The Damned

by Renee Ahdieh

  Celine’s body shook. “Is it true, then?” she demanded, shocked by the unchecked wrath in her own tone.

  Murmurs rippled through the throng of fey gathered beneath the lacy canopy. Celine’s disrespect did not sit well with them. The immense wasps hovering above began to settle on lower branches, their iridescent eyes gleaming.

  “Is what true?” The Lady of the Vale’s smile grew, her expression serene.

  “Did you choose to leave your daughter behind in the mortal world?” Celine continued without flinching. “Did you let her think you were dead for fourteen years?”

  The regal woman took the last step down from the marble dais, its veins shot through with flecks of gold. They shimmered with the weight of her bare footsteps. She glided closer, all the while studying Celine, her gaze flitting from her head to her toes.

  Then, instead of replying, she began to sing. From the first note, the trembling in Celine’s limbs intensified. Her fingers fell from Bastien’s. Tears trailed down her cheeks. It was a melody that had haunted her for years. One sung in a language she could never seem to place.

  Familiar. Filled with unmistakable love.

  The last note echoed through the air, unfolding into the treetops above. “I did not want to leave you,” the Lady of the Vale said softly. “I regretted it every day.” She came closer, her arms extended once more. “Please . . . forgive me.”

  “Mother?” Celine sobbed, her heart cracking in her chest like a dam about to burst.

  “Aga,” her mother replied, her hands outstretched. “My child.”

  Before Celine could stop herself, she raced into the Lady of the Vale’s arms.

  It was like waking from a nightmare. The anguish remained, but beyond it lay hope. The promise of a rising dawn. Celine knew this hope would not erase her anger, nor would it silence the questions burning within her. But the fact that she could hold her mother now—that her mother could return her embrace—was a gift in its own right.

  Her mother brushed her long, slender fingers across Celine’s cheek, wiping away her tears. As Celine considered her mother’s inhuman features—the pointed ears, the sharp cheekbones, the eyes that glittered like onyx—she became aware of an obvious fact. One she had failed to consider at first blush.

  If Celine’s mother sat on the throne, it meant the Lady of the Vale ruled this court of elegant fey. Which meant Celine was not merely the daughter of an enchantress. She was the daughter of fey royalty.

  Was this . . . was this the reason for Bastien’s rejection?

  Were they more than simple rivals from opposing realms?

  “Now that you are here,” her mother said quietly, “we can spend as much time as we wish becoming acquainted with each other. I can answer all your questions.” She stroked her fingers through Celine’s hair. “Why I made that misguided promise to your father, to keep away until your eighteenth birthday. Why I believed a childhood in the mortal realm was preferable to one here.” A kind smile curved up her face. She gazed out at the gathered crowd, the timbre of her voice growing louder. “Perhaps we can all make amends for the past.” Something glinted in her dark eyes. “And hope for a better future for fey and ethereals alike.”

  It was everything Celine had never known she needed to hear. “I’d like that,” she murmured. “Very much.”

  Then her mother extended her right hand toward one of the two figures standing silently behind Celine. Celine turned and saw Bastien waiting there, his hands in his pockets, his expression aloof. Arjun said nothing, an easy smile on his face, his brow hooded.

  “Sébastien Saint Germain,” Celine’s mother began. In a swirl of ivory skirts, she shifted forward and wrapped Celine’s hand in one of her own. The hand Bastien had been holding not long ago. “I thank you for honoring your word and bringing my daughter to me of her own volition.”

  His . . . word?

  Celine’s brow furrowed. He’d agreed to bring her here? Why?

  Bastien did not react, though Arjun’s eyes widened with dismay. The half fey said, “Celine, what my lady means is—”

  “In accordance with our earlier agreement,” Celine’s mother interrupted, a knowing smile on her face, “Sébastien Saint Germain and Arjun Desai have my permission to travel through the summer lands of the Sylvan Vale toward the winter wasteland of the Sylvan Wyld. My daughter will remain here with me.”

  Had Bastien . . . used Celine to get something he wanted from the Lady of the Vale?

  It certainly seemed to be the case.

  Celine stared at Bastien, her lips thinning into a line. Tension banded across her features, betrayal taking shape in her stomach. Her mother’s fingers laced through hers, and Celine responded without thought. Easily. All too easily.

  It struck her all at once, as if she’d been doused by a bucket of cold water. Was it a simple coincidence that Celine’s mother had done and said everything Celine needed to hear? Where had Celine’s wrath gone? She’d been so angry at first. For a short time, it had been all she’d known.

  Suspicion twisted through her chest. Her mother was an enchantress. Both Bastien and Arjun had said this world was dangerous. Just before they’d entered this court, Arjun made a specific point: the three of them were not to be separated.

  And one of the very first things the Lady of the Vale wished to do was just that.

  Celine stared down at Bastien from where she stood, before her mother’s throne.

  Would he use Celine for his own personal gain?

  He remained silent, his gaze locked on hers. No. He would not use her. Nor would he tell her how to feel or what to do. He trusted she would know the right thing. That she would tell her own story.

  For far too long, Celine had looked to others for answers. It was time for her to look within herself.

  She studied the gathered crowd. Despite her mother’s reassurances, Celine did not sense welcome among them. She sensed tolerance. As if this court of immortal fey were merely enduring her presence. They would not care what she wanted or how she felt. Bastien would respect her choices. Arjun would trust her to know the best course of action for herself. Not once had her mother asked what Celine wanted to do.

  Her eyes found Bastien’s once more. His expression softened.

  “If Celine wishes to remain in the Vale, of course she will stay,” Bastien said, his words clear. Unfaltering. “But if she wishes to go with us, that is her decision and hers alone.”

  The Lady of the Vale tightened her grip on Celine’s hand. “I’m afraid I cannot allow my daughter to travel outside the safety of the Vale.”

  For the first time since their reunion, Celine’s mother said the wrong thing.

  “No.” Celine did not falter in her reply. “I will go wherever Arjun and Bastien go.”

  “It is far too dangerous, my child,” her mother protested, pulling Celine even closer. “The Ice Clans run rampant in the Wyld. That lawless land has not had proper leadership for nearly four hundred human years. It is a world of perpetual darkness, filled with all manner of bloodthirsty beasts.”

  “I understand,” Celine said. “But I do not wish to be separated from my friends.”

  Hurt crossed the Lady of the Vale’s lovely face. “Do you not wish to spend time in my company after all these years? I was hoping to show you around my home and learn about the things that bring you joy.”

  “Of course I do,” Celine said softly. “But I need some time to acclimate myself to this world. I will not be able to do that freely if I am worried about the safety of my friends.”

  Her mother’s nostrils flared, highlighting the inhuman sharpness of her face. “And what of your safety, daughter?”

  “I can promise that Celine’s safety will be my foremost concern, my lady,” Arjun interjected.

  The Lady of the Vale turned to Arjun, her expression culled from ice. “You would make that
promise to me, son of Riya?” She paused, the silence laden with meaning. “You would swear on your life to keep her from harm?” Her dark eyes glittered. “A word of caution: another member of your found family once made a promise to me. I fear it cost Shin Jaehyuk his immortal life.”

  Arjun swallowed, then nodded once. The rest of the gentry began to mutter, the winged creatures flitting about in chaotic patterns. The weight of Arjun’s promise was heavy. Not at all like promises in the mortal world. Celine did not need anyone to explain this obvious fact.

  Arjun Desai had promised his life would be forfeit if something happened to Celine.

  She could not remain idle in the face of that.

  “I’m afraid I must insist,” Celine said through the mounting din. “Once my friends have completed their journey, I will return to the Vale.” She offered her mother a guileless smile, her fingers falling from the Lady of the Vale’s grasp.

  Celine expected to encounter further protests. Perhaps her mother would forbid her from leaving outright. After all, it appeared the Lady of the Vale held dominion over these lands and all those who dwelled upon them. For an instant, Celine thought her mother would call her grey-cloaked warriors to her.

  It was impossible to know what the Lady of the Vale was thinking. But Celine saw the silent war raging within her.

  Then her mother relaxed. Smiled. “I must admit to my disappointment,” she said to Celine. “I had hoped we might spend time with each other, after all these years. You can’t imagine how much I longed for this chance.”

  A trace of wistfulness crossed Celine’s face. “Please believe me when I tell you I understand. You can’t imagine how much I longed for you as a child. How much I wanted to know you.” Determination lined her brow. “But I have made a promise of my own to my friends, and I cannot break it. I swore to help Sébastien Saint Germain and Arjun Desai in their journey to the wintry Wyld, and I will not let one of the first things I do as your daughter in the Vale be to disregard a promise I made in good faith.”

  If promises carried the weight Celine suspected they did in her mother’s court, then it would be difficult for the Lady of the Vale to overlook Celine’s admission.

  An inexplicable emotion flitted over her mother’s face. “Of course.” There was steel in her reply. Celine could not tell if it was fury or resolve. “Several of my Grey Cloaks will accompany you to the border,” her mother continued, “but once you cross into the Wyld, I can no longer afford you my protection.” She lifted her right hand and twisted it through the empty air, as if she were turning the handle of an invisible door. Sparks of light collected, spinning toward her fingers, gathering with her every motion, until a ball of gilded light formed in her palm. Celine’s mother murmured toward it in an unintelligible tongue, and the ball condensed into a sphere of solid gold.

  The Lady of the Vale handed the golden bauble to Celine. “In moments of unrelenting gloom, let this be your light. It is the best I can offer you for protection in a world of perpetual darkness. A drop of pure sun.” When Celine reached to take it, her mother wrapped both hands around Celine’s palm, the bauble pulsating between them. “Be warned that its power will wane the longer you dawdle in the Wyld and the more you use it. Save this magic for when you need it most, daughter. And return to me.” She shifted her right hand to Celine’s cheek.

  “Thank you, Mother,” Celine replied, something shimmering in her eyes.

  “One day, I hope you again call me Umma, as you did as a child.”

  Celine nodded. “I hope for that, too. One day soon.”

  “A word of caution, Sébastien Saint Germain,” the Lady of the Vale said to Bastien, her smile turning sweeter. “Avoid the Frozen Wastes at all cost. You’ll know what they are the moment you step too close to them. They are a world without color or sound, where those who have betrayed my court are sent to serve out their sentences. Many who remain there lose their minds. The instant your senses start to muddle, run.” Celine swallowed at the way her mother’s voice dropped to a whisper. “And if something happens to my daughter, you will answer to me, heir of Nicodemus.”

  BASTIEN

  It is a strange sensation, crossing from the Sylvan Vale into the Sylvan Wyld. From a court of perpetual sun to one of perpetual night.

  The border is not an imaginary line through the dirt, but a river. One side is bathed in ochre warmth. The other bank is shadowed, the rocks along its shore crusted with blue ice.

  A lone bridge connects the two lands, spanning the width of the rapidly flowing water. This scene is a fitting representation of this world. From a distance, it appears tranquil. Up close, the water hurtles over the stones at breakneck speed, the center of the river blacker than pitch.

  Even though we stand on the sunlit shore, I am grateful for the darkness across the way. There is honesty in it. Unlike the court of the Vale, the dark does not pretend to be something it isn’t. And I’ve had my fill of the light.

  The leader of the assembled fey—the small warrior I trapped along the beach—introduces herself as Yuri just before she and ten of the Grey Cloaks in her command leave us at the entrance to the bridge.

  She turns to me, her face stern and unforgiving. Carved from granite. “I would ask one last time that our lady’s daughter accompany us back to the Summer Court of the Vale. If you care at all about her safety”—she glowers at me and at Arjun—“tell her to heed this advice.” The entire time she speaks, she avoids looking at Celine.

  I’m certain Celine is well aware of this.

  Laughter flies from Arjun’s lips. “You’ve truly mastered that expression,” he says to Yuri. “You could burn the feathers off a nighthawk with nothing more than the force of your glare. My mother would be proud.”

  Yuri frowns. “At least one of us can say we’ve made the general proud.” Her waist-length braid of straight black hair swings over one shoulder. “If General Riya were here to see you working in service to blood drinkers . . .” There is no malice in her tone. Simply cold truth.

  “Thankfully I forswore the desire to make my mother proud years ago,” Arjun says with a grin. “Would you believe I chose to work for Nicodemus Saint Germain just to see if her head would explode?” He pauses, his words dripping with sarcasm. “Or perhaps for nothing more than the sheer joy I knew it would bring her.”

  “Nicodemus Saint Germain’s assassin murdered your mother’s best friend,” Yuri says.

  “Don’t fret,” Arjun retorts. “Shin Jaehyuk isn’t exactly my favorite vampire at present.”

  Yuri sucks in her cheeks as if she’s swallowed a lemon. Then she angles her unyielding gaze at me. “I hope you’re not as foolish as he is, leech.” Her lips twitch, her disgust plain. “Our lady’s daughter turns to you for more than guidance. She trusts what you have to say. Tell her to remain in the Vale, where it is safe.”

  Celine steps between us, her brows gathered low on her forehead. “I’m still here, Yuri.”

  “I know,” Yuri says without blinking. “I also know I will not succeed in persuading you; therefore, it is not a worthwhile use of my time.” She shifts back toward me. “What say you, leech?”

  I say nothing in response. Instead I look at Celine. “What do you want to do?”

  “I don’t know how decisions are made in the Vale, Yuri,” Celine says, “but I gather it was not easy for you to attain such a lofty position. And I believe neither you nor my mother appreciate being told what to do by any man, friend or foe.”

  Yuri’s lips twitch again.

  “I will do as I please, and neither you nor these gentlemen will make such decisions for me,” Celine finishes.

  Yuri harrumphs. Stabs the staff of her spear through the fragrant soil at her feet.

  “At least in the Wyld,” I say, “I will see the monsters that come our way and know they are monsters.” A part of me thinks such a pointed statement will kindle Yuri’s ire.<
br />
  But she seems to appreciate candor.

  “You have no idea of what you speak.” Yuri’s tone is grim. “The monsters of the Wyld attack without provocation. They do not need a reason or a purpose to rip you to shreds.”

  Unease radiates down my spine. I want more than anything to do as Yuri asks and demand that Celine remain in the Sylvan Vale, under the protection of her mother.

  I am still not the man I want to be. I can only hope I am better today than I was yesterday.

  “Thank you for the warning,” I say to Yuri.

  “Be it on your head, then, vampire,” Yuri replies. She reaches into her cloak and removes two longer daggers and a short dirk. All three blades are clearly fashioned of solid silver, their matching sheaths bejeweled with rubies. She turns to her second in command, who produces a weapon much like a crossbow, but shorter, its quarrels blunt, their tips gleaming silver as well.

  “We were told you are a bit of a marksman,” Yuri says to me. “A revolver will draw too much attention in the Wyld. Such a bombastic, uncivilized sort of weapon. It reveals your position after the first shot. The lack of subtlety is so like a vampire.” She sneers. “This crossbow will fire ten quarrels in succession before it needs to be reloaded. I suppose your much-lauded aim will be of use with at least one of them.” She snaps her fingers, and three of the Grey Cloaks nearest to her remove their hooded garments and pass one to Arjun, one to Celine, and one to me.

  “Since you clearly lack all sense of reason, you might as well take these, though they won’t save you from your own stupidity,” Yuri says. “Also you’ll need gloves, leech. These weapons were designed to work against you, not for you.” She pitches a pair of soft leather gloves my way. “A final word of warning,” she finishes. “Tread lightly wherever you go. Speak only when necessary, and never stay too long in one place. If you find yourself ambushed, protect Celine. If you don’t, your lives will be forfeit.” She sniffs. “And the Lady of the Vale likes to take her time when she exacts punishment.”