by Julie Kagawa
“But there is,” she intoned. “There is a way to open man’s eyes to us once again. The Veil between Faery and the mortal world keeps us hidden. Keeps humans blind to the Nevernever and all the creatures who live there. It separates the two worlds so they can never meet.” She raised a thin, pale hand, opening an empty fist. “If the Veil were suddenly...gone, the mortal realm and the Nevernever would merge. The hidden world would no longer be invisible to humans, and once they see us again, truly See us, their belief will save all exiles and Forgotten from the Fade.”
“No fucking way!” My outburst made her blink, and I clenched my fists, imagining a world where the fey ran wild, unrestrained. “That wouldn’t be salvation—that would be chaos! Complete and utter madness. People would die, go crazy. There’d be worldwide panic.”
“Yes,” the Forgotten Queen agreed. “Panic, and fear, and belief. The humans would respect us again, or at the very least, they would have to believe what their eyes told them. That the fey are real, that we exist. The Nevernever would grow strong once more, exiles would no longer be in danger of Fading, and we would at last be remembered.”
“There is no way to destroy the Veil,” Keirran said flatly.
“Oh, my dear prince,” the Lady whispered. “You and the courts are not as old as I. You have forgotten the way to tear it apart. It has never been done before, because the catalyst has not been born into this world...until now.”
“Catalyst?” I didn’t like where this was going. My heart was pounding against my ribs, and a cold chill was creeping up my back. I looked at Keirran, wondering if we could get out of here, but he stood unmoving in the Lady’s shadow, his eyes blank.
The Lady’s voice went low, soft and terrifying. “To tear the Veil asunder,” she crooned, as if reciting something from memory, “on the night of the full moon, one must stand at the site of an ancient power and sacrifice the life of a mortal with the Sight, one who is bound by blood to all courts of Faery. Kin to Summer, Winter and now Iron. With this sacrifice, the Veil will lift, and mortals will be able to see the hidden world, by the blood of the One. Sibling, brother-in-law...” She looked right at me with depthless black eyes. “Uncle.”
No. My hands were shaking, and I took a staggering step back, looking around. The Forgotten were closing in on us, stepping across the toadstools into the circle, glowing eyes fastened on me. My stomach turned. Me. They wanted me. I was the sacrifice. The mortal whose blood tied him to all three courts. The one who would usher in an age of madness and chaos and terror, when all humans suddenly realized the fey were real.
Screw that.
I drew my swords with a raspy screech as Keirran did the same. I whirled to face the horde, standing back-to-back with Keirran, as the Forgotten glided closer. So many of them. But I wasn’t going down without a fight.
“Ethan Chase.” From the corner of my eye, I saw that the Lady had drifted back. “I must apologize to you once more. I am saddened that you must die for the rest of us to live, but know that your sacrifice will save thousands of lives. The fey will no longer live in fear. Exiles, Forgotten, even the Nevernever...we will all live on because of you.”
The Forgotten were nearly on us, a silent, deadly swarm, and the Lady’s words had faded into jumbled background noise. “Keirran,” I muttered, reaching for that calm, that eerie peace I got right before battle. The Iron Prince stood rigid at my back, not moving a muscle. “What’s it look like on your side? Can we fight our way through?”
“Ethan?”
His voice was strange, almost choked. A shiver went through him, and I glanced back, frowning. “What?”
“I’m sorry.”
He turned, just as I did, and ran me through with his sword.
Sound cut out. Movement faded around us. My mouth gaped open, but nothing escaped but a strangled gasp. Keirran, standing very close, stared over my shoulder, one arm around my neck, the other near my gut. I looked down to see his hand gripping the sword hilt, held flush against my stomach.
No. This...couldn’t be real; the blade didn’t even hurt that much. I looked up at Keirran, still staring at the horizon over my shoulder, and tried to say something. But my voice was frozen inside me.
“Keir...ran.” Even that was excruciatingly difficult, and a warm stream of blood ran down my neck from my mouth. “Why?” Keirran closed his eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered and ripped the blade from my stomach. That brought on the pain I knew I should be feeling, a blaze of agony erupting from my middle, like the ribbons of blood arching into the air. I grabbed my stomach, feeling warmth spill over my fingers, making them slick. I glanced down to see my hands completely covered in red.
This isn’t happening. The ground swayed beneath me. I fell to my knees, seeing blackness crawl along the edge of my vision. Looking up, I saw Keirran gazing down on me, the Lady standing behind him. His face was tormented, but as I watched, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and when he opened them again, Keirran was gone. The cold stranger stared down at me, his face a mask of stone.
“Goodbye, Ethan,” he whispered, and the Lady put a hand on his shoulder and turned him away. I tried calling out, but the world tilted, and I collapsed, seeing only a skewed view of the distant horizon, shrinking rapidly at the end of a tunnel. Somewhere far away, I thought I heard hoofbeats, a faint rumble getting steadily closer.
Then the tunnel closed, the blackness flooded in and I knew nothing more.
* * * * *
If you love Julie Kagawa’s cinematic writing, unforgettable characters and unique worlds, turn the page to read an exclusive excerpt from her next novel, THE FOREVER SONG, Book 3 of the thrilling BLOOD OF EDEN dystopian trilogy. Coming May 2014 from Harlequin TEEN.
If you loved The Iron Traitor, don’t miss the rest of the Iron Fey series by New York Times bestselling author Julie Kagawa, available wherever ebooks are sold.
The Iron King (Book 1)
Winter’s Passage (ebook novella)
The Iron Daughter (Book 2)
The Iron Queen (Book 3)
Summer’s Crossing (ebook novella)
The Iron Knight (Book 4)
Iron’s Prophecy (ebook novella)
The Lost Prince (Book 5)
Check out Julie’s dystopian stories The Immortal Rules and The Eternity Cure, the first two books in the Blood of Eden series, available now.
Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!
Other ways to keep in touch:
Subscribe to our newsletter: Harlequin.com/newsletters
Like us on Facebook: Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks
Follow us on Twitter: Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks
Read our blog for all the latest news on our authors and books: HarlequinBlog.com
CHAPTER ONE
The outpost gate creaked softly in the wind, swinging back on its hinges. It knocked lightly against the wall, a rhythmic tapping sound that echoed in the looming silence. Through the gap, the scent of blood lay on the air like a heavy blanket.
“He’s been here,” Kanin murmured at my side. I didn’t have to look at my sire to know what he was thinking. The Master vampire was a dark statue against the falling snow, motionless and calm, but his eyes were grave. I regarded the fence impassively, the wind tugging at my coat and straight black hair.
“Is there any point in going in?”
“Sarren knows we’re following him” was the low reply. “He meant for us to see this. He wants us to know that he knows. There will likely be something waiting for us when we step through the gates.”
Footsteps crunched over the snow as Jackal stalked around us, black duster rippling behind him. His eyes glowed a vicious yellow as he peered up at the gate, smirking. “Well, then,” he said, the tips of his fangs showing through his grin, “if he went through all the trouble of setting this up, we shouldn’t keep the psycho waiting, should we?”
He started
forward, his step confident, striding through the broken gate toward the tiny settlement beyond. After a moment’s hesitation, Kanin and I followed.
Nothing moved on the narrow path that snaked between houses. The flimsy wood and tin shanties were silent, dark, as we ventured deeper, passing snow-covered porches and empty chairs. Everything looked intact, undisturbed. There were no bodies. No corpses mutilated in their beds, no blood spattered over the walls of the few homes we ducked into. There weren’t even any dead animals in the tiny, trampled pasture past the main strip. Just snow, and dark, and emptiness.
And yet, the smell of blood soaked this place, making my stomach ache and the Hunger roar to life. I bit it down, clenching my jaw to keep from snarling in frustration. It had been too long. I needed food. The scent was driving me crazy, and the fact that there were no humans here made me furious. Where were they? It wasn’t possible that an entire outpost of mortals would up and disappear without a trace.
And then, as we followed the path around the pasture and up to the huge barn at the top of the rise, we found the townspeople.
A massive, barren tree stood beside the barn, twisted branches clawing at the sky. They creaked and swayed beneath the weight of dozens of bodies, hanging upside down from ropes tied to the limbs. Men, women, even a few kids, swinging in the breeze, dangling arms stiff and white. Their throats had been cut, and the base of the tree was stained black, the blood spilled and wasted in the snow. But the smell nearly knocked me over regardless, and I clenched my fists, the Hunger raking my insides with fiery talons.
“Well,” Jackal muttered, crossing his arms and gazing up at the tree, “isn’t that festive.” His voice was tight, as if he, too, was on the edge of losing it. “I’m guessing this is the reason we haven’t found a single bloodbag from here all the way back to New Covington.” He growled, shaking his head, lips curling back from his fangs. “This guy is really starting to piss me off.”
I swallowed the Hunger, trying to focus through the gnawing ache. “Why, James, don’t tell me you feel sorry for the walking meatsacks,” I taunted, because sometimes, goading Jackal was the only thing that kept my mind off everything else. He snorted and rolled his eyes.
“No, sister, I’m annoyed because they don’t have the decency to be alive so I can eat them,” he returned with a flash of fangs and a rare show of temper. Glaring at the tree, he stared at the bodies hungrily. “Fucking Sarren,” he muttered. “If I didn’t want the psychopath dead so badly I would say the hell with it. If this keeps up, we’re going to have to break off the trail to find a meatsack whose throat hasn’t been slit, which is probably what the bastard wants.” He sighed, giving me an exasperated look. “This would be so much easier if you hadn’t killed the Jeep.”
“For the last time,” I growled at him, “I just pointed out the street that wasn’t blocked off. I didn’t leave those nails in the road for you to drive over.”
“Allison.”
Kanin’s quiet voice broke through our argument, and we turned. Our sire stood at one corner of the barn, his face grim as he beckoned us forward. With a last glance at the tree and its grisly contents, I walked over to him, feeling the sharp stab of Hunger once more. The barn reeked of blood, even more than the branches of the tree. Probably because one whole wall of the building was streaked with it, dried and black, painted in vertical lines up and down the wood.
“Let’s keep moving,” Kanin said in a low voice when Jackal and I joined him. His voice was calm, though I knew he was just as Hungry as the rest of us. Maybe more so, since he was still recovering from his near-death experience in New Covington. “There are no survivors here,” Kanin went on, with a solemn look back at the tree. “And we are running out of time. Sarren is expecting us.”
“How do you figure, old man?” Jackal inquired, following me to the side of the barn. “Yeah, this is the psycho’s handiwork, but he could’ve done this just for the jollies. You sure he knows we’re coming?”
Kanin didn’t answer, just gestured to the blood-streaked wall beside us. I looked over, as did Jackal, but didn’t see anything unusual. Beyond a wall completely covered in blood, that is.
But Jackal gave a low, humorless chuckle. “Oh, you bastard.” He shook his head and stared up at the barn. “That’s cute. Let’s see if you’re as funny when I’m beating you to death with your own arm.”
“What?” I asked, obviously missing something. I stared at the barn again, wondering what the other vampires saw that I didn’t. “What’s so funny? I don’t see anything.”
Jackal sighed, stepped behind me and hooked the back of my collar, pulling me away from the wall.
“Hey!” I snarled, fighting him. “Let go! What the hell are you doing?”
He ignored me, continuing to walk backward, dragging me with him. We were about a dozen paces away from the wall before he stopped and I yanked myself from his grip. “What is your problem?” I demanded, baring fangs. Jackal silently pointed back to the barn.
I glanced at the wall again and stiffened. Now that I was farther away, I could see what Kanin and Jackal were talking about.
Sarren, I thought, the cold, familiar hate spreading through my insides. You sick bastard. This won’t stop me, and it won’t save you. When I find you, you’ll regret ever hearing my name.
Painted across the side of the barn, written in bloody letters about ten feet tall, was a question. One that proved, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Sarren knew we were coming. And that we were probably walking right into some kind of trap.
HUNGRY YET?
Copyright © 2013 by Julie Kagawa
Keep reading for an excerpt from THE LOST PRINCE by Julie Kagawa.
CHAPTER ONE
NEW KID
My name is Ethan Chase.
And I doubt I’ll live to see my eighteenth birthday.
That’s not me being dramatic; it just is. I just wish I hadn’t pulled so many people into this mess. They shouldn’t have to suffer because of me. Especially…her. God, if I could take back anything in my life, I would never have shown her my world, the hidden world all around us. I knew better than to let her in. Once you see Them, they’ll never leave you alone. They’ll never let you go. Maybe if I’d been strong, she wouldn’t be here with me as our seconds tick away, waiting to die.
It all started the day I transferred to a new school. Again.
* * *
The alarm clock went off at 6:00 a.m., but I had been awake for an hour, getting ready for another day in my weird, screwed-up life. I wish I was one of those guys who roll out of bed, throw on a shirt and are ready to go, but sadly, my life isn’t that normal. For instance, today I’d filled the side pockets of my backpack with dried Saint-John’s-wort and stuffed a canister of salt in with my pens and notebook. I’d also driven three nails into the heels of the new boots Mom had bought me for the semester. I wore an iron cross on a chain beneath my shirt, and just last summer I’d gotten my ears pierced with metal studs. Originally, I’d gotten a lip ring and an eyebrow bar, too, but Dad had thrown a roof-shaking fit when I came home like that, and the studs were the only things I’d been allowed to keep.
Sighing, I spared a quick glance at myself in the mirror, making sure I looked as unapproachable as possible. Sometimes, I catch Mom looking at me sadly, as if she wonders where her little boy went. I used to have curly brown hair like Dad, until I took a pair of scissors and hacked it into jagged, uneven spikes. I used to have bright blue eyes like Mom and, apparently, like my sister. But over the years, my eyes have become darker, changing to a smoky-blue-gray—from constant glaring, Dad jokes. I never used to sleep with a knife under my mattress, salt around my windows, and a horseshoe over my door. I never used to be “brooding” and “hostile” and “impossible.” I used to smile more, and laugh. I rarely do any of that now.
I know Mom worries about me. Dad says it’s normal teenage rebellion, that I’m going through a “phase,” and that I’ll grow out of it. Sorry, Dad. But my life is far
from normal. And I’m dealing with it the only way I know how.
“Ethan?” Mom’s voice drifted into the room from beyond the door, soft and hesitant. “It’s past six. Are you up?”
“I’m up.” I grabbed my backpack and swung it over my white shirt, which was inside out, the tag poking up from the collar. Another small quirk my parents have gotten used to. “I’ll be right out.”
Grabbing my keys, I left my room with that familiar sense of resignation and dread stealing over me. Okay, then. Let’s get this day over with.
I have a weird family.
You’d never know it by looking at us. We seem perfectly normal; a nice American family living in a nice suburban neighborhood, with nice clean streets and nice neighbors on either side. Ten years ago we lived in the swamps, raising pigs. Ten years ago we were poor, backwater folk, and we were happy. That was before we moved into the city, before we joined civilization again. My dad didn’t like it at first; he’d spent his whole life as a farmer. It was hard for him to adjust, but he did, eventually. Mom finally convinced him that we needed to be closer to people, that I needed to be closer to people, that the constant isolation was bad for me. That was what she told Dad, of course, but I knew the real reason. She was afraid. She was afraid of Them, that They would take me away again, that I would be kidnapped by faeries and taken into the Nevernever.
Yeah, I told you, my family is weird. And that’s not even the worst of it.
Somewhere out there, I have a sister. A half sister I haven’t seen in years, and not because she’s busy or married or across the ocean in some other country.
No, it’s because she’s a queen. A faery queen, one of Them, and she can’t ever come home.
Tell me that’s not messed up.
Of course, I can’t ever tell anyone. To normal humans, the fey world is hidden—glamoured and invisible. Most people wouldn’t see a goblin if it sauntered up and bit them on the nose. There are very few mortals cursed with the Sight, who can see faeries lurking in dark corners and under beds. Who know that the creepy feeling of being watched isn’t just their imagination, and that the noises in the cellar or the attic aren’t really the house settling.
