by Bec McMaster
“I missed.”
“You’ve got your mother’s touch for going right for a man’s balls.” The smile on his face seems wrong, somehow. Edain never looks bothered by anything—harsh words slough off him like rain off a roof. But there’s an edge there I never saw before. “I wonder…. Do you have her gift for toying with a man’s emotions?” He looks right past me, the words aimed at Thiago.
It stalls my answer in my throat.
Stops my fist in mid-air.
I know what my mother uses him for. They call him her pet at court and whisper about how he’ll do anything to keep his position.
But I never realized it bothers him.
I used to look up to my sister, and wished my mother turned to me as often as she turned to Edain, but those were the wishes of a girl who’d long been neglected. I didn’t see the poison she drowned them with. I didn’t see the gilded cages they’re trapped inside. Or the puppet strings woven around them.
Perhaps none of us shall escape Mother’s twisted, tangled web without scars.
But I’m the only one who may actually escape her court.
And Edain knows it.
There’s no escape for him. There’s no mysterious prince claiming to be his husband. No gorgeous palace awaiting, filled with the warmth of allies and friends. And Eris, who is neither, if one is to be honest.
Edain will continue to be Mother’s whore, her pet, her lickspittle. And Andraste, who stands in the position I once dreamed of, shall forever bear the brunt of Mother’s nasty little games.
I’m free.
It’s a heady realization.
For all that Mother’s taken from me, she can never truly steal the one thing I didn’t realize I have: A chance.
My fist lowers. “You’re right. The princess is awake now. And she’s starting to see things clearly.” I glance toward Thiago, and it feels as though the veils have been lifted from my eyes. “I pity you, Edain. All you have is this. You’ll never escape the wounds she deals, if you continue to seek her favor. I’m well clear of such poison.”
Edain looks at me sharply, and it’s clear my words have done more than my fist ever could have. “You little fool.” He shakes his head. “You actually think you’re free of it.”
“I think my mother had best watch her back. It doesn’t matter how many times she steals my memories, I’ll always come back to this moment. I will always hate her, and…. I will always see the prince for who he really is.”
Edain laughs, the sound so rich and mocking that it jars down my spine. “She doesn’t know, does she?”
“That’s enough,” Thiago says, moving toward my stepbrother with menace dripping from him.
“Know what?”
Both men pause, gazes locked, as though they’re mentally crossing sabers.
But it’s Edain who turns to me with a sneer. “Save your pity for yourself, Iskvien. Because while you might think you’ve found your chance for forever, your time is running out. If you think the queen has finished with you, then you’re very much mistaken. She’s just waiting for the game to roll to its final, inexorable conclusion.”
“That’s enough.” Andraste’s voice rings through the hollow core of the tower. “We have guests.”
Ever the dutiful sister.
But I bite my tongue as I catch a glimpse of another boat skulking out of the mist. Muraid of Aska, judging by the stern slope of her shoulders, and those mismatched eyes. Queen Maren takes her to bed, it’s whispered, though Muraid is her fiercest general.
Behind her, is a tall man wearing Queen Lucidia’s emblem on his breast.
Time to focus on Mistmere.
Though I won’t forget any of what happened here.
“What did he mean?” I grind out through gritted teeth, as the boat rows us toward Mistmere.
Other boats follow ours, though they’re warded so well I can’t see or hear them.
It’s a good thing our boat is warded too, because there are words I need to say, and this may be the last moment of privacy we get.
Or as private as we can be, with Eris leaning in the prow watching the waters ahead as if she’s waiting for an imminent attack. Finn clears his throat, setting his back into the oars, and Baylor has a sudden fascination with the moon.
Thiago tugs his leather gloves into place, his face impassive. “That is between your stepbrother and myself.”
There hadn’t been a chance to insist upon answers earlier, for the representatives for the other kingdoms had arrived then, and if there’s one thing you don’t do, its show Muraid of Aska your underbelly. I’d swallowed my frustration and greeted her with a smile, but I knew Thiago could sense the brewing storm within me.
“It seemed as though Edain was trying to suggest I was involved. I’d like to know what he meant by ‘time is running out.’”
“Later,” he promises, leaning toward me. “We need to focus on—”
“No. Not later. Now.”
Sometimes I forget how much bigger he is, but I’m not backing down. Not this time.
The prince stills, his eyes hooding. “Thirteen years,” he says softly. “I bartered for thirteen years with you. It was all your mother would agree to. There are no more chances for you to remember me. This time when I return you, if you don’t remember me then I forfeit my lands… and my life.”
The world drops away.
“What do you mean, if I don’t remember you?”
“The rules are clear. I must return you to your mother. Three days later the entire alliance meets at the Queensmoot, where you must make your choice.” Thiago captures my gaze, his eyes alight with feral need. “Your mother, or myself. You leave with one of us.”
“You agreed to this bargain?”
It’s a terrible bargain.
“I didn’t know what she intended to do to you at the time. I couldn’t fathom a world in which you would walk away from me.”
I sink onto the bench seat of the boat, my knees trembling. “But if I don’t remember you, then I’ll never….” I’ll never choose you.
“You will remember.”
I wish I had his certainty.
“Why did you not tell me?”
“Because I wanted to enjoy my time with you,” he snaps. “I wanted to spend these days in your arms, not worrying about the future.”
“We could have been working toward a solution!”
“We’ve tried,” Thiago replies. “Do you think I haven’t done everything in my power to break the spell over the years?” A bitter smile touches his mouth. “It’s not true love’s kiss, let me assure you.”
“What if there isn’t a means to break it?” My chest feels tight. I cannot have his death on my conscience. “What if she….”
I can’t say it.
Thiago kneels in front of me and takes my hands. “I have faith, Vi. You never want to see me hurt, no matter how much you think me the enemy. Even if you don’t recognize me, I think some part of you will always know me. Maybe this is what the spell needs to break? Maybe if my life is at risk, then the curse will shatter?”
“Maybe?” Does he not see how wrong that sounds? To pin all our hopes on maybe? “What if I don’t feel a thing? What if it’s too late?”
“I have faith,” he repeats.
“Well, I don’t!”
“For once, the princess and I are in agreement,” Eris mutters.
I’d forgotten about them, forgotten about them all. I stare at her hopelessly. This is why she hates me. This is why she can’t even look at me. She knows I’m the millstone around the prince’s neck, threatening to drag him to his death.
Thiago leans closer to me. “Later,” he repeats, in a deathly quiet voice.
Behind him, I can just make out the foreshore of Mistmere. He’s right. This isn’t the time, or the place.
“Later.”
The words are a promise made.
He tilts his head to me, one adversary to another. “There’s the woman I married. There’s my q
ueen. Don’t lose sight of her, Vi. Because I need her at my side. As much as your mother’s curse must be dealt with, this takes priority. I won’t allow another war.” The boat glides to a smooth halt, and he leaps down into the shallows with barely a splash. “Now, come.”
Darkness blurs his features as I accept his hand. I can sense the magic shivering beneath his skin like a quiet storm.
The others dismount, and we wade ashore toward the Hallow. Edain and Andraste are already there, waiting for us.
“Is this some sort of joke?” Edain demands loudly.
The words cut through the night like a whip crack.
Thiago was shielding us, but there’s no aural shield surrounding Edain.
“Mother of Night,” Eris curses, drawing her sword. “Are you trying to get us killed?”
Instantly, the guards surrounding my sister set hands to weapons. Andraste quells them with a single sharp flick of her hand. “Killed by what?”
It’s only then that I notice the silence.
A frog croaks somewhere in the distance.
Wind whispers across the lake.
And as it blows, the mist stirs.
It doesn’t disguise a damned thing.
Because there’s nothing to disguise.
The Hallow is naught but ruins, covered in a thin layer of snow. Everything—the tents, the crane, the work teams—are gone.
Or, if one is kind, it looks as though they never existed.
30
Edain’s sword clears his scabbard. “Is this supposed to be a trick? What mockery is this? There’s nothing here. Nothing but broken stones and rubble.”
I step forward. “It’s no trick.” Or at least, not from us. “There were teams of enslaved goblins here, and a troll….” I can see it all as clearly as day. The enormous crane the troll pushed…. It should have been right there.
But there’s nothing but wind whispering through the long-abandoned streets. Nothing but an ancient tattered curtain flapping in a distant window.
Thiago kneels, brushing aside the fine layer of snow. His fingers pause as they find one of the ancient runes, the bronze pitted and scarred. “I’m not the only one with a gift for illusion.”
“Enough.” Edain laughs under his breath. “It’s cold enough to freeze my fucking balls off, and you dragged us here for this mockery. I’m done. Andraste?”
Andraste’s hand comes to rest upon her sword, but she’s watching me. Not him.
“My queen will hear of this,” Muraid sneers. She spits on the ground, then turns and stalks away, leading her contingent of fae warriors.
It’s all falling apart.
My gaze meets Thiago’s, as he slowly stands.
“How?” I whisper.
Angharad can’t have just made an entire Hallow disappear. That would require magic beyond any that even the queens have.
“During the wars,” Thiago murmurs, still glancing around, “an entire company of seelie warriors entered the ruins of Morghulis to make camp. It was long abandoned, or so they thought. Only one came out. He spoke of an empty ruin suddenly vanishing around him, as though someone swept the curtain aside to reveal an entire castle teeming with unseelie. They were there all along, he said. And we thought him mad.”
Edain kicks at one of the sentinel stones that leers to the right like a drunken reveler. Snow shivers off the top of it. “Aye, Valarien of the Greenmantle.” His lip curls. “I remember that story too. And it was just a story. No one has the power to make half a city vanish. There’s nothing here. Nothing but trickery.” He points his sword directly at Thiago. “Or is it treachery? I cannot help but notice that you’ve gathered the powerful fae of each kingdom here, where they can be destroyed in one fell swoop. Guards!”
The Asturian guards snap to attention, their swords out and pointed toward us.
But I swear I heard something to the right….
A little metallic click, as though steel scraped on stone.
“What is it?” Thiago whispers hoarsely.
I hold up a hand, my head cocked to listen.
Silence. Nothing but silence.
Behind me, the others continue to argue.
“We’re leaving,” Andraste announces, and the tone of her voice is wary.
“I wouldn’t lie to you,” I tell her. “I saw it. There were banes everywhere. Tents. The Hallow was nearly complete.”
Andraste looks at me, and I see the answer in her eyes. She thinks my mother’s telling the truth. She thinks Thiago used his powers of illusion to fool me. “I’m sure you saw what you claim. But there’s nothing here. How do you explain that? Think, Vi. Think with your head, and not your heart. He’s lying to you. He always has. He has you so wrapped up in knots, you can’t even see the truth anymore.”
I grab her arm. “Maybe I should ask you about lies? Because in this entire situation, the only one who’s told me the cursed truth has been him.”
“If Angharad did resurrect the Hallow, then where is it?” Edain demands, the insolence sloughing off him and revealing those cunning eyes. I sometimes forget he’s not the courtly sycophant he pretends to be.
“I don’t know.” I swallow hard, as I look around. I’m losing them. I know I am. “But it’s been five days since the alliance held their meeting. Angharad has spies everywhere. She may have been given warning….”
And that’s when my stomach drops right to my boots.
One queen has revealed access to dark magics she shouldn’t know.
One queen stood in that meeting and sneered at the truth, even though I’d already warned her.
One queen wants to destroy the Prince of Evernight at all costs.
What if my mother told Angharad what we had seen? What if Angharad dismantled the Hallow with magic?
What if they are working together?
“We’re done here,” Andraste says softly, and she looks sincere. “I’m sorry, Vi. But this is our kingdom at stake. I have to report what I’ve seen. Edain, ready the boats.”
She tugs her arm free from my grasp, and turns away from me.
I take a step after her, before halting.
There’s no reaching her. No point even trying.
And I still haven’t forgiven her.
Once upon a time I would have stormed after her, but I’m tired of reaching out, only to have doors slammed in my face.
Thiago pauses at my side, his solid presence warming me.
“She doesn’t believe me.”
“She doesn’t want to believe you,” he replies. “If she does, then she must face your mother, and your sister doesn’t have the courage to do that. She’s too busy playing the dutiful daughter.”
“I don’t understand,” I tell him, looking around at the ruins. “I saw what I saw.”
“So, did I,” he replies grimly. “Come. These are dangerous territories. We need to return to camp, before we’re caught out in the open.”
“Wait.” Valarien of the Greenmantle. It’s not just a story. It’s a warning wrapped in a nursery rhyme in my court.
Never ride north, little fae, little fae;
For the wolves are a-calling, said they, said they.
Though you don’t see them, or smell them, they’re there;
With slavering teeth and brindled back hair.
I turn, staring through unblinking eyes.
Thick is the spell that wraps round the keep;
The visible silenced, until they must reap.
Blood binds the spell, but it’s blood that shall break it;
From the old to the new, paint the marks that were writ.
I draw my knife, crossing to the center of the Hallow. “Blood. Blood breaks the spell. They’d need a queen’s blood to activate a glamour of this size, and the Hallow…. The Hallow would power it.”
“Vi.” One word holds a wealth of meaning. Thiago’s hand drops to the hilt of his sword.
“Trust me,” I tell him, setting the tip of the knife to the fleshy pad of my finger.
<
br /> Maia’s blood flows through my veins. There’s power there, even if I can barely channel it. Old to the new…. It has to be. I slash my finger, hissing at the sting, then squeeze several drops of blood to the surface.
Blood drops into the snow, splashing hotly against the first glyph.
BOOM.
I feel a distant vibration, as though something shifts deep within the earth. Snow shivers off rooves and everyone staggers to find their footing.
“What was that?” Eris demands, looking as though a fetch walked over her grave.
“I don’t know,” Finn whispers, “and I do not want to know.”
Thiago’s head swivels, his hawkish gaze sweeping the ruins. “More,” he says.
I squeeze another droplet of blood to the surface, and it splashes wetly against the glyph.
The very earth vibrates beneath our feet as though the Hallow is slowly waking. Shaking off the remnants of centuries of sleep with a groan, it shivers to life.
Light shimmers across the entire ruins.
It feels as though the clouds suddenly part, or perhaps shadows are merely being swept from my eyes. Inch by inch, the Hallow is revealed anew, and I gasp as the illusion breaks.
We’re standing in the middle of thirteen fully erect sentinel stones. Canvas tents flap nearby, and the black banner of Angharad snaps in the wind.
Banes prowl the ruins on leashes, and goblins strain to hold them back as they watch us with hungry eyes and slavering jowls.
And there, with a shock of white hair and black robes stands Isem, Angharad’s pet sorcerer.
“Erlking’s cock,” Finn breathes. “Where the fuck were they hiding?”
“To me,” Thiago barks, the steel of his sword ringing as it clears his sheathe.
I stagger back against him, my dagger clenched in nerveless fingers. There are dozens of banes. And at least fifty swarthy goblins clad in leather and steel and feathers. No matter which way I turn, the Hallow is surrounded and there’s no escape.
