by Bailey Dark
“Can you do that?” She looks surprised.
I place a hand on her knee and squeeze lightly. “The country was stagnant for a thousand years; it can be stagnant for another day.”
Verity blushes softly and falls silent as we pass through the castle gates. The road to Desmarais is a decline, lined with tall trees and lamplights. There are a few wagons trundling down the road, returning from bringing goods to the castle. Verity leans forward, her face halfway out the window so she can take it all in. I feel a pang of regret that this is the first time verity has been out of the castle walls with permission. She was trapped like a little bird for so long. But there was no helping it; the Bloodbane witches would have killed her otherwise.
The wagons pull off the road to allow us to pass, they recognize the royal sigil on the doors. The castle slowly disappears above us, perched on a cliff that overlooks the city. Verity peers up at it, taking in the buttresses and elegant towers.
“Verity,” I say softly as the scent of delicate spices reaches my nose. She turns at the sound of my voice and her eyes widen as she notices the sight laid out before her. “Welcome to Desmarais, the City of Glass.”
Her lips are parted softly as we enter the outskirts of the city. The City of Glass is not named so because of its architecture or building materials, but rather because of the bright and pearlescent light that shines in the night and day. It glows merrily with lamplight that reflects off of the white stucco of the buildings. Verity’s hands clutch the windowsill as she stares at the crowds of Fae wandering through the shopping streets. The road is lined with buildings packed side by side with large windows displaying baked goods, jewels, clothes, and more. Fae children dart between the carriages that wander down the road. She gasps at the sight of them and points.
I laugh. “Yes, there are children.”
“How old?” She asks, her voice breathless with delight.
I peek out the window and squint at the children. “I would guess maybe seventy-five years old.”
“Seventy-five,” she echoes. She bursts into bright laughter and my heart warms at the sound. “They’re older than me.”
“It’s been a long time since I heard you laugh,” I murmur.
She glances at me, startled, and then bites her lip. “It’s been a long time since I’ve laughed at all.”
Wordlessly, I move across the carriage to sit beside her. She edges closer to the wall, away from me, pain lances through my chest but I try to ignore the subtle distance. I lean over her and point out the window, showing her the different sights of Desmarais.
“What’s that?” Verity asks, pointing to a tall, white spire in the distance.
“That’s the Library of Desmarais,” I say. “It has the greatest collection of knowledge in the world.”
“I thought your private library was impressive,” she whistles softly. “I’d love to see it.”
I smile. A visit to the library would be perfect for Verity. “Perhaps another day, they aren’t open to the public. Even I have to arrange a visit beforehand.”
“But you’re the King,” she says incredulously.
“Yes, but they’re the librarians.” I grin, nudging her shoulder gently. I peek out the window in time to see the window display of a famous jeweler in Desmarais. “Driver, stop here please.”
The carriage rolls to a stop and Verity looks around, worry bunching her brows. “What are you doing?”
“I wanted to visit one of my favorite stores,” I say, opening the door and crawling around her. I hop out of the carriage and onto the cobblestones. Verity bites her lip but takes my outstretched hand to leave the carriage.
“Is it alright for you to walk around like this? Out in the open?” She asks softly as the crowds of Fae go quiet.
They stare as we stride past. I lean close to her ear and when I speak, she shivers pleasantly. “Fae don’t bite. Except on occasion,” I tease her.
She purses her lips, glaring at me for a moment before suddenly lurching to the side. Panic flares in my belly as Verity presses herself into me, a soft whimper escaping her lips. I turn furious eyes on the Fae who startled her. But it’s only an elderly Fae woman draped in a light shawl. I resist the urge to bare my teeth and, instead, only throw a protective arm around Verity.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” the woman says in a lilting voice. “I didn’t mean to startle her. I only wanted to thank the Curse-Breaker.”
Verity stiffens at the name. I run my thumb over her arm to soothe her. “Lady Chastain,” I say to the Fae. “You may call her Lady Chastain.”
“Lady Chastain, you have my gratitude.” The woman’s voice trembles.
Verity nods. “It was nothing,” she stammers.
Without another word, I lead Verity away from the Fae woman. Slowly, the Fae turn their attention away from us, having gotten their fill of the King and his Curse-Breaker. Verity detaches herself from me, wincing as pain lances through her belly. I glance back at the carriage, where her cane is tucked away.
“I’ll get your cane,” I say, turning away partially.
She latches onto my arm. “No,” she says firmly. “I’m fine.”
“Verity,” I murmur.
“Show me the store, I want to see.” She turns away from the carriage stubbornly.
I take her arm and show her to a jeweler renowned for his detail and artistry. The white of Desmarais is practically glowing under the sun. The glass windows of the shop glitter brilliantly as the sun strikes the jewels on display.
She blanches nervously at the decadent jewelry in the windows, but I push through the blue door and bring her into the elegant shop. The jeweler, a Fae man named Tinle, scurries from the back. His eyes widen as he takes me in. I extend a hand to him, grinning.
“Tinle, it’s been a long time,” I say warmly.
He bows before accepting my outstretched hand. “Your Grace, you do me a great honor.”
“Tinle, I’d like you to meet Verity Chastain. Verity, this is the world’s greatest jewel artist,” I say.
Tinle scoffs in forced humility but doesn’t deny my words. Verity dips her chin. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“And you,” Tinle says, his keen eyes roving over her. “What can I do for you, Your Grace?”
“I’m looking for something unique, something one of a kind for Verity,” I say, following him to one of his display cases.
Tinle nods understandingly and disappears into the back. Verity tugs at my sleeve. “What are you doing?” She hisses under her breath.
“Buying you a gift.” I smile, knowing that she’ll only continue to protest.
“You don’t have to,” she says, a strain to her voice.
“I want to,” I say firmly. I meet her gaze and squeeze her hand. “Let me, it’s for my own benefit really. You would be doing me a favor.”
She purses her lips. “Alright, but nothing too expensive.”
“Verity,” I murmur, leaning closer to her. “I have a thousand years of unspent gold, a thousand years of savings. I could buy you the world.”
She gapes as Tinle returns, carrying a small silver box. He lays it gently on the display case and opens it with reverence. My lips part as I take in the delicate silver chain, studded with precious gems the color of my eyes.
Tinle grins, obviously pleased at my reaction. “It’s amber,” he says proudly.
“Fossilized tree sap?” Verity cocks a brow.
Tinle bristles. “Not just any amber. These particular stones were cut from amber found along the banks of the elusive Motabilem River.”
I loose a breath, impressed. “And how were they acquired?”
“By an agent of mine many centuries ago. I’ve kept them locked up tight until the right buyer came along,” Tinle explains.
“I don’t understand.” Verity glances between the two of us. “Why does this river make the amber more precious?”
“It’s a moving river,” I say.
“All rivers move,” she
says pointedly.
I chuckle. “No, the river is never in the same place. One day it could be deep in the mountains beyond our border, and the next, it could be south, pouring into the Azul sea. It might spend weeks in the Nubes Forest and then two days in Meridianam.”
Her brows furrow. “How is it possible?”
I shrug. “No one knows.”
Tinle straightens his shoulders. “As you can see, the gems are very precious.”
“But how do we know they truly are from the Mo-,” she trails off and then purses her lips. “This river?”
“Verity,” I murmur. “Tinle is a man of great integrity.”
Tinle lifts the necklace and hands Verity a delicate magnifying glass. “Look at the gem.” He waits for her to peer at the stone. “Do you see the swirls of white in the gem? It’s subtle, difficult to see.”
“I see it,” Verity says.
“The Motabilem River is unique in that its waters carry a strange liquid, which we can only assume is related to the magical way the river appears wherever it likes.” Tinle drapes the necklace back in the box. “The presence of that material in the amber itself is an indication that it was taken from the banks of the Motabilem River.”
Verity bites her lip. “I see. I meant no offense.”
“It’s alright,” Tinle says. “You’re mortal. You couldn’t have known.”
Verity’s hands clench into fists at her sides, out of sight of Tinle. “Yes, I am mortal.”
I slip my fingers into her clenched fists, forcing her hand to relax. “It’s perfect, Tinle. I’ll take it.”
Tinle beams and rattles off a price. “Thank you, Your Grace.” He bows as I pass him a purse of gold coin.
With Verity’s hand in mine, we duck back out into the street, the silver box safely tucked in my pocket. I help her back into the carriage, noticing the way she visibly relaxes when she’s finally out of sight of the Fae in the streets. Night is falling; the roads will soon be filled with Fae celebrations that last long into the night. I smirk, picturing the wild parties that stretch into the early dawn. Verity isn’t quite ready for that yet. I eye her as she peers out the window. Maybe someday, but it will have to be a slow introduction.
As the carriage moves on, I settle next to Verity. I put the box in my lap and turn to her. “Turn around,” I murmur.
She does as I say, peeking over her shoulder. I brush her hair away gently, my fingers grazing over her lovely porcelain skin. She shudders as I trail my touch over the sharp bones in her neck. If things were different between us, I might press my lips to the back of her neck in a soft kiss. But I won’t press her; not when things are so delicate between us.
I drape the necklace over her head until it’s settled against her chest. I clasp it, securing it around her neck. Reluctantly, I drop my hands away from her neck and back into my lap. She settles back against the seat and stares down at the necklace on her breast. She runs her hands over the amber stones.
“The color is the same as your eyes,” she says softly.
“Is it?” I feign ignorance. “I hardly noticed.”
She looks at me suspiciously but then her lips quirk into a smile. “I had no idea this world was so vast and diverse.”
“Well, you’ve only seen a very small corner of it. My kingdom is small in comparison to others as well,” I explain. “There’s so much to see.”
Verity fingers one of the gems. “I’d like to see this river someday.”
“Perhaps I can take you,” I say, hope swelling in my chest. This is what we need. We need more than my curse to build a relationship on. A thirst for adventure will do. I imagine Verity by my side as we take on the world and grin to myself. She’s the only one I would want beside me.
“If you have time,” she murmurs. “Being King has kept you busy.”
I press my lips together in a thin line. “I’m sorry, Verity.”
She falls silent and closes her eyes, as if she’s tired. I wait for her to speak, but her lips never part. I leave her and drop my head back against the seat. I will do anything in my power to bring back a smile to Verity’s face. I will chase her demons over the ends of the earth to bring her joy again. Something is eating at her, and I need to find out what.
Chapter 3
Cleo
The wind howls through the mountains like a banshee hailing death’s arrival. I smile as a pleasant chill trails down my spine. My red cloak snaps in the breeze, the hood flying off to expose my pale blonde hair. In the distance, I can see the night beasts crawling out from the crags in the mountains as the sun sets.
The appearance of the night beasts from their dark and shadowy hiding places always heralds the sunset. They waste no time, even adventuring into dim sunlight to sate their bloodlust. I grin slyly to myself as I watch a pack of them dart after a stray deer. When I was young and free of responsibility, I would follow the hunts on my deadwood broom, just for the joy of seeing the night beasts tear apart their prey’s necks.
But there is no more time to waste staring into the barren mountains. Not when Maaz has need of me. I whirl around and stalk back into the Bloodbane keep. A massive fortress built directly into the mountainside; the keep is a monolithic structure of dark grey stone. The walls are huge slabs of stone with few windows. The halls are lit with torches and flaming chandeliers hanging from the tall ceilings. Dark and foreboding, it has been my home for hundreds of years.
I sweep through the halls, past the novice Bloodbane witches that mop the floors and serve us. They bow their heads nervously as I pass but I ignore them. Maaz may have the time and appetite to torture our younger sisters, but I find such obvious entertainment lacking in substance. I prefer unexpected and unpredictable cruelty.
Maaz is in the Holy Rite. I’ve kept her waiting for an hour. She didn’t bother to summon me herself, so I won’t bother to do as she commands until it pleases me. The Bloodbane nature is one of obstinance and conflict. It’s in our blood.
The Holy Rite is in the top of the keep in the center tower. I sweep up the stairs, glancing through the slivers of windows out into the mountain night. Soon, the night creatures will crawl from the crevices and gullies up the keep walls and we will delight in flaying them. But before then, I must speak with Maaz.
I push open the heavy iron doors and step reverently into the Holy Rite. The room is circular, with giant pillars surrounding the Blood Well in the center. Large doors on either side of the room lead out into the balcony that surrounds the room. The doors are shut now, blocking the heavy winds and rain and the night creatures from creeping into our holiest of places. Torches line the room, filling it with a red glow.
Maaz is in the center, kneeling before the Blood Well. My footsteps are silent as I pad towards her. Her pale blonde hair is braided in a complicated strand, her cloak discarded on the ground next to her. I can feel my blade strapped to my thigh and I imagine how easy it would be to slice into her flesh while she looks away.
Her head snaps towards me when I’m within arm’s reach. Her cold blue eyes study me imperiously. “Nice of you to join me, Cleo,” she says.
“I am yours to command, sister,” I sneer.
She looks away and tilts her chin to the Blood Well. Above it, Sadal Melik’s symbol hangs from a heavy chain. No one knows Sadal’s true form. When he appears before us, he takes whatever form he wishes. The Bloodbane have depicted him as a seven-horned crocodile for thousands and thousands of years. “Kneel before the Master,” she whispers.
I grimace, slipping my gaze towards the empty Blood Well. Maaz is the most devout of our sisterhood. I’ve never understood her devotion to Sadal. “He isn’t one for piousness,” I quip. “Tell me why you’ve brought me here.”
“I have failed,” Maaz says under her breath. She runs a hand over the rough stone at the lip of the Blood Well.
I narrow my eyes, staring down at her. I told Maaz many years ago when she first cursed Altair that he was not hers to toy with. But she insisted on giving him
a thousand years to break his curse. And now he’s gone and done it at the last minute. My lip curls as I stare at Maaz’s distraught back. She’s a fool. I stay silent, waiting for Maaz to speak. I have nothing to say that could bring her any comfort.
“I have failed my sisters and I have failed my Master,” she mumbles. I watch as she withdraws a knife from her thin shift. She holds it over her narrow wrist. “I am not fit to be the Master’s bride.”
She plunges the knife to her skin while I grin. I let her draw a drop of blood before snatching the dagger from her hand. She gasps and glowers up at me. “Don’t be such a fool,” I snap. “If Sadal wanted you dead you wouldn’t be kneeling before the Blood Well.”
Bloodbane that disappoint or betray our Master are often found in a pool of their own blood in the bottom of the shallow Blood Well with no clues as to how they came to be there. Sadal wouldn’t be pleased if Maaz took her own life. He would consider it a stolen life – that he was robbed of punishing her himself. I stare back up at the crocodile head hanging above us. It grins down at me with sharp iron teeth.
“Give me my dagger so I can follow His will,” Maaz snarls.
I toss the dagger between my hands. Maaz has always had a flair for the dramatic, it’s part of what made her such a great ruler for the Bloodbane. Most Bloodbane queens barely survive three hundred years before they’re murdered by another. But not Maaz. She’s far too clever for that. I prefer to keep my head, so I play my part in the background of the tapestry of life. Maaz could never bear to be out of the spotlight. I study the streak of blood on the blade.
“You haven’t a fool’s idea of what his will is, Maaz,” I say coolly. “You haven’t spoken to him for a thousand years, not since he told you his plans for the Fae.”
She stiffens. “I know what Sadal requires of those who fail him.”
“So you plan to give up then?” I quip, tossing her the blade. “Such a shame that his First Bride is too weak to try again.”
Maaz narrows her eyes at me. “Why do you care if I live or die? The rest of our sisters would have plunged the blade into my heart with a smile.”
