The Gatekeeper's Trials: The Complete Trilogy

by Emma L. Adams

  Then the clouds rose up, drawing me into their embrace.

  I lay in a light doze, summer air drifting through the open window and bringing the scents of night-blooming flowers. Through lidded eyes, I took in the familiar outlines of the furniture in my bedroom back at the Lynn house.

  Footsteps sounded, then a whisper, soft as a caress. “This is the one, is she not?”

  I shivered. No human voice spoke in such a melodic cadence, like music formed into words. My eyes itched to open further, but my eyelids felt heavy, weighted. Two dark shapes passed within my line of sight, one tall and feminine, the other shorter and stockier.

  “Yes, my Lady,” murmured a deeper voice. “She is the one.”

  Panic gripped me, and a sudden blaze of silver light dragged my eyes open. Pain seared the skin of my forehead as the Gatekeeper’s mark imprinted itself on me, imbuing me with the magic of Summer.

  I jerked out of the memory the instant I recognised it as such, finding myself standing in the clouds once more. They’d thinned out, revealing the spear-sharp treetops below. I should be alarmed that there was nothing solid beneath my feet, but it was the dream that made me reel in shock.

  Was there really someone else there the night I was chosen as Gatekeeper? The voices had been too quiet to make out any signs of familiarity, but I'd always thought the Gatekeeper selection was totally random. After Morgan hadn't been chosen, the choice had been a fifty-fifty split between Ilsa and me, and I’d assumed we'd both had an equal shot.

  Had the Sidhe spied on us since infancy? They visited our house whenever they wanted, everyone knew that, but if it was true, the memory-eater had done far more than read my memories: she'd teased out details I hadn’t known were there. I tried to recall the two figures I’d seen in the memory, but the image was already fading, and doubt filtered in. It’s a trick. A glamour. It must be.

  The memory-eater appeared before me, her rainbow wings beating. “Intriguing, no?”

  “What was that in aid of?” My hands curled into fists. “I told you to show me a memory of Lord Daival, not one of my own memories. Assuming it wasn’t a trick.”

  Her wicked smile returned. “I saw the memory in your mind, and I know how deeply you yearn for the truth. Many questions gnaw at you, and you will never be at peace until you gain satisfying answers.”

  My hands clenched and unclenched at my sides. “I came to answer a specific question, and that's it. I want to know where Lord Daival is hiding so I can tear into him with a sword.”

  “Is revenge your primary motive?” she said. “I think you’re lying to yourself because you fear the price you must pay to gain the answers you crave.”

  The image of the talisman flashed through my mind. I might have to test the limits of what I was willing to do to keep my own secrets one day, but I’d come here on a mission and I was damned if I let her distract me from it.

  “How often do you get visitors from the Courts?” I asked. “Because I'd have thought they'd want to use your power to spy on their enemies.”

  Fury snapped through her expression. “I am no servant of the Sidhe, and I never show any memories without a price.”

  “Then what was your price for that memory you showed me?” I folded my arms. “You never told me which memory you wanted from me. It seems to me that you change the rules whenever it suits you.”

  “This is my domain, human,” she said. “The rules are mine. I gave you one memory for free, but for your impertinence, the next will require a higher cost.”

  I’d walked right into that one. “What cost?”

  “Tell me which memory you desire to see and I will answer you, mortal.”

  I drew in a breath. “What is your price for letting me see Lord Daival’s most recent memory?”

  ‘Most recent’ ought to tell me his current location, surely. Why had I ever thought a rogue fae would show me anything but trickery and deceit?

  “I will show you the memory of the one you seek in exchange for a promise,” she said. “One further favour you will owe me. Do you accept those terms?”

  A favour? She couldn't ask me to do anything that contradicted my binding to the Summer Court without it rebounding on her, so that was probably the best I’d get. And better than giving up any of my own memories.

  “I accept.”

  The clouds enveloped me once more, and my vision darkened. In the gloom, Lord Daival paced before my eyes, muttering to himself in the faerie tongue. Earthen walls formed a wide space beneath a domed roof. Is he in Faerie or the mortal realm? No obvious landmarks caught my eyes, as Lord Daival continued to mutter and pace.

  I startled at the word sprite, spoken in the faerie language. I wasn’t exactly fluent—when the Sidhe spoke to me, their magic made me capable of understanding every word as though it was English, so I hadn’t had all that many opportunities to practise—but I recognised the gist of his words. He was angry with the sprite. Is it because he’s refusing to give in and share who the heir is?

  If so… there might be hope for his survival, after all. Hang in there. I’m coming after you.

  The memory faded away, and the clouds reappeared beneath my feet. The memory-eater had vanished from sight. Nothing remained but clouds, treetops, and a bright sky without sunlight. All I’d gleaned from the memory was that Lord Daival was angry with the sprite, most likely for refusing to spill the Erlking’s secrets… but not his location.

  “You might have given me a clue as to where that cave is,” I said, but the memory-eater didn’t reappear. I should have figured she’d find a way to weasel out of giving me answers.

  Irritation scratched at me like an itch. Many questions gnaw at you, and you will never be at peace until you gain satisfying answers. She thought she knew me, and hell, maybe she did. She’d read my every thought, and if I could bargain with her to gain access to another person’s memories, anyone might come here and do the same with mine. Like Darrow, wherever he was. I peered down through the clouds, but the ground was too far away. I’d need to climb down to find him.

  I took another step, and the clouds vanished beneath my feet. Cold air rushed past, branches scraped my face, and my circlet flared up, green light spreading to the trees and urging them to break my fall.

  My hands snagged a thick bough, jerking my body to a stop. I hung suspended for a moment, judging the distance to jump, then dropped to the earth. Soil cushioned my feet, and the earthy smells of the forest surrounded me on all sides.

  Well, that’s one way to climb down.

  “Was it worth the sacrifice?” said the memory-eater’s voice from within the fog-drenched woods. I snapped my head upright, but the faerie wasn’t speaking to me.

  Darrow stood not ten metres away from me, watching the memory-eater’s winged form hovering between the trees.

  “Was your position worth the price you paid?” the memory-eater went on. “Was it worth her life?”

  “That is not your place to judge.” There was something oddly raw in his tone. “You know nothing of me or the choices I have made.”

  “Oh, I don’t need to know your thoughts to understand your choices,” she said. “I’ve seen many like you… many who bind themselves with chains, who walk a path they know will lead to ruin.’

  Worth her life? Whose life? Had someone close to him died?

  “You can only see the past, not the future,” Darrow told her. “You can’t know where my path will take me.”

  “I am no oracle, but the past allows me to predict the future with startling accuracy,” she said. “I have seen many like you end up the same way. I know what it is you crave.”

  “Then you can tell me where the talisman is,” he said.

  My breath stoppered in my lungs. No. please, no.

  “You want it not for yourself, and that will ruin you,” she said. “You are the master of your own fate, even with the tethers that bind you. The Ancients’ magic has a will of its own, and there is nothing it likes more than a willing pawn.”


  An image entered my mind, unbidden: Darrow lifting the talisman, its shadows wrapping around his wrist. Raw jealously pierced me to the core.

  Stop that. It’s not yours. I’d fought too damn hard to fall to the very magic that had led the Sidhe to exile the gods from their realm. The memory-eater might be full of shit, but her words about the talisman fit with what I’d seen and heard so far. Still, I was no pawn, and I was under no delusions about the origin of its power.

  I didn’t think I’d moved or made a sound, but something must have tipped Darrow off as to my presence. His head tilted my way, and the memory-eater vanished into the surrounding mist.

  Darrow spoke without looking at me. “This was a mistake,” he said. “The memory-eater has no true Court. She can strip out our secrets and hand them directly to the enemy.”

  “I'm not sure she will,” I said. “Don't get me wrong, she's unpleasant, but from her reaction when I suggested she could make a fortune from spying on the Sidhe, she thinks they're beneath her.”

  He turned around to face me. “You said what?”

  “It slipped out. Not my smartest moment.” To say the least. “She showed me Lord Daival is hiding in a cave, so she couldn’t have been too offended.”

  Darrow made a noise that almost qualified as a sigh, and an inexplicable smile quirked my lips. “I assume she’s gone, but I confess, I’ve lost track of the way back.”

  “You and me both.” What with all the mist, it was a little difficult to tell. Nobody had ever mapped Faerie, because while some parts—like the path back into the mortal realm—remained in more or less the same place, while others moved around on a whim. Trees came to life and walked off. Whole sections vanished with no explanation. The Sidhe, with their ability to use their magic to hop around effortlessly, seemed oblivious to how frustrating this was to the rest of us mere mortals. The memory-eater’s realm didn’t seem to be anchored to the rest of Faerie, but there must be a way out.

  “What did you promise her in exchange for what she showed you?” Darrow asked.

  “A favour,” I said. “She can't make me do anything to betray the Court, so if she wants to use me for revenge on the Sidhe, it won't work out for her. What about you? Did she show you anything?”

  “No. She tried.”

  He'd resisted her temptation, unlike me, but it didn’t matter to him whether we found Lord Daival or not. “I swear we should be out of this fog by now.”

  Darrow cursed under his breath. “We’re still in the memory-eater’s domain.”

  Damn her. What was she devising now?

  “You haven't called your favour yet,” I said to the forest. “Either tell me what you want or let us go and stop these games.”

  “You're free to go.” Her voice drifted from the mist, with a barely concealed laugh. “If you make it to the other side of the mist, that is. But you won't sniff me out so easily, Gatekeeper.”

  An odd choice of wording. Was she referencing the time Darrow had challenged me to go through a hedge maze without him catching me? I had sniffed out his magic, which might sound a little weird, I'd intended to use all the resources at my disposal. If she wanted to strike fear into my heart, she'd have to do better than that.

  “I’d rather not sniff you out at all, thanks.” I took a step into the misty forest, away from her laughing voice.

  At once, a vivid image showed before my eyes—a field, bright with yellow flowers. I instantly recognised it as Summer’s meadow, the one near the boundaries of the Court, where Lord Raivan spent his free time.

  “Stop staring,” said a voice from beside my shoulder.

  “I’ve never seen grass before,” I said—or rather, the person whose eyes I saw through did. A young male, I’d guess. “Real grass, I mean.”

  “If you want to impress the Lady, I wouldn’t get distracted by scenery, Darrow.”

  Holy shit. I was in Darrow’s memory?

  The scene lingered for an instant before vanishing from sight, depositing me back in the mist. There was no sign of either Darrow or the memory-eater, but his memory had pulled me in, as vivid as the bright yellow flowers blanketing the grass.

  Why had she shown me Darrow’s past? To goad me with glimpses of the history he wouldn't tell me, or to taunt both of us at the same time? Had she shown him the same, or…?

  Fear slithered through me. If I'd seen Darrow’s past, then he might have seen mine at the exact same instant. If so, one wrong step would reveal the truth we wanted to conceal.

  The mist would show Darrow exactly where the Erlking’s talisman was hidden.

  10

  I remained rooted to the spot for an instant, the mist swirling around me and masking the trees from sight. That crafty bitch had played us for fools. This was her idea of a game. Win, and she'd let us leave. Lose, and we’d know the truth of one another. I'd bet she'd seen into my memories and my decision to hide the talisman and drawn her own conclusions about what I had and hadn't shared with Darrow. Likewise, she'd viewed something in his history that he wanted to hide from me. The memory she'd hinted at when they'd spoken to one another.

  Would I be willing to kill Darrow to keep the talisman secret? Would he rather see me dead than share the truth he wanted so desperately to hide? I couldn't answer either of those questions with certainty, but I knew I'd regret taking Darrow’s life. If he backed me into a corner and tried to steal the talisman for himself, though? The talisman’s whispers in my mind suggested it hadn't relinquished the idea of me wielding it despite Ilsa ripping the magic from me.

  Perhaps I ought to be flattered that it'd chosen me above all the Sidhe, but I knew better. The talisman’s sole agenda was to lure its wielder into using its magic to cause as much destruction as possible. The Erlking had resisted for centuries, a feat few others might have achieved. I wouldn't live for as long as a Sidhe, though, and the future of the staff remained as misty and unclear as the forest.

  Even the memory-eater doesn’t know its fate. She can’t see the future, like she said. I’ll break out of her trap and find a way to beat them all at their own games.

  Taking in a steadying breath, I walked on through the mist. Within a few seconds, the image of a tunnel appeared before me, lit with clusters of fungi beneath a curved earthen ceiling. Another of Darrow’s memories.

  I—or rather, Darrow—walked through the tunnel into the darkness, following the sound of breathless laughter. “Hurry up,” called a little girl’s voice. “You’re as slow as a troll.”

  “Am not.” Darrow caught up to the girl, who halted at the tunnel’s end to wait for him. Her pointed ears and bright green eyes designated her fae status. Half-Sidhe, like him. “See, told you we were going the wrong way. We’re lost.”

  “No, we aren’t.”

  “Are too.”

  Their laughing voices faded into the mist, and I caught my balance against a tree trunk. Darrow’s youthful laughter sounded in my ears, bringing an odd ache to my chest. Who was the girl in his memory?

  I shouldn’t be seeing this. The memory-eater was toying with us, and for all I knew, Darrow was watching me hide the talisman in this very moment.

  I didn't care if he spied on my childhood. He was welcome to see me sleeping through classes at school and getting into fistfights with the local half-faeries. I wouldn’t even mind if he saw the time I'd played strip poker with a group of half-goblins—long story—or the night I'd got myself trapped inside a dryad’s tree after spilling whiskey on her roots. Anything but the bloody talisman.

  Gritting my teeth, I walked on. Image after image hit me, none longer than a few seconds—Darrow exploring the tunnels, sword-fighting with other faeries, watching Etaina address rows of uniformed soldiers. The girl from the first vision appeared frequently, though I never heard her name. I did my best to keep my attention on the forest, but given the thickness of the mist, I might have been walking in circles for all I knew.

  Pushing a low-hanging bough aside, I walked into a bustling cave f
illed with music and laughter. The sound of a harp playing formed a backdrop as I danced with a girl—the same girl as before—her arms wrapped around my shoulders.

  “Told you you’d enjoy it,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

  Her mouth moved closer to mine—or rather, his.

  Whoa there. Not sure I want to see this.

  As I pulled back, I hit my head so hard on the low-hanging branch so hard I saw stars. Ow.

  The pain brought a rush of clarity. I’d been moving through the mist while I’d been in the memory, but I’d still been present in the real world at the time. The mist had been enchanted to show memories as I walked, and like all glamours, it could be broken.

  I held out my hands to grab the strands of magic that made up the illusion, but they passed through empty air. If Darrow hadn't managed to undo the spell yet, then it must be more advanced than any I'd dealt with before. Unsurprising, given that the mist covered the whole forest, but there’d be cracks in the memory-eater’s armour, ones that would allow us to break out.

  I clenched my fist over the mist, and triumph surged as it began to turn solid beneath my hands. Then the threads gripped back, wrapping around my arms like vines. Sharp and tight, cutting off my circulation. Mist swept along my arms, up my spine, around my legs, tightening as it did so. Dammit. Now the forest knew I'd seen through the trick, it planned to devour me alive.

  Fighting panic, I twitched one hand, then the other, trying to free myself. The mist held fast, tendrils covering my arms, yet there was one section they hadn't touched.

  The iron band on my wrist. It can’t be touched by faerie magic.

  I focused all my attention on the iron, twitching my arm to move the wristband down to my hand. Inch by inch, it moved, until the threads twisted away from my right hand, avoiding the iron.

  Yanking my hand free, I pulled my iron knife from its sheath. The blade severed the mist, and a familiar scent of oak and ash washed over me. Fighting harder, I cut the mist away. I couldn’t see Darrow, but he must be close.