Thorns hiding somewhere in the Vale?”