by Bec McMaster
Nobody has ever risked their own life for mine.
“Trust in fate, Vi. Maia didn’t grant me a vision of you only to punish us. We were written in the stars.”
“I’m going to hit you with this book,” I tell him, reaching for it. “Destiny is not an answer to this problem. You make your own destiny. It’s the one time I agree with my mother.”
“Any solution we seek is twice as likely to get us killed,” he growls. “We’ve tried everything on this side of Seelie. The only possible means to break the curse are either dark magic, or bargains with eldritch beings, and you know what that means.”
Unseelie.
“So you haven’t tried everything.”
“It’s not safe to venture into Unseelie.”
My mind starts racing. Normally, I’d agree with him, but this is his potential execution we’re speaking about, and I don’t share his hopes in my memory. “We could take precautions. Or Eris. She seems to enjoy murdering unseelie creatures.”
“It’s not safe for me to enter Unseelie,” he growls out.
My breath comes slowly. He’s alluded to his past, though he swore he wouldn’t tell me the truth until the curse is broken.
“In what way?” I ask carefully. “Vengeful creatures who’ve sworn to have your head? Or the… Darkness?”
“Both.”
“How dangerous?”
“I couldn’t help you. Vi. Not even to save your life. I wouldn’t be able to use my powers there, for fear they’d overwhelm me. Or for fear that my enemies would feel it and come for me. I would be virtually defenseless.” His face shuts down. “And there’s no point discussing this, for we’re not going to find any answers there.”
Reaching out, he yanks the book out of my grasp.
“The Age of Myth and Magic.” He turns the book over. “If you wanted to know what it was like before the great wars, you could have asked.”
That’s not why I chose the book. “Excellent diversion.”
“I thought so too.” He finds the page I was reading and opens it, his eyebrows almost hitting his hairline. “I stand corrected. You’re not reading about the wars.” He turns the book this way and that, as I try to snatch it from his grasp. “I would say ‘By the Erlking’s hairy balls’, but I see they’re quite well trimmed. And…. Intimidatingly enormous.”
I finally get one hand on the book, but he fends me off with ridiculous ease.
“Give it back!”
“Another bookmarked page,” he teases, rifling the pages. “The Grimm. Not quite as well-endowed as the Erlking, though one can hardly tell with that sword he’s wielding. Are you sure this is suitable bedtime reading, Vi? If you wanted to scratch a certain itch, you should have called.”
“If I wanted to scratch an itch, I’d scratch it.”
His eyes heat.
And I grab the book with both hands.
“Don’t let me stop you.” He tackles me to the bed.
We roll, a motley assortment of limbs and hard flesh. I lose the book, but it no longer matters. Thiago pins me to the bed, wrists held on either side, and I can’t help surrendering.
We’re both breathing hard.
“Is this a better distraction?” he whispers, letting me go.
“Maybe.” I reach up and grab a fistful of hair, dragging his mouth toward mine for a lazy kiss.
Tension quivers through him. His tongue is firm and demanding, and I moan a little as his weight presses me into the mattress.
Breaking the kiss, he rests his forehead against my shoulder. “You ruin me, Vi. I should go. Before I break my word.”
He rolls toward the edge of the bed.
“Thiago….” I catch at his fingers.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he glances over his shoulder at me. “Yes?”
Somehow, I find the courage to put my wishes into words. I would rather face a dozen howling goblins, than admit to my feelings, but…. “You should stay.”
He glances down at our linked fingers. “In what capacity?”
“Guard my dreams,” I whisper, though it’s more than that.
I want to fall asleep in his arms, feeling his breath stir against my neck and his heartbeat kick against my back. I want what I’ve only experienced in those soft moments between sleep and waking—a single stolen moment of surrender, before the dream vanishes, leaving only the ghostly sensation of his touch in my bed.
Thiago turns, sliding back beneath the sheets and opening his arms to me. “As you wish,” he whispers.
And I don’t think about it.
I just curl into those strong arms and try to imagine a future where I could spend every night like this. No longer alone. No longer guarded. Safe. And loved.
Three weeks remain. And now I have incentive to break this fucking curse, no matter what I must do.
Tick tock.
Morning dawns, bringing with it a soft golden light that paints ripples across Thiago’s chest. Waking in his arms might be my new favorite thing, though I’ll never admit it. Lifting my head slightly, I examine his restful face, those eyelashes dark against his olive skin. My fingers stir, tempted to brush against his chiseled lips.
They’re so perfect, though perhaps my judgement has something to do with his kisses.
If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think I was besotted.
“You snore,” he says suddenly, and I jerk my fingers back with a squeak, as those lashes flutter open. “I’d almost forgotten.”
“I do not.”
“Like a troll.”
Stabbing him in the ribs with a finger, I scowl at his sexy smile. Every inch of him is sleepy and rumpled. I like him best like this, I think.
He captures my fingers and bites them lightly, his gaze falling to my throat.
“Nope, nope, nope!” I push at him as he leans closer with a heated look in his eyes. “Don’t you dare. I haven’t brushed my teeth yet. And it’s morning.”
I throw the blankets off, but he throws them back over me and pins them there.
“So it is.”
“Morning,” I rasp. “Which means one less day to break this curse.”
Thiago stills, the muscle in his biceps flexing as he hovers over me. “I thought we’d discussed this.”
“The discussion wasn’t finished. You told me there’s nothing in Seelie that can break the curse. That leaves the north.” I push myself upright. “Tell me everything we’ve tried in the past.”
And so he does.
Sorcerers. Magi. Witches. None of them can break the curse. None of them even know what the spell is, or who cast it. Baylor thought it was Unseelie work, which definitely means dark magic, though how my mother got her hands on such a spell, I’ll never know.
“So, there’s no hope then.” It’s starting to hit me. I’m going to lose him. I’m going to lose myself.
Thiago takes so long to reply that I almost suspect he’s not going to.
“There’s someone we can ask,” Thiago finally says.
“Why does it sound like you’d rather gouge your eyes out with a spoon?”
He grimaces, his biceps flexing as he rolls his head toward me. “Because it involves going deep into Unseelie territory and seeking out one of its most dangerous members. There’s a reason I’ve not taken this path in the past. And I can’t help you. I can’t protect you.”
Deep into the heart of Unseelie. He’s not the only one who hesitates. The Unseelie kingdoms are filled with creatures that would eat you alive. And that’s probably one of the more merciful deaths.
“Who?”
“The Morai.”
It’s not a name I know.
“They’re three ancient Unseelie,” he tells me, “who can grant you answers to any three questions you ask. You just have to be careful that you’re asking the right questions.”
I draw my knees up to my chest, my hair tumbling over my shoulders.
Unseelie. The answer lies there. It has to.
I glance at him. “Y
ou don’t need to protect me. You’ve spent thirteen years trying to be my shield. Maybe it’s time I became yours.”
His face darkens, but I press my finger to his lips to stall him.
“Let me be your queen. Let me do this.”
Thiago bites my finger. “You know not what you’re facing.”
“It can’t be worse than my mother.” I toss the blankets aside, slipping from the bed. “And we have no time to lose. Get out of bed. Let’s rouse the others. We have a trip to plan.”
33
“Does anyone else not see the problem with this?” Eris demands, as we gather at the Hallow in Valerian.
Cold wind bites through my cloak. Whatever magic wards the city doesn’t quite cover the Hallow. Snow dusts its marble floors, covering the ancient bronze symbols that help channel its power. The Valerian Hallow lies directly along the ley line that runs to the Unseelie Hallow we want to arrive at.
“Come,” Finn declares, “it will be a glorious death. They’ll sing of us in the ballads as the Unseelie drink their wine from our skulls.”
“See,” she points out. “Even he agrees with me.”
Thiago remains quiet by my side.
He’s been quiet ever since he announced our plans to venture into the Unseelie territories. Eris, Finn, and Thalia have filled the void with their incessant chatter, but beneath their brightness I can hear the faintest undercurrent of nerves.
I can’t forget he left Baylor behind “just in case.”
If we all fall, then someone needs to hold the Kingdom of Evernight together. Someone needs to hold my mother at bay and speak for the Alliance. Whilst Baylor’s Unseelie born, he’s the only one my mother might fear enough to restrain her worst impulses.
“This is madness,” Eris says.
“What would you suggest?” Thiago demands, locking gazes with her. “The Morai are the only step we haven’t explored in the past.”
As much as Eris rubs me the wrong way, I don’t doubt her loyalty to Thiago. Her lips firm. “There’s a reason for that.”
“What reason?” I ask.
They all look at me.
The danger of journeying into the Unseelie realms doesn’t need to be explained, but until this moment, the Morai were the target, not the danger.
“The Morai were here when the Old Ones first walked the realms,” Eris admits grudgingly. “They can’t access the power of the ley lines, but even the Old Ones stepped cautiously around them. Each visitor is granted one visit—and only one—to access their visions, in exchange for a gift of blood.”
To offer a creature your blood, hair, or nails is tantamount to offering them a means to control you, if they’re strong enough.
“They need the blood for the visions,” Thiago says, correctly interpreting my expression.
“I don’t find that remotely creepy,” I mutter, especially considering I’m the one who’s been chosen to visit the Morai.
Thiago’s used his opportunity already and said he can’t go near them. Apparently, he didn’t like what he saw, and neither did they. If they catch even a single hint he’s in the area, there may be a confrontation.
“Is she joking?” Eris asks. “She had best be joking. They make the hair on the back of my neck rise, and I’m not afraid of anything.”
“She’s joking,” Thalia says, fist clenching and unclenching around the staff she wields. Though there’s a smile on her face, I can tell she’s nervous.
“You’ll be safe,” Thiago assures me as we take our places within the Hallow. “The Morai have their own rules. They cannot harm a traveler who comes seeking answers—”
“Not until they’ve given those answers,” Eris mutters. “Getting in isn’t the problem. Getting out is.”
“Which is where you come in,” he says pointedly.
Eris glances at the sky, as if she’s praying directly to Maia. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but I promise I won’t do it again.”
“It’s because you’re so powerful and dangerous,” Finn tells her. “Even the Morai quiver when they hear Eris of Silvernaught is in their woods.”
Eris cuts him a look that clearly says, Die.
Finn winks at her. “I’ll hold your hand if you get scared of the dark.”
Which is the other glorious piece of this puzzle. Apparently, the Morai live in an underground cavern system.
I swallow as Thiago powers the glyphs that activate the Hallow.
I can do this. After everything he’s done for me, the least I can do is try.
“There are bats,” Eris mutters. “I hate bats.”
I clench my eyes shut. She had to mention it.
“You’ll be fine,” Thalia assures me, squeezing my hand quickly. “Thiago isn’t about to lose you to the Morai. They’ll have the answers you need to break the curse. I know it. Think of how delighted your mother will be when you defeat her.”
Bats. I give her a look.
“Trust me,” Thiago says, and then heat and power shoot through the bronze glyphs, straight into the sky, and the world vanishes in a whip crack of sensation.
We arrive at the Hallow at Scarshaven, deep in Unseelie territory. The abrupt shift from endless evening skies to late afternoon is jarring, and the hiss as everyone simultaneously draws their sword sounds ridiculously loud in the air.
The Hallow stands in the middle of a swamp, and mist clings to the air.
Everything is a rich, verdant green, and the irritating crick-crick of an insect chirrups through the mist. Enormous trees jut out of the water, moss clinging to their branches. The island we’re standing on features three stone bridges leading to either land or other islands. There’s no way to tell which is which, though one of the bridges has long since crumbled into fragments.
Something moves in the water.
Bubbles slowly wend their way toward the island we’re standing on.
Finn frowns. “Is that—"
“Move,” Thiago says, shoving me in the back.
According to Kyrian’s sources, Scarshaven is almost abandoned and our best bet to arrive deep in the heart of Unseelie without being noticed. No member of the Seelie courts has been this way in centuries, however, so we have to hope Kyrian’s intelligence is correct.
It’s also directly in the territory of Blaedwyn, one of the fiercest Unseelie queens.
They say her heart turned to stone the moment she used the Sword of Mourning to drive the Erlking into the Underworld, and it’s been that way ever since. Though she was once Seelie, she was driven from the south and cast out of the alliance. She’s no friend of ours.
“Which way?” I whisper.
Thiago strides across the bridge to my left, the one that leads directly into the mist. Shadows beckon there, so of course this is the path we must take.
The journey out of the swamp takes over an hour, and silence masks our footsteps. Anything could be hiding in the mist, and our chances of succeeding rely purely upon stealth. An army couldn’t take this place, but perhaps a small party of five can slip through it unnoticed.
The black ash trees give way to birches and maples, and the ground soon becomes drier.
It’s… beautiful in a wild, feral kind of way.
Waterfalls drip from far distant cliffs, and thickets of thorns climb their way around stone ruins. There are low-lying walls running through the underbrush, as though the forest slowly reclaimed an ancient town that once lay here. Demi-fey skitter through the thickets, hissing at us and whispering to each other as they watch.
If this is Unseelie, then I’m beginning to wonder if the stories were all lies.
They say that when the Old Ones walked the land, they brought darkness into the hearts of the fae they met. They cast curses to twist fae into creatures that became ugly and evil, creatures that would do their bidding, and from these creatures sprang the Unseelie.
The very nature of the beasts changed the lands, as the fae are all connected to the earth, and the queens’ magic most of all.<
br />
Magic blackened the skies, the forests became hungry, and the earth violent.
But this is… not what I expected.
“It’s so beautiful here. I thought we’d be walking into a barren, scorched land full of monsters,” I whisper.
“When you want to start a war,” Thiago says softly, at my side, “then you need to unite your people behind a cause. And what is a more powerful tool than fear? Fear of the other. Fear of the unknown. You call them monsters and creatures and Unseelie, and your people will flock to your banners. You show them the bloody carcasses they leave behind, and your people will raise their weapons and vow to eradicate them. You change all the stories until the only ones that are spoken speak of the monstrousness of the enemy.”
He helps me over a rotting log. “But there were other stories, once. The Unseelie were bound to the land more than we ever were. They worshipped nature and they worshipped the Old Ones. Their powers were fiercer and more elemental. They turn away none, no matter how ugly or curse-twisted or violent. They worshipped strength. They were the howl in the night, and the chill on the back of your neck, but they were also the shadows dancing around a bonfire, and the ones who picked up those babies left in the forest to die so they could nurse them as their own.”
I glance at him sharply. “They raise those children?”
There’s always a mother who fears the prophecy spoken over their child at birth. Or misshapen, ugly curse-twisted creatures born to a fae woman. Changelings, they call them, left in their cribs by the Unseelie, but I sometimes wonder if they’re the price of our magic.
It’s always bothered me to hear of those babies left in the forest for nature to grant them justice.
“They raise them all,” he says. “Perhaps not as you or I would raise them, but they take each and every one. Old Mother Hibbert prowls the night, listening for the cries of abandoned babies, and she sends her sprites to spirit them away.”
Old Mother Hibbert is one of the creatures we fear. I grew up listening wide-eyed to stories of how she’d steal me away if I wasn’t tucked in my bed come sundown.
I never knew she took the children we cast aside.
