The Nightshade's Touch: A Paranormal Space Fantasy (Messenger Chronicles Book 3)

by Pippa Dacosta

  “I love you, and even without my memories, I know I’ve always loved you.” Arran left his seat and crouched in front of me. He peered into my eyes, seeing the horror and betrayal on my face and ignoring it, or wishing it away inside his own delusions. “That’s why I must do this. We’re going home.”

  How could he love me and hurt me like this? How could he leave Talen and Kellee behind when they needed us the most?

  “I am saru.” He smiled a sad knowing smile. “So are you, Kesh. Our king needs you.”

  Tears swirled in my vision. Aeon had never stopped loving me, but I wasn’t the only one he had loved. And now he had betrayed me for the love of a king, like I had once betrayed Kellee and Talen. He was… Oberon’s, just as I had been. “You think you love Oberon too?”

  The resolve in his eyes told me he believed he was doing the right thing.

  Had Aeon known this would happen, he would never have taken the starfruit.

  And Sirius watched, having fulfilled his order to retrieve the Wraithmaker.

  I couldn’t hate either of them for following orders, and that made the pain worse.

  They were taking me back to Faerie. I didn’t want to go. Not alone. Not without the others. Not wrenched from them like this. We were supposed to go back together, all of us as one. As the Messenger.

  I slumped against Sirius and let the numbness take the hurt away.

  Sirius touched my cheek, collecting tears like he used to all those years ago. “Rest now, calla. You’ll be home soon.”

  No, I thought. You stole me from the only home I’ve ever truly known.

  Chapter 26

  Legend said Faerie’s crystal palace had been grown in the golden age of Faerie. The land, the essence of Faerie, had built it in appreciation of the sidhe who were birthed by Faerie to care for her marvelous creations.

  Great glass archways and enormous halls had been built for the proportions of Faerie’s wildest things, much bigger than the sidhe who inhabited the palace and city now. But Oberon had driven off those wild aspects of Faerie long ago, and now the expanse of glass and mirrors only made the palace seem cold and empty. Or it did to me as I walked alongside Sirius, keeping my chin high and eyes ahead. I’d been back on Faerie soil less than two hours, time enough to clean up and dress in something part gown, part uniform, and more courtly than Talen’s torn coat and my Wraithmaker leathers. Oberon’s most trusted saru had taken my old clothes away, keeping their eyes averted and words off their lips. I’d asked them to braid my hair in Faerie’s current style, and they had silently obliged. Appearances were everything in the palace made of mirrors.

  Outside of the silent saru, Sirius had been my constant guardian. Nobody else saw me. My return was a secret. It would make my execution easier.

  The king would surely kill me. He had to after my failure to kill Eledan and the death toll at the Game of Lies. The question was whether it would be fast or slow, private or public.

  “I know why you did this, but it doesn’t make it right,” I told Sirius. If I was about to die, I would speak my words. There was no point in taking them to the grave. “And just because he’s king, doesn’t make him right either.”

  “I do not need to seek your approval, and if you utter one more word against the king, I’ll have charges of treason added to your roster.”

  I pressed my lips together and wondered where Kellee was, if he was alive, if Talen was okay, and what had become of the warcruiser and the people we’d tried to keep safe. The Sol humans, previously absent from this war, must have been watching us since we’d first arrived on Hapters. Talen had noticed them and lost them again. They had timed their move perfectly—while our backs were turned. When I closed my eyes, I saw the storm I’d left behind, the enormous Sol spacefaring vessel that had broken Shinj’s back, Kellee and Sota fighting a path to Talen, whose dark and light had been collapsing under the weight of the unseelie horde.

  Had they survived? Maybe I didn’t need to know. I was on Faerie and the game had changed. The Messenger and her myth didn’t belong here. But the Wraithmaker did.

  “Wait here.” Sirius left me in a small receiving chamber, one of many in the maze-like palace. Chambers led to chambers led to secret doors behind mirrors and around and around the secrets went. Like on the warcruiser, rooms sometimes changed, depending on which season was in favor. Summerlands allowed for bright, breezy spaces. If Winterlands was popular, then the rooms and windows shrank, hoarding warmth and light. I tasted spices in the air, rich and earthy, and suspected Autumnlands was on the rise after summer had been in power. I hadn’t seen the outside and hadn’t cared to look as Arran had landed the human shuttle in a secluded spot hidden deep within the palace. It didn’t matter though. Faerie was already under my skin and whispering its sweet nothings in my ear. It would take some getting used to after five—almost six years away. Six years playing human. Five of those spent hunting the Dreamweaver for Oberon, and afterward, I hadn’t returned. Oberon would know it all. But he didn’t know I knew the biggest secret of all. I still had a card to play.

  The door opened, and Sirius beckoned me through.

  With the twists and turns of the hallways, I hadn’t realized where I was in the palace, but there was no mistaking the awe-inspiring size and grandeur of the shining throne room.

  Oberon stood at a huge window, drenched in sunlight. His dark hair lay uncharacteristically loose down his back, its color made all the darker by the rich royal blue of his gold-lined cloak.

  The mirrored pillars reflected me a hundred times as I approached. The mirrors amplified light and chased away the dark.

  “Sire,” Sirius announced, “I present to you the Wraithmaker.” He kneeled and bowed his head.

  I would have been a fool not to do the same and remembered a friend who’d once told me how defiance was foolish and how there were other ways to subvert the fae. She was right. I could not openly defy the king.

  I lowered myself to a knee and bowed my head. Even now, my battered heart leapt at the idea. It wasn’t real, this love I felt for him, but that didn’t make it any less powerful. I understood why Arran had helped Sirius bring me here. I understood how Kellee had fought for Oberon all those centuries ago. I understood so much more now. I’d left Faerie as Oberon’s tool and now I returned… as a weapon.

  Oberon sighed as though a great weight had lifted from his shoulders. He turned, and from my position, I saw the cloak sweep around his boots. Not courtly shoes, but thick, outdoor ranger boots, reminding me and others how Oberon was a warrior king beneath all this delicate finery.

  His hand settled on the back of my head, and a rush of saru pride swelled within me. His hand came around, touching my cheek, and then his soft fingers touched my chin and lifted my head, inviting me to look up.

  I barely noticed my tears falling. He was beautiful. And now that I had met Eledan, I saw the resemblance, but where Eledan’s features were sharp, Oberon’s were much softer. More like his mother’s. Piercing blue eyes reached into my soul and peeled back all my defenses. I had thought I could hide from him. How wrong I’d been.

  Love. Oberon had made us to love them, to love him. What was love? Just some strange ingredient poured into our making, something to make us loyal and obedient? But whatever he had made me, I was saru, and that love warmed me, wrapped me in its embrace and told me everything was well.

  “Do not weep, my Wraithmaker.” He brushed his knuckles down my cheek, smearing the tears. I fought to keep the pain off my face and be brave for him, but it had been so long, and I’d lost so much, and the compassion in his eyes could not be meant for me? “I do not blame you for any of it.”

  I do not blame you, the Dreamweaver had once told me. She killed a queen, made a king, but they say she thinks it’s all a dream…

  The tears fell freely, and I gave up fighting them.

  The king’s gentle smile made me fall in love with him all over again. “How can I, when you only did as I asked of you?”


  I cupped his hand in mine and kissed the backs of his fingers. If there were words I was supposed to say, I couldn’t remember them. He wasn’t angry with me. He still loved me. He had not forsaken me.

  Oberon stepped back, smiling. “Bring in the gladiator.”

  Fae guards escorted Arran in through the hidden door. By the way he held his shoulders back, I assumed his wrists were bound behind him.

  “But someone must be held accountable for the many… mistakes,” Oberon added.

  I glanced at Sirius, but the guardian watched it all unfold, still on one knee, his eyes shallow as always.

  The guards shoved Arran to his knees and held him down. He didn’t struggle. He saw me and smiled. “My king, I thought only to bring her back to you, as I knew you wanted.”

  Oberon silently regarded the saru kneeling before him. The quiet stretched on, as did Oberon’s long assessment.

  Arran’s smile withered. He looked up at Oberon, but he couldn’t stand the weight of the king’s gaze for long and bowed his head. “Was that… was that wrong?” he asked, facing the floor.

  “No.” Oberon touched Arran’s bowed head too. The king lifted his gaze, spearing it through the room of mirrored columns. A dozen of his reflections looked back at him. “You brought me something I feared I’d lost. The Wraithmaker’s return is welcome.” His hand slid down Arran’s cheek, as it had mine. He lifted Arran’s chin. “Your actions at the Game of Lies cannot go unpunished.”

  “My… I…” Confusion stole the rest of his words.

  Oberon let him go and stepped back. “Thousands of innocent fae perished.”

  “I…” Arran flicked his gaze to me.

  “The Wraithmaker cannot help you.”

  Arran bowed his head again. “I don’t remember. I… Sire, please, allow me to explain. I ate starfruit. I lost—”

  Oberon lifted a hand, silencing Arran. “It is well known how you have an affinity with tek, gladiator. Do you deny it?”

  “No. I mean, yes, I use tek, but I—”

  “Do you deny you have murdered innocent fae?”

  Arran’s face paled. His lips trembled. “I don’t remember.”

  Oberon’s gaze found me. He knew. He knew it was me, but Arran was nothing to him, just someone to take the fall for my crimes and solve the problem of how to placate the court and the fae.

  Oberon turned with a flick of his hand. “Sirius, have it known that this saru is to be charged with the massacre at New Calicto. He will be publically executed for his crimes.”

  “Yes, sire.” Sirius rose to his feet.

  “No…” Arran stammered. His fearful eyes flicked from the approaching Sirius to Oberon. “N-No!”

  I couldn’t allow this.

  “Let it be done at Nightfall.” Oberon’s thin fingers flicked again, delivering Arran’s sentence as though he were tossing away something worthless. “Let us give the lords time to return to court.”

  “No… I… This isn’t right.” Arran tried to lunge, but the fae guards held him down for Sirius. “I love the fae. I feel it. I know it’s real. My king, I could never hurt you.”

  “Your past says otherwise.”

  Aeon had tried to kill Oberon ten years ago. I’d stopped him. But today, Arran was the perfect scapegoat, and if I was going to work my way around Oberon, I needed the king to love and trust me. But Oberon already knew I had killed those fae. Everyone knew it.

  “Kesh?” Arran’s plea struck like a knife to my heart.

  Sirius pulled Arran to his feet.

  Kellee told me Aeon hadn’t survived me before, and now I was killing him again. Arran would die and I would live, and I’d get my chance to bring Oberon down. I should let him go. I should let events play out and use Arran’s death to my advantage. It was what the Wraithmaker would do.

  I got to my feet, tears rapidly drying. “My king, please… let him live.”

  Oberon had long ago perfected the emotionless gaze. I had no chance of reading him. But I held his gaze as long as I dared.

  “You’ve left me no choice,” Oberon said.

  “Kesh! I only tried to save you! Don’t let him do this!”

  I closed my eyes. None of this was Arran’s fault. All his life he had served and survived the fae. I couldn’t let them execute him for my crimes, even if part of me wanted revenge for his actions bringing me here. I’d intended to come back and turn Oberon away from his crusade, and now I was falling at the first hurdle. But making things right couldn’t stem from more deaths. Talen had told me I was made of light. I had to start there.

  I opened my eyes and saw the king had moved back to the window, and for a second, with his face in profile, I saw the expression on his face was one of longing. But what could Faerie’s king long for? If I knew, I could use it. But it wouldn’t save Arran here, now.

  “My king…” I lifted my voice, letting it fill the throne room. “I know what I am.”

  He didn’t appear to react, and with his back to me, I couldn’t read his face, but I let the words settle. “I have served you with love, loyalty, and admiration for years. I have never asked anything of you.” I swallowed. “Spare him, please.”

  Arran was sobbing, his words muddled as Sirius led him away. I had seconds to stop this, seconds in which to change the king’s mind.

  “Stop,” Oberon called out.

  Sirius obeyed. Arran sagged in his arms, hope keeping him on his feet.

  The invisible weight of Oberon’s magic encircled me, urging me down to my knees. I knelt and watched the king turn to me.

  “Your companion should hear this.” The king’s blue eyes turned as cold as the steel that made up his guardians’ blades. “What you are… is mine.” Faerie’s king smiled, but it was not a kind smile. “Who you are remains to be seen.” He breezed past me and tossed his parting words behind him. “Your actions, not mine, condemned this man. He will die when night next descends.”

  I heard Arran’s cries long after Sirius had dragged him from the room and wondered if they would join the cries of all the saru I’d killed. Kellee had been right. Aeon would die for me again unless I changed the king’s mind.

  She killed a queen, made a king, but they say she thinks it’s all a dream…

  Arran would not die for me. Not again. Change wasn’t coming. It was already here. It was me.

  I had made a king. I could unmake him.

  I smiled into the now-empty throne room. Countless reflections smiled back.

  Arran would live. Oberon would fall. I was home, and the Wraithmaker was exactly where she needed to be.

  To be continued…

  The Messenger Chronicles continues in Prince of Dreams, coming December 2018. Sign up to Pippa’s mailing list for all the news. Turn the page for an excerpt and an exclusive Prince of Dreams chapter from Marshal Kellee.

  Prince of Dreams ~ Extra Excerpt

  Kesh

  My presence, by now, was well known. Gossip traveled fast on Faerie’s winds. But knowing the Wraithmaker had returned and seeing her beside the king were two very different things. I was to keep to the miles of servant corridors, far away from the ever-watching fae.

  I rattled around a royal receiving chamber, alternating between watching the darkening skies through the window and pacing the elaborately decorated suite.

  For what I was about to do, Kellee would call me a fool. I could hear him and his high-and-mighty marshal tone. Don’t be a martyr. But he wasn’t here. And Talen would look at me with all the answers in his eyes, but none he could speak.

  An empty ache hollowed out my heart.

  I couldn’t think of them, left behind, battling monsters.

  I’d been back on Faerie for only a couple of days, but with the travelling, I’d been away from them longer.

  Sirius entered the room, his face grimmer than usual. “This is unwise.”

  I assumed that meant the king was coming.

  “They are preparing the gladiator for his execution.”

 
I paced faster, boots beating against the carpeted floors.

  A wall of rusty reds blocked my marching. “You’ll get yourself killed,” he said.

  I stepped around him and kept on pacing.

  “After all this time, after everything that has happened, you would die for the gladiator?” he asked, each word clipped with restrained frustration.

  “You don’t understand. He tried to save me once, and I killed him for it. And even after he forgot our past, he tried to save me again. He thought he was doing the right thing. The saru…” How could I explain what being a saru was like to a fae like him? “They can’t help the way they are.”

  “You’re right, I don’t understand. Your life is worth more than his.”

  I stopped pacing and faced the guardian. So proud, so fae, so sure of his place in the world. “No. One life is not worth more than another. All lives are equal. All saru are equal. All fae are equal to saru—”

  “That’s absurd,” he snorted.

  He would think so. “I’m doing this.”

  He glared back. “You’re not saru.”

  “I am.”

  “No, you’re not.” He approached, and his cloak flared out, making him seem bigger. He wasn’t small to begin with, and as he approached, that old saru part of me urged me to drop to my knees. I lifted my head and looked him dead in the eye. His steps faltered, halting him outside of my reach. “While I was not part of your harem and not privy to its secrets, I saw enough. Saru are not Faerie touched.”

  I stood my ground, once again looking up at a fae looking down on me. “Whatever you think you saw changes nothing. I was born saru.”

  He turned his head away, grinding his teeth, and then lowered his voice to a hissing whisper. “I saw you summon light, a Faerie power few possess. It was minor and ill-directed, but it was there. I witnessed it. You cannot lie about this.” He spoke as though angry, like this was all my fault, but the whispers weren’t for my benefit. He didn’t want Oberon knowing what he’d seen.