Promise of Darkness (Dark Court Rising Book 1)

by Bec McMaster

  He escorts me inside, and I can feel the tension in his silence. We haven’t touched since that day. Nor have we kissed. Sometimes he looks at me as if he’s still silently counting how many kisses I owe him, but I haven’t dared broach the subject.

  I needed time, and he gave it to me.

  The others are gathered in the audience chamber.

  “Welcome, my princess,” Finn says, bowing again as if we’re meeting for the first time. I don’t know where he’s been, but it wasn’t in the city.

  “Is he always like this?” I ask Thalia.

  “Always,” she admits, rolling her eyes. “Finn would flirt with your dead grandmother.”

  Eris mutters into her wine, “Though his favorite flirtation is with the mirror.”

  Finn shakes his head.

  “I can’t quite remember why I missed you, Princess,” he says. “Or these moments where the three of you decide to cast such vile lies upon my innocent ears.”

  “Someone has to contain your enormous sense of arrogance,” Eris tells him.

  “And that someone is you?” he asks coolly, stealing her wineglass and draining it before she even has a chance to snatch for it. “If you were any other woman, I’d be questioning just what your fascination with challenging my pride is.”

  “It’s a good thing I’m not any other woman,” she points out, just as coolly. “And it amuses me, nothing more.”

  “Nothing less,” Finn murmurs.

  Eris looks like she wants to stab him.

  Thalia gives me a quelling look that clearly says we’ll speak about it later and tucks my arm through hers. “We’ve all missed you, Vi. Thiago said you needed time to recover, but I was starting to suspect he’d locked you away so he could have you all to himself.”

  I can’t deny her words.

  They must assume we…. That everything is back to the way it was.

  “I have news,” Thiago announces, as if he’s eager to divert their attention too. “Finn managed to rendezvous with Cian along the borders.”

  So that’s where he was.

  “And?” Baylor asks.

  He doesn’t join the teasing, and I can’t help noticing he sits a little way away from the others.

  “Cian claims Angharad is sending her hunters south to search for something called leanabh an dàn,” Finn says. “She’s satisfied with her progress with Mistmere, but apparently this leanabh an dàn is a crucial step in her plans. She needs to get her hands on it.”

  Baylor’s tapping fingers still. “Are you sure that’s what she called it?”

  “He’s sure,” Thiago replies.

  I wrap my arms around my middle, uncomfortable at the thought of trusting one of the Unseelie. “Can we trust him? What if it’s a trap?”

  “We can trust him,” Thiago replies. “His loyalty is to me.” He turns back to Baylor. “My knowledge of the Old Tongue is rusty with disuse. I’m translating it as child of destiny, but I’m not sure what that means.”

  Baylor scrubs at his mouth.

  I’ve been trying to avoid him since he arrived, but his eyes shift to me as if he’s aware of it.

  “There’s an old myth that there were children born from the seed of the Old Ones,” he says. “The children of destiny. Of fate. Of power. But…. They were hunted to death once the wars were over.”

  “But aren’t the Old Ones locked away?”

  “Why do we light the bonfires on Lammastide?” Baylor asks. “Why do we sing the old songs on Samhain? Why do the stones guard the Hallows?”

  My mouth tastes dry. “Because the Veils thin on those nights, and their prison worlds align with ours.”

  “It’s rumored that the Old Ones can walk this world twice a year,” he continues. “Beltane and Samhain. Their powers are muted, and they’re forced to return by morning or risk seeing their soul cleaved from their bodies, but it’s possible.”

  “We bound their souls to the prison world,” Finn explains. “It’s how they were trapped. Their souls cannot pass the Veil.”

  “Am I the only one in this room who wasn’t born when they walked the world?” I ask.

  Everyone exchanges a look.

  Baylor, Finn, and Thiago have clearly known each other for years. There’s a hint of brotherhood between them, though Thiago is clearly the leader.

  “I wasn’t,” Eris says gruffly. “But I’ve seen the ruins and heard the stories. It’s enough to know they shouldn’t return.”

  Thalia shrugs. “Nor was I, though I missed it by a matter of a year.”

  “So somewhere out there, a child was born from one of the Old Ones,” Thiago murmurs, a strange intensity lighting his eyes. “Perhaps even several children. And Angharad wants to get her hands on one of them.”

  “What would that mean?” Eris demands. “What sort of threat are we looking at?”

  “The Old Ones were immensely powerful, their magic drawing upon the ley lines,” he replies. “Any child could potentially do the same.”

  “We’d be facing them again,” Finn says, looking horrified.

  I hold my hands up. “We don’t know that any child would be a threat.”

  “How could they not be?” Baylor demands.

  “I’m not as concerned with any child,” Thiago says. “If they’re out there, then they haven’t yet reached their full potential or we’d know of it. No, I’m more interested in what Angharad wants with them.”

  “Their power,” Eris snorts.

  “Their ability to control the ley lines,” adds Finn.

  “Their link to the Old Ones,” Baylor says quietly.

  It’s this last statement that causes the room to fall quiet.

  “Could they do that?” I ask.

  “The Old Ones had worshippers who could act as a conduit of their powers,” Thiago replies. “I don’t see why any child of theirs wouldn’t be able to serve the same purpose.” He frowns. “Angharad worshipped the Horned One. If she wants this child—these children—then it’s for a purpose that bodes ill.”

  I know enough to know the Horned One is the last Old One the world wants to see again. The Unseelie King, Hyperion, served as his conduit and sought to rule the world, driving his followers south to conquer the continent. Angharad was once his lover, and she’d do anything to see him resurrected.

  Though Hyperion fell in battle, Angharad stole his body away, and there are rumors she keeps him entombed on a mythical island in the north, which was warded away from the ravages of time. There he slumbers in the Gray between life and death, with his crown still resting upon his brow and his hands clasped around his sword.

  Waiting for her to restore him.

  If she somehow accesses the Horned One’s power, then she could bring Hyperion back. I never lived through the wars, but I can see them painted in a swift blur of prediction. Blood. Death. Catastrophic blasts of magic. More cities would fall. Thousands would die. The Horned Ones would walk again.

  And this time, he’d be prepared for any trap.

  “What do we do?”

  “Find the child,” Baylor says, “and kill them.”

  “No.” There has to be some other way. “How could we blame a child? It’s not its fault it was born to such vile creatures.” I turn to Thiago helplessly.

  He meets my gaze, but there’s no help there. Only cold, implacable resolve. “It’s entirely possibly any child would be an adult by now. They could even be centuries old, though I suspect we would have felt the stirrings of their magic by now if they were.”

  Is it any better to kill an adult than a child?

  Especially when they’ve done nothing wrong except for having the misfortune to be born to a cursed bloodline?

  “Ah, I see. We only protect the innocent when it suits us.”

  His lips thin. “If the loss of one innocent can prevent an entire fucking war and stop our worst nightmare from walking this world again, then yes. We could end it, Vi, before it’s already begun. All we have to do is find the child…. I see it a
s a necessary loss.”

  I press my hands on the table and lean toward him. “Well, I don’t. There’s nothing to say this offspring will help Angharad or free the Horned One. What if it uses its powers for our side?”

  “Where’s my Asturian princess now?” he demands. “Think with your head, not your heart, Vi. Angharad’s a vicious bloodsucking vulture. She doesn’t need this child’s consent. All she needs is to be able to get her hands on something that has the power and the blood link that can bring the Horned One back and resurrect Hyperion. Innocent or not, I don’t want to take that chance.”

  “You know,” I say hotly, “that’s the first time you’ve ever sounded like my mother.”

  He draws back as if slapped.

  Silence falls across the room.

  Even Eris studiously avoids my gaze.

  “I may disagree with your mother on most things,” Thiago says in a quiet, deadly voice as he pushes to his feet, “but when it comes to the Old Ones, she and I have very similar feelings. You weren’t born when they walked the earth. You don’t know war. You’ve never lost your entire family to their cults of sacrifice. All you see is a child, a single child, that might stand between an entire world and its fate. Perhaps you should consider that future? Because if we don’t make a small sacrifice now, then what sort of world will that child grow into? What sort of torture and punishment will it know if she captures it?”

  I swallow. Hard. “There has to be another way.”

  “If you think I wouldn’t take it if there was, then you don’t know me at all.” He turns away from the table, cloak flaring around his ankles as he strides toward the doors.

  They slam behind him, leaving me alone with a roomful of his allies.

  And a hard lump in my throat.

  I’m not wrong.

  I’m not.

  But neither is he.

  To rule is not a gift, one of my tutors once said, but a burden.

  “Well,” Finn says, all four feet of his chair hitting the floor as he leans forward, “that was fun.”

  “You have a warped idea of fun,” Eris mutters. “It’s not enough to face the Queen of Thorns on one flank, now we have to worry about that pasty bitch in the north and some sort of spawn with the power of the Old Ones?”

  “Eris, my love,” he says, lifting her hand to his lips. “While I adore your smile, I’ve not seen it in an age. We’re alive. We know what Angharad is planning in a general sense. And we can stop it. And of course, let us not forget the sheer entertainment gained from watching our mighty prince tremble in the wake of his princess’s wrath.”

  I share a look with Eris. “So glad I could amuse you.”

  “Oh, it’s not you that amuses me.” He winks. “I’ve watched this play out a dozen times now, and every time, it plays a different tune.”

  “Sometimes you shouldn’t open your mouth,” Eris says and rolls her eyes.

  There’s a hard lump in my throat. “I think, for once, I’m in agreement with Eris.”

  Then I turn and escape the room before my suspiciously hot eyes embarrass me.

  It’s Thalia who comes after me.

  I sit on the edge of the parapets, staring out over the golden city of Ceres. Fae bustle through the city, going about their lives completely unaware of the argument we had today.

  These fae will die if Angharad and her forces attack the city. Or perhaps they’ll march to their deaths in the north.

  We could end it, Vi, before it’s already begun. All we have to do is find the child….

  One death balanced against many. Can I even blame him for suggesting it?

  “He’s on edge,” Thalia points out, seating herself beside me. “It’s bound to make him short tempered.”

  “He’s been like this for days,” I mutter.

  She peers at me. “He’s worried about the deadline. It always wears on him.”

  There are only four weeks left until I’m to be returned to my mother. Three months sounded like such a long time when she announced this treaty, but now each day seems like the tick of a clock heralding our doom.

  Four weeks to fall in love with him.

  Four weeks in which to hope I’ll remember him when she takes me back.

  Four weeks to break this fucking curse.

  “I don’t want to hurt him,” I whisper. “But how can I let him do this to a child?”

  “It might not be a child.”

  “Does it matter?” I meet her eyes. “Whatever age it is, it’s not its fault.”

  “Why does it bother you so much?” she asks. “Your mother’s court is ruthless. She’s known for making decisions like these for the good of her people.”

  I don’t know the answer to that.

  Or maybe I do.

  “My mother’s used me as a puppet for years,” I tell her bitterly. “I know Thiago thinks this is the best course of action, but… he didn’t even think there might be another option. Nor did he ask for my opinion. He just made the decision. Judge. Jury. Executioner. I know what it’s like to be pushed and pulled on the whims of another, my life not my own.” I bow my head, resting my chin on my knees. “There’s a little piece of me that feels as though he’s talking of me when he speaks of this leanabh an dàn. Some poor bastard out there is blithely unaware his life is about to end, and for what? The pure, unfortunate luck of his birth? It’s not fair.”

  “Thiago’s never cruel.” She rests a hand on mine. “And he’s used to making these decisions by himself. I don’t think it’s deliberate. He’s never ruled with you by his side. He’s never had the chance. It’s not that he’s not listening to you.”

  “So I should just accept his judgement on this matter?”

  Of course she’s on his side. She’s his cousin.

  “Pffawh. No!” Thalia waves a hand in horror. “Let him grovel. He’ll come around once he’s had time to release some of his stress.” A grin lights her face when she sees my dubious look. Before I can move, she leans forward and hugs me. “I know you don’t remember me, but we were friends. And I love watching you twist him in knots each and every time. The pair of you were made for each other.”

  For the first time in months, I feel as though I’ve finally found an ally. Maybe some of my memories are creeping back, for I’m not normally so swift to relax around strangers, but I can’t help leaning into her hug.

  “He still seems a stranger,” I confess.

  Thalia draws back, waggling her eyebrows. “You can fix that.”

  Heat crawls up my cheeks. “Are you sure you’re not working on his side?”

  “If it’s any consolation, you seem to enjoy being in his bed as much as he does.”

  I can’t help thinking of all that naked skin on display while we were stuck in that hunting cabin.

  “Maybe I should make him grovel.”

  “On his knees,” Thalia suggests, with a wicked grin that reminds me of the prince so badly, I feel a little twinge somewhere in the vicinity of my chest.

  “Now I know the pair of you are related.”

  She laughs, then pushes to her feet and stretches. “Come on! Let’s go raid the kitchen. The head spriggan is an old friend, and I smelled the delicious waft of some of her pastries as I was heading up here.”

  That night, there’s a knock on my bedroom door.

  “Come in,” I call.

  I was expecting Thalia, come to bring me a cup of warmed milk and honey, but the prince strides in as if he’s master of my bedchamber.

  He pauses by the window, hands clasped behind his back. I owe him a kiss, but I’ve always been careful to ensure it occurs in the dining room, or the library, or even the ballroom.

  Never here, where the presence of the bed ensures an unsettling tension settles over the room.

  “What did you want?” I can’t forget our earlier argument, or the way he stormed out. Nor can I forget the aftermath of what happened in the tower.

  And neither does he, judging by the heated look in his eyes. />
  “I won’t apologize,” he says. “I have my people to think of. Every fae in this world will suffer if this leanabh an dàn isn’t found before Angharad can get her hands on him or her.”

  I close the book with a sharp little snap. “And I won’t apologize for what I said either. I do think the life of one child, one soul, is worth more than a sacrifice. Surely there has to be some other way to prevent this.”

  “Which is why I’m here,” he tells me. “I will give you two weeks to help me find this leanabh an dàn before I decide its fate—”

  “Before you decide?” Incredible.

  His eyes light with wicked fire. “Before we decide its fate. To do that, we need to know more about Angharad’s plans.”

  “Your friend Cian can’t tell you?”

  “He’s currently busy,” Thiago replies, “and I don’t want to risk his deception within the Unseelie court.”

  Interesting. Cian must be highly placed in the Unseelie world if he’s close to Angharad.

  Slinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I sit up. “Then how are we to discover her plans?”

  “We’re going to Stormhaven,” he says.

  Another slap in the face.

  Prince Kyrian rules the Isle of Stormhaven. “Do you… think that’s wise?”

  “Kyrian’s met you in the past. You were never friends, but he won’t harm you. Not unless he wants to face me.”

  “But why Stormhaven?”

  “Can I trust you not to share this information with your mother?”

  “Right now,” I reply coldly, “the only things I want to share with my mother are my thoughts on this entire arrangement. Loudly. I’m not her little puppet anymore. I’m no one’s puppet”—this with a warning glare in his direction—"and she hasn’t bothered to contact me again.”

  He leans back against the doors. “Kyrian is the Master of Storms. He has a device that can see and listen through any droplet of water in the realms. He can spy on Angharad for me.”

  That’s a powerful weapon in the wrong hands, because, while I’ve heard of sorcerers being able to use mirrors for such a purpose, you can always ward them.

  Water is everywhere.

  “When do we leave?”