Court of Shadows: (A Demons of Fire and Night Novel) (Institute of the Shadow Fae Book 1)

by C. N. Crawford

  When I looked down at myself, I realized that the freezing rain had hardened my nipples under my shirt.

  That didn’t increase my sense of comfort, and I folded my arms in front of my chest. “I’m freezing. I don’t suppose you have a bath? And some dry clothes?”

  He crossed to the black dresser and opened one of the drawers that I’d rifled through earlier. He pulled out a black tunic—just about ten sizes too large for me—and handed it to me. Then, he nodded at an archway that led into another room. It had no door on it, so … that was awkward. Then again, Ruadan had so far shown no sexual interest in me whatsoever.

  I raised my eyebrows. “I’m going to hazard a guess that when they started this whole anathra thing, only men were involved.”

  He nodded, and I crossed into the bathroom. Like the rest of his room, the bathroom was sparsely decorated with sleek, dark stone studded with gleaming black rocks. A stone tub jutted from the floor—as if it had grown from it. Steaming spring water bubbled in it.

  I peeled off the cold, sodden clothes that stuck to my body. Goosebumps covered my skin, and my teeth chattered.

  I stepped into the bubbling water, the heat nearly scalding me, turning my skin pink. Still, it soothed my muscles. Sinking into the bath, I snatched a bar of soap from the side of the tub. I scrubbed my skin, luxuriating in the heat. Then, I soaped up my hair, and dunked my head under to wash it. The soap smelled like lavender. Funny. I hadn’t taken Ruadan for a floral soap guy.

  I really didn’t know anything about him, except that he was a frustratingly skilled fighter, kind of a murdery dick, and obnoxiously beautiful. Oh, and he wanted to kill the man who’d sent me here. From what I’d seen, he had immensely powerful arms—

  I clenched my fists, rebuking myself for musing too long about his appearance. I wasn’t going to luxuriate here, naked in the man’s tub, thinking about his beauty.

  I rose, and the water dripped down my skin in warm rivulets. I toweled off, my mind flashing with the disturbing memory of Ruadan’s teeth at my throat.

  I pulled on his tunic, and it skimmed over my bare skin, reaching to midway down my thighs. My legs had suffered less damage than my torso. I only had a few brutal scars on my right thigh from an irritating dragon shifter who’d briefly pinned me in the arena.

  When I crossed back into Ruadan’s bedroom, my mouth started watering. On the jagged stone table in the corner of his room sat a warm meat pie, and steam curled from its crust. It smelled of rosemary, potatoes, and steak. Perfection.

  Fae pies were simply the best thing in the world, and my stomach rumbled loudly again, much to my embarrassment.

  I glanced at Ruadan, who still wore his wet clothes. He gestured at the table, and I grinned at the confirmation that it was for me.

  Before sitting down, I snatched my bottle of whiskey out of my backpack and plonked it down on the stone table. I took my seat and drained a glass of water before filling the bottom of the glass with whiskey.

  I lifted the bottle to Ruadan. “Care for a dram?”

  His violet eyes bored into me.

  I took a sip. “Ruadan, your attitude is harshing my mellow.”

  I cut into my pie. As I ate, I relished every rich mouthful. Whoever had made this had used just the right amount of butter. After six years in Baleros’s care, I would never again take food for granted. For every single meal, Baleros had fed us his version of porridge—cold milk mixed with raw oats and a can of beans. Three times a week, we’d get limes so we didn’t get scurvy. Nutritionally, it wasn’t the worst thing, but it definitely hadn’t lit my world on fire.

  When I was about halfway through my pie, I glanced over at Ruadan, watching as he peeled off his wet shirt. My eyes roamed over his golden, thickly corded body. Like on me, scars lined his skin. He probably could have healed them if he’d wanted to, but didn’t want the unlined skin of a scholar. A single, stark tattoo cut across the center of his back—a rune in the ancient fae language.

  When he started to take off his trousers, I quickly focused on my pie again. He obviously wasn’t shy about being naked in front of me, and it confirmed for me again that he had no sexual interest in me. I was just one of the guys, an irritating novice warrior he’d been saddled with. But I had functioning eyes and he was stunning, so I couldn’t really treat him with the same indifference.

  When he’d dressed again, he crossed the room to me, and sat across from me at the stone table. His pale golden hair framed his perfect cheekbones.

  My belly was now full, and I leaned back in my chair. “I guess I didn’t do so well in our training. Do you have any insight for me?”

  He simply shook his head.

  I was starting to get frustrated. “That’s it? This is how you train someone?”

  To my surprise, he reached into his trousers and pulled out a scrap of paper and a pencil. He started writing, the scratching of his pencil filling the silence.

  When he finished, he handed me the piece of paper. There, in his looping script, he’d written

  You are spoiled and defiant, and a ruthless criminal. You are undisciplined, angry, impulsive, and you fight like a gutter fae.

  I snarled at him. “I am a gutter fae.”

  He pointed at the note, and I kept reading.

  But you don’t need my help for the sword fighting trial. Your skill far exceeds the other novices and some of the knights. Just take care to wipe the smug grin off your face, because it signals when you’re about to strike.

  “Fair enough.”

  Then, he pulled my piece of paper from me, writing:

  Who trained you?

  Conceal your true nature.

  I shrugged. “It’s just something I’ve always been good at. Must be in the gutter fae blood.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. He clearly didn’t believe me, and something like cold fury burned in his gaze. Baleros had once fought with him. How well did they know each other?

  I folded up the paper. Since we were actually talking now, in a way, maybe I could bring up the topic of the World Key.

  I took a sip of my whiskey. “I’ve heard some of the trials might happen in different realms. I thought the magical realms were all locked up these days.”

  He folded his arms. Shadows pooled on the floor around him.

  “I know you can communicate now. You just did. You’ve got an obstinate streak.”

  He leaned closer, and his cold gaze swept down my body, examining me closely. When his gaze brushed past the thick scars on my thigh, his body tensed.

  He shifted, kneeling down in front of me for a closer look at my scar. For some reason, it had piqued his interest. In the next moment, his powerful hands were on my thigh, fingers running over the ridge. I nearly gasped at the unexpected gentleness of his touch.

  His brow furrowed. I felt acutely aware of the warm feel of his fingers, his breath warming my skin. He seemed intensely focused on the scar—not in a weird, scar-fetishist way. Just clinically curious. In fact, he was inching up the fabric a little higher for a better look. I tensed, painfully conscious of the fact that I wasn’t wearing anything at all under the tunic.

  I was starting to get the impression that he had no idea what effect he had on women, which, frustratingly, only made him more attractive. Maybe he was comfortable being naked in front of me, but I wasn’t on the same page as him.

  His hands inched up just a little higher, and I clamped down hard on them.

  He looked startled, as if he’d just been undertaking some kind of scientific investigation and I’d stopped him. Then, he pulled away from me.

  I grabbed the edge of the tunic, pulling it down again. I was pretty sure my cheeks had gone bright pink.

  He pulled out his pencil and paper again, scrawling.

  Where did you get those scars?

  “Bar fight,” I lied. “Someone threw me through a window after I called him a slack-jawed wank-stain.”

  Ruadan’s expression cleared, as if he should have known all alon
g that I was just an ordinary bar-brawler. He almost looked relieved.

  “What happens tomorrow, exactly? Just straightforward sword fighting?”

  Another scribble on his paper.

  You will travel to another realm. You will fight the other novices, but also demons.

  My pulse sped up. Another realm. “And how do we get there?” I asked.

  His expression shuttered again, and he rose, crossing to his bed. It seemed he knew the World Key was a hot commodity, and if I pushed any harder right now, I risked alienating him completely.

  He crawled into his bed and blew into the air. The lights in the candles instantly flickered out, and darkness shrouded the room. How did he do that? That definitely wasn’t a fae trick.

  Still wearing his tunic, I crossed to a corner of the room and curled up on the floor. The cold stone bit into my bare skin. Okay, so he’d got me a pie, but he wasn’t about to stretch as far as giving me a blanket. I understood that he operated with a sort of stark efficiency. He was supposed to keep me alive, and I’d be rubbish in a sword fight if I didn’t eat anything. But my physical comfort really had no bearing on the matter, so cold stone was fine for sleeping.

  It didn’t matter. I was used to sleeping on cold stone, even if I was shivering. In the cage where I’d lived, Ciara and I would tell each other stories every night before bed. Stories about magic, about heroes, about women leading armies to destroy the men who’d oppressed them. Stories about a made-up goddess we called Ciarianna, who slaughtered the grotesque war gods who tried to enslave her. Stories of women who gutted the men who abused them. Lying on the floor, I quietly muttered one of those stories under my breath—the one about Ciarianna burning a warlord to death. Oddly enough, the gruesome details soothed me.

  When I slept, I dreamt of Ciara, sleeping by my side, one arm wrapped around me to keep me from shivering.

  Chapter 14

  The next evening at dusk, we walked out onto the Tower Green. Ruddy sunlight pierced the clouds, staining the sky with hues of violet and amber.

  The novices had lined up, with our mentors lingering nearby. We stood on a cobbled square at the apex of a hill.

  As soon as we’d arrived at our meeting spot, Melusine had leaned over to me to whisper, “This is where they used to kill people.” Given the look of glee on her face, I had the impression that she stopped just short of clapping with delight.

  I touched the leather strap on my chest. That morning, Ruadan had presented me with a whole pile of neatly folded clothes: lots of black leather, fitted shirts, and a few dresses. Weirdly, it also included underwear that somehow fit me perfectly, as if he’d taken in my exact measurements. I wasn’t sure if he’d picked out the clothing, or someone else. But whoever had selected it had decided I’d look best in sheer black bras and underwear, so that was interesting.

  And more importantly, he’d selected one of his own swords for me to use—a longsword of Celtic steel, etched with fae runes.

  I glanced at the other novices.

  Maddan—he of the golden scythe—sniffed the air when we made eye contact, and his lip curled with disgust.

  Evening sunlight glinted off Dog Boy’s helmet, and he snarled at me. Why was I supposed to be the disgusting one? The barguest literally turned into an animal who probably licked his own balls, and no one seemed to mind.

  Goth Fae was looking straight ahead, the wind toying with his black hair, and the Sea Monster licked his teeth. I swear to the gods I saw droplets of blood on his canines, and I had to wonder if he’d even bothered to leave the liver behind or if he’d just consumed the entire person.

  Ravens swooped overhead, cawing mournfully. Even they’d been altered by fae magic. They looked larger than they should be, with glittering black wings. They carried tiny, curled up pieces of parchment in their talons.

  Dew dappled the grass, and a heavy mist curled around us.

  I glanced at Melusine, who shot me a strained smile. When I looked up and down her body, I could see that she was shaking. Why had they even recruited this poor girl? She must have some hidden skill I didn’t know about. It made me more determined to form an alliance with her.

  Form bonds with unlikely allies.

  As we stood on the cobbles, the mist only thickened further, swirling about us until I could no longer see anyone around me. I heard the sound of footsteps clacking over stone.

  “Seneschal.” It was Grand Master Savus’s voice, and I straightened.

  I felt someone brush past me, and I smelled the scent of pine, a flash of pale hair through the mist. Ruadan was their seneschal, the keeper of their keys, and it was probably supposed to be some sort of secret.

  I took a tentative step forward, hoping for a better view of the key within all the fog, but Savus’s voice stopped me.

  “Stay in line, novices.”

  I froze. This was the closest I’d come to the World Key, as far as I knew. Part of me simply wanted to draw my sword, attack Ruadan, and run off with it. But as he’d demonstrated last night, I wouldn’t make it out of that encounter alive.

  “Novices!” Savus’s voice penetrated the mist. “You are about to enter another realm, one where nothing protects you but your own skill. Some of you may not make it out alive. Your task is to kill as many demons as you can. These demons have been given to us as sacrificial gifts from the shadow realm. They are prisoners in this world.” He paused before uttering the final words of his warning. “Because they were too deviant even for demonkind.”

  A burst of cold magic rippled over my skin, surging through my blood. My back arched at the power. Then, the mist began to thin. When it retreated fully, I found that we were still standing on the Tower Green. Except, this time, it looked like the Tower Green of old. Vines and wildflowers no longer covered the walls. Where the cobbled square had been a few minutes ago, now stood a forbidding wooden scaffold—an execution site.

  I glanced at the other novices. Each of them had already drawn their swords, and they scanned the green. An eerie silence hung over us like a funeral pall. If I was going to survive the execution block, I’d have to outcompete the other novices. I had to kill as many demons as possible.

  Just as soon as I could find them. Black studded doors blocked most of the entrances to the towers. Were there demons lurking behind them?

  I sniffed the air, scenting something unfamiliar. Not fae, no. It smelled cold and musty, like the bottom of a grave. That was where I needed to go.

  I glanced at the other novices, who were still hanging around the cobbled area.

  At least, until the barguest unleashed a wild, bestial roar, charging for one of the towers. As he did, a white-horned demon burst through a door, dressed in silver armor. I watched as the barguest fought him with brutal swings of his sword. I took just a moment to analyze his form. He had a powerful swing, capable of slicing through a tree trunk, but his technique was a little uncontrolled, and he kept leaving himself open on the right side.

  Still, sloppy or not, he was about to slaughter the demon, which meant he was one demon closer to winning than I was.

  I sniffed the air again, catching the grave-like scent. I unsheathed my sword, following the smell across the green to one of the towers. I broke into a sprint before any of the other novices caught on that I had a lead.

  I kicked through the wooden door into a stairwell, then crept inside, my sword raised. In here, the scent of rot grew stronger, and I followed it up the narrow stairs. Halfway up the tower, the stairwell opened into a great hall—one filled with around a dozen people dressed in gem-studded costumes. A banquet table spanned one side. A melodious song floated in the air.

  My jaw dropped. This wasn’t the slaughter-fest I’d expected. No, this was a lavish Tudor ball, and the guests wore beautiful masks: swans, butterflies, flowers…. Between balconies above us, vibrant silk swathes spanned the ceiling, flecked with pearls and gems. Jeweled fabric lined the walls, too.

  If I didn’t have demon killing on the agenda righ
t now, I’d drop my sword and start digging into the meat and potatoes laid out on the table. The Tudors were damned good at throwing parties.

  But who, exactly, was I supposed to fight? They didn’t even look like demons.

  As I stalked into the room, the chatter died down, quiet enough that I could hear my own footsteps and the clashing of swords outside. A roar from the barguest outside pierced the windows. Everyone stared at me.

  As the crowd parted for me, a new figure emerged. There, at the other end of the hall, a woman glided toward me. She wore a green silk dress, studded with pearls, and her black hair had been pulled back tightly into a cap. On top of her cap sat a demure silver crown. Was she a queen?

  Something about her dark eyes was particularly alluring, and her delicately curved figure gave the impression that she was about to burst out of her gown. She wore a beautiful pearl necklace around her delicate throat. The only thing a bit off about her was the sixth finger on her right hand. Still, my body tingled at the sight of her. In fact, I wanted to touch her.

  So she was the demon.

  An evil queen, perhaps. A warped, demonic, witchy version of Anne Boleyn?

  She lifted a graceful hand. “Have you come to join us?” Her voice sounded alluring, an invitation I couldn’t resist. I gripped my sword harder. I couldn’t bring myself to just swing for her. For one thing, she hadn’t attacked, and for another, she was giving me a seductive pout. I kind of wanted to be her friend or give her a hug or something….

  I swallowed hard. “I’m looking for a demon.”

  Her lip curved in a graceful smile, and her eyelashes fluttered. “A demon?” she trilled.

  Around her, the small crowd burst into delicate laughter.

  Okay, this was really not going as planned. I’d frankly be much more comfortable if I’d busted into a room of naked men hacking into each other with swords. That probably said something disturbing about me, but it wasn’t the time to dwell on personal flaws.

  The witch glided closer again, her body undulating with seductive grace. The faintest hints of dark magic curled around her. A succubus?