The Damned

by Renee Ahdieh

  I almost smile. In another time and place, I would like Yuri. She reminds me of Odette.

  A grin ghosts across my lips. They would hate each other.

  Yuri gestures toward the other Grey Cloaks, who form a line on their side of the bridge and watch as Celine, Arjun, and I cross.

  The cold descends on us slowly, just like the darkness of an encroaching dusk. Halfway across the bridge, clouds of air form around Celine’s and Arjun’s mouths with each exhale. There is a shift in the wind, like the changing of the seasons. Even the smell turns to one of frost and mint and something else, unlike anything I’ve ever encountered on the mortal plane. Light sprinkles of snow begin to fall, our boots crunching through the frozen stillness. The only other sound is that of the skeletal trees, icicles tinkling together like wintry wind chimes.

  We complete the crossing and step into the drifts of powdery snow along the riverbank. When I glance over my shoulder, I see the Grey Cloaks watching us on the opposite shore, their spears pointed toward the bright blue sky. One last time, I consider asking Celine to return with them. There is no need for her to risk herself in this land of perpetual night, chasing after a fool’s dream.

  But I glance her way, and I keep silent.

  “The borderlands of the Wyld are known for their labyrinthine forests,” Arjun says. His voice startles us, for it sounds different in this place. As if it has been sent down a long tunnel. “I’ve heard there are trees here who have a taste for mortal blood.” He quirks his lips. “Perhaps they’re your ancestors, Bastien.”

  “Charming,” Celine replies, drawing her cloak closer about her. A gust of wind blows, scattering a flurry of snow in our faces. The next instant, fox fur appears on the hood around her head. It spreads until it forms an inner lining on the entire cloak. Celine hums in appreciation. “I suppose not everything about this place is dreadful.”

  “Cling to that,” Arjun continues in a droll tone. “It’s bound to worsen from here.”

  We trek through the edge of the wood and beneath its twisted canopy in complete silence. This forest is a stark contrast to the one in the Summer Court. Where gold and silver dust shimmered, flecks of iron dot the landscape, glittering in the moonlight like black diamonds. A pair of emaciated birds caw to our right as they flap slowly through the bare branches before landing together to stare down at us. Their eyes are tarnished pewter, their beaks made of solid ice. I stop to look at the smaller one, who turns its head, then cackles before taking flight once more, its mate quick to follow in its shadow.

  My nerves spark, the fine hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. It’s as if I can feel eyes upon me, though I hear nothing. My senses flash as I throw them wide.

  It is disorienting to be surrounded by such silence. As if I’ve become accustomed to the constant drone of life all around me.

  But I know in the marrow of my bones that we are not alone.

  We are being watched. I would bet my immortal life on it. I want to tell Arjun and Celine, but it would be of no benefit to inform the creature lurking nearby of my awareness. So instead of saying anything, I gesture toward both of them, my eyes roving around us, speaking without words.

  They do not move or nod or say anything in return. But I know they understand.

  For a harrowing instant, all the light fades around us. I am still able to see, but I feel Celine’s apprehension in the race of her pulse and the sharpness of her gasp. The dark lingers as the moon has passed behind the shadow of a cloud. Then the sky begins to clear, and a sliver of moonlight emerges from between the skeletal treetops.

  Celine stops to stare at the moon just as the last of the clouds shifts to unveil its cool light in all its glory. The snow-covered forest comes to life, the soft blue of the rime resembling that of a pale dawn, the trees silhouetted in white.

  “It’s . . . beautiful,” she says.

  “I don’t disagree,” Arjun replies.

  “Beauty often masks the decay beneath,” she murmurs.

  It’s something my uncle has said many times before. A memory Celine should have lost. “A fitting sentiment for such a place,” I remark in a casual voice, my eyes scanning our surroundings. “Where have you heard that saying?”

  Celine frowns. “I . . . don’t know.” She shakes her head, the fur-lined hood falling to her shoulders.

  “You know, if not for those horrific birds a few paces back, I would not be unnerved by this,” Arjun says. He shudders. “They looked like demonic ravens ready to feast on our bones.”

  “Perhaps I’ll catch one and gift it to you as a pet.” Celine grins.

  Arjun snorts. I watch as his hands, ever so casually, disappear in the folds of his cloak, where I know he hid two of the blades Yuri left with us.

  In response, Celine places a hand in her skirt pocket, her fingers wrapping around the golden bauble of sunlight gifted by her mother. Arjun continues smiling as we weave between the trees. Then he pauses a moment, his head tilted to one side.

  Nothing happens.

  “Shall we carry on?” Celine asks, her green eyes bright and alert.

  I nod.

  She screams just as the creature lands on my back.

  BASTIEN

  I reach behind me, and my gloved fingers grasp at nothing but air. A sound hisses past my ear, something sharp grazing the side of my neck. It sears my skin like fire.

  “To your right,” Celine shouts, brandishing her silver dirk in one hand and the golden bauble in the other.

  I spin in place, and the thing on my back is flung across the snow. When it rolls to standing, I see that it is a collection of twigs in the shape of a man. Its face is nothing but two holes where its eyes should be. The creature draws back a rudimentary bow and aims an arrow my way, which I dodge.

  “Cut off their heads or their hands!” Arjun yells, both his silver blades arcing in graceful sweeps.

  Now at least a dozen of these twig men surround us. All I can think of is Celine. I blur to her side. She holds the bauble in her palm, her fingers turning white. It begins to pulse with warmth.

  “Don’t use it now.” I dodge another arrow. “Save it for when circumstances are direr.”

  “Worry about yourself,” she says.

  With a gloved hand, I crush the outstretched arm of a tree creature who lunges our way. When I turn to see how Celine is faring, I miss the attack over my shoulder. The arrow embeds in my arm, and the burning sensation flows through my blood, causing me to grunt and fall to one knee.

  Though the injury sets my entire right side on fire, I press the trigger on my crossbow, and a single quarrel flies toward the twig man closest to me. The thin creature is a poor mark for such a weapon. Like trying to shoot a moving post. I attempt to yank the arrow from my arm, but only succeed in breaking off the shaft.

  Cursing, I stand again. Arjun shouts and tosses one of his short swords toward me. I catch it by the handle, thankful for my heightened reflexes.

  Putain de merde. I never spent a great deal of time learning how to fence. It didn’t make any sense, given how much more civilized and efficient a revolver seemed to be.

  Perhaps Yuri was right about our reliance on such weapons.

  I begin swinging the blade in my left hand, my right side aching from the arrowhead, which continues to burrow into my skin, the silver poisoning me from within. Arjun is faring much better than I. Celine holds the pulsing bauble in silent threat, and it seems to be enough to keep the twig creatures at bay for the time being. The hem of her cloak is in tatters, and a smattering of ripped fox fur surrounds her feet.

  I slash again and manage to lop off one of the twig creatures’ heads. When I do, the whole thing falls to the ground, breaking into a pile of splintered wood.

  The fighting lulls as both sides take stock of their injuries. Half the creatures have fallen to pieces around us. The other half parley in sil
ence before making a decision. I brace myself for the next bout, and then the twig men scurry back up into the trees without so much as a whisper.

  The pain in my arm is nearly blinding me.

  “Well, that wasn’t so bad,” Arjun comments.

  Celine frowns. “It felt like they were toying with us. Their attack was halfhearted. Disorganized.”

  “Testing the waters, perhaps?” Arjun nods. “Which means they’ll return soon.”

  I fall to my knees, the silver blade in my gloved hand dropping to the snow.

  “Bastien!” Celine scrambles closer, crouching beside me.

  “There’s an arrow in my arm,” I say through my teeth. “It’s solid silver, and every time I move”—I grimace—“it digs in deeper.”

  “Of all the ridiculous things,” she says. “Why weren’t you paying attention? What is the use of all these abilities if you can’t dodge a simple arrow?”

  I stare at her and say nothing.

  “He wasn’t paying attention because the only thing that mattered to him was keeping you safe, princess.” Arjun kneels beside me and begins pressing around the wound to see how to remove the arrowhead.

  I wince again but not from the pain.

  Dismay blanches across Celine’s face, but she is quick to conceal it. “You should heed your own advice and protect yourself, Bastien,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone. “If you are hurt, you become a target. You’re no good to any of us then.”

  I know she is scolding me because she wants to offer me comfort and cannot. I have made it clear that there can be no future between us. That vampires are the natural enemies of her mother’s court.

  In truth Celine has yet to realize how deep the enmity lies. How the blood of vampire royalty runs through my veins just as the blood of a Vale enchantress runs through hers. She saw how displeased the gentry in her mother’s court were to see us standing together, hand in hand. It is not a matter of simple disapproval.

  We are more than just enemies. We are blood foes.

  I pull away from her, and she grips my arm, refusing to let go. “Are you really not going to let me help you?” Celine says, her eyes glittering with frustration.

  Behind the mask of her irritation, I see how much she cares.

  “I don’t need your help,” I grumble like a schoolboy.

  I, too, wear a mask. I want to tell her nothing in the world matters more than she does. That I would suffer a wound like this every day of my immortal life if it meant she would be there to scold me.

  “This is all quite touching,” Arjun interjects, “but we need to find a way to remove the arrow from Bastien’s arm so we can bloody well get out of here before the twig men decide to return with a battalion of branches.” He drops his voice to a whisper. “It’s foolish for us to stay in one place for so long.” His fingers dig around my wound as he tries to determine the angle of entry, causing me to flinch. “The silver doesn’t appear to be against the bone,” he murmurs. “But I don’t think prying it out is the answer. Perhaps it would be easier if we simply push it through.”

  “Easier for whom?” I say in an acerbic tone.

  “Don’t be a child,” Arjun says, and tsks at me. “It’s unbecoming of an immortal prince. Once the silver is out, your body will heal on its own, though not as quickly as usual.” He raises a brow. “Now you know what it feels like to be me. Not as strong. Not as fast. But mad as hell.” He rips off the rest of my shirtsleeve. “Do you find that you heal rather quickly from injuries?” he asks Celine. “Because I’ve never truly been sick or horribly injured in my entire life.”

  “Oh,” Celine realizes with a start. “You’re an ethereal, like me. Forgive me for not making the connection sooner.”

  He snorts. “Alas, I am not like you, princess. I am not the direct descendant of the Lady of the Vale, nor can I claim to possess a drop of fey royalty in my blood.”

  She frowns, then takes hold of my wounded arm as Arjun prepares to shove the arrowhead through to the other side. “I haven’t really been injured before the events of several months ago.” Her frown deepens as she looks at me. “And I can’t remember feeling horribly ill as a child.”

  Arjun grins. “I’d wager that makes you feel even guiltier,” he says to me.

  “Were you always such a prick, or—” My insult is swallowed by a howl of pain as Arjun pushes the silver arrowhead through my biceps.

  “Relax, beta,” he croons in an accent I’ve never heard him use before. “Or it will leave a scar.” A moment later, the entire arrowhead plinks to the ground, drops of bright blood trickling in its wake. Celine sets to work wrapping the wound in remnants of my shirtsleeve.

  “Why doesn’t silver seem to bother us as it does Bastien?” Celine asks Arjun while she works.

  “Silver is the Vale’s weapon against the creatures of the night,” Arjun explains. “Those of the Wyld use iron to fend off attacks from the Vale, though neither silver nor iron will cause an ethereal harm, on account of our mortal blood.”

  Celine nods, her expression pensive. “And what would happen if fey royalty of the Vale were to . . . fall in love with fey royalty of the Wyld?”

  Though Arjun is taken aback by her question, he takes pains not to show it. “It doesn’t happen,” he replies gently. “It would never be allowed. Ordinary gentry are exiled forever for such a crime. Branded blood traitors.”

  With a curt nod, Celine finishes tying the last of the bandages. Not once has she looked at me during this exchange. It is a bitter comfort to know she understands the full weight of the situation. The daughter of Lady Silla of the Vale would never be permitted to form an attachment to the immortal heir of Nicodemus Saint Germain.

  I brace myself before I take to my feet. Then I reach for Celine’s palm to help her stand.

  “We should keep moving before the twig creatures return,” I say.

  “Yes,” Celine agrees, her voice soft. Tinged with sadness.

  Arjun rolls his eyes as he washes the blood off his fingers with a handful of snow. “I said that ten minutes ago.”

  Celine quirks a brow at him. “No wonder Pippa dislikes you so. You really are an insufferable know-it-all, Arjun Desai.”

  “Who will die happy with the knowledge that Philippa Montrose talks about me behind my back,” Arjun teases.

  She laughs. “Bite your tongue and lead the way.”

  ARJUN

  They were close. Arjun knew it. He’d heard tell of this part of the Wyld. It was how he knew to direct them toward the silent, ice-capped mountain at the heart of the wintry land. The same mountain that, years ago, had provided those of the Wyld with such untold wealth.

  Still Arjun was unprepared for the sight.

  The Ice Palace rose from a large clearing deep in the forest of skeletal trees. Its blue turrets reflected the moonlight, causing the entire structure to glow. Ghostly fey roamed beneath its parapets in tattered rags, many of them hoping to beg for scraps from whatever warlord currently ruled the roost.

  As the trio neared the edifice, details began to emerge. Many of the castle’s crenellated walls were chipped near the top from where birds with beaks of solid ice had pecked at them. No one stood guard outside the lowered drawbridge, positioned over a river of solid ice, its surface frozen into sharpened crags that would impale any creature unlucky enough to plunge toward it.

  From a distance, the castle looked grand. Up close, it was anything but. The neglect was obvious. A stark contrast to the polished warmth of the Summer Court of the Sylvan Vale.

  All three of them kept their hands on the weapons concealed in their cloaks as they crossed the drawbridge.

  Celine stifled a scream when they strode into the courtyard. To the right was a pack of ice jackals feasting on the carcass of a black horse with wings like those of a giant bat. Her scream was not merely because of the sight of blood and ca
rnage or the smell of salt and iron and shredded entrails.

  It was clear the horse was still alive. Its red eyes blinked slowly, the breath wheezing from its throat.

  For an instant, Arjun’s thoughts drifted to Jae, who’d been locked in a silver cage on Nicodemus’ orders two nights ago. True to form, Nicodemus had been quick to pronounce his sentence: the final death. Jae’s siblings had protested, Hortense most vehemently. As a result, Nicodemus had agreed to stay Jae’s execution for a few days to give them time.

  Though Arjun did not delude himself to think that mercy was in the cards for the Court of the Lions’ erstwhile assassin.

  Without a word, Celine glided forward and offered the dark horse much-needed mercy, using the short dirk in her hand. The ice jackals reared back and began yipping at her in fury. Their eyes glowed white, their maws covered in bright red blood.

  Bastien pulled her close as Arjun brandished the silver blade in his hand. “Easy, now. No one wants to wind up a puddle in the castle courtyard.” He took a step back, directing Bastien and Celine to move in his shadow. His foot nudged something as he moved. Arjun reached for a discarded bone and threw it over the horse’s carcass. The jackals leapt for it and were soon distracted by the ensuing frenzy.

  “Don’t do that again,” Arjun said under his breath to Celine. “Even if you are a princess of the Vale, don’t interfere with anything you see happening here. Your mother holds no sway in the Sylvan Wyld. Anything in this place will kill you with the same effort it takes to look at you. And chollima like that one”—he gestured toward the dead horse—“love to feast on mortal flesh. Don’t be deceived by their beauty.”

  She winced. “I’m sorry. I just—I couldn’t let it suffer.”

  “I know,” Arjun said. “We’ll say a prayer for it later. After we escape in one piece.” He looked over his shoulder and saw Bastien standing to one side, his lips pressed together, his expression troubled.

  “No,” Arjun said. “We don’t have time for one of your crises of conscience.”