Promise of Darkness (Dark Court Rising Book 1)

by Bec McMaster

  Judging by the shadows beneath her eyes, she fell afoul of the same batch of wine that I did.

  “How do you feel?” she asks warily.

  “Terrible.” I fall into place beside her. “Is there something I should be aware of? The servants looked like they wanted to leap from my bedroom window when I dressed myself, and now you’re hovering in the hallway. Is Mother in one of her moods?”

  “No,” she says shortly. “She’s… quite satisfied.”

  “Heads must be about to roll,” I say, rolling my eyes, and perhaps it’s my imagination, but my sister looks ill. “What? Are they?”

  “Yes,” she says curtly.

  “Who?”

  “You’ll find out at the Queensmoot. Come on. The carriage is waiting.”

  The Queensmoot?

  But it’s not an equinox. That’s the only time the Alliance comes together, unless….

  Major political decisions are afoot.

  I catch her wrist as she turns to leave, feeling bold. “What’s going on?”

  “You’ll find out.”

  “Andi, please.” I hate the way my voice softens. Of all the things my mother has named my weaknesses, this one is the worst. It’s been so long since we’ve even spoken like this, and there’s a piece of me that’s desperate to use this chance to fix what cannot be fixed. “I miss you. I miss my sister. I miss these moments.”

  Andraste tears her hand loose. “That wasn’t what you were saying the other night.”

  “I don’t know what I was saying at the ball.” My temples are aching again. “Too much wine…. You have only yourself to blame. The last thing I recall is you handing me a glass of it.”

  “You were the one who reminded me that we can never be sisters again.”

  “I was drunk,” I insist.

  For one long hesitant moment, she looks like she wants to throw her arms around me.

  “I don’t know why we’ve been at such odds,” I press. “I miss you. I miss having an ally I can trust in this wretched court. I don’t want the crown. I never have. If you were to wear it, I would never stand in your way. I would support you, no matter what decisions you made. We could be sisters again—”

  “Don’t.” She pushes past me, then pauses, clearly fighting her emotions. “Maybe you don’t remember what caused our fight, but I do. And I will never forget it.”

  “Andi—”

  “No,” she says fiercely, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I won’t hear it. You’re wanted at the Queensmoot. The entire Alliance is gathering, and Mother wants you there. She wants us both there.”

  Politics are afoot, if the entire Seelie Alliance has arrived.

  But I can’t help trying one more time.

  “I’m sorry. For whatever I’ve done that caused us such grief.”

  “So am I,” she breathes before practically fleeing from me.

  The rulers of the Seelie Alliance are all gathered at the Queensmoot, including Kyrian, the Prince of Tides. It seems almost incongruous to see him here. The last I’d heard, he’d sworn to have my mother’s head if he ever saw her again, yet here he sits, stony-faced and demanding, his eyes locked firmly upon me as if nothing else exists.

  The moment throws me.

  He stares at me for a long moment, raising a brow.

  I return the sentiment, determined not to yield. He’s no friend of my mother’s, and his attention can only be a bad thing.

  Prince Kyrian seems disappointed with my defiance and gives me a mocking smile. “As inconstant as your mother.”

  What a strange thing to say.

  The Queen of Aska strokes the hawk resting on her leather glove, her eyes half-closed but watchful. Amusement rests on her pursed lips, though I’d hate to be the cause of it. Queen Maren makes my mother seem sane, and most of the fae call her the Queen of Nightmares when they’re certain she can’t hear them.

  At her side is Lucidia, the Queen of Ravenal. She stares ahead of her through blind eyes the color of an alpine lake, and I’ve never seen one of the fae with such withered white hair or parched dry skin. She wears age like a mantle, and I can’t help wondering how many summers she’s seen. The fae don’t usually age. Instead, when they reach their end, they wither quickly and fade, like a bloom plucked from the vine.

  It doesn’t make her any less dangerous.

  There’s only one face missing, though I’ve never seen him in person. All I’ve heard are rumors.

  The Prince of Evernight is my mother’s dearest enemy and would never lose the chance to taunt her face-to-face.

  Whispers suddenly cease, and the chorus of a dozen fae suddenly sucking in a sharp breath sounds as loud as a shout. Fae peer over each other’s shoulders as movement swims through the courtiers directly opposite us.

  “What’s going on?” I whisper.

  All my instincts howl that something is wrong.

  Andraste ignores me, staring stonily ahead.

  “At last,” my mother whispers, and triumph lights her eyes.

  The crowd opposite us parts, and the Evernight delegation finally arrives.

  I understand the urge to take a sharp breath. There’s a fae male in the lead wearing black enameled armor, embellished with glittering chips of obsidian. He towers over the warriors at his side, and I swear, as his cloak swirls around his calves, for a moment it looks like a pair of wings.

  He’s staring directly at me, as though no one else exists.

  “Vi,” he mouths.

  The crowd vanishes, and for one precious shining moment I feel the hand of fate grasp the back of my neck. A shiver runs down my spine. There’s something about his face that makes my heart skip a beat. I have this horrible, breathless sensation inside me, as if fate took a direct sidestep into my path and there’s no avoiding it.

  And then a stab of pain through my temples nearly brings me to my knees.

  I blink, and stagger sideways.

  Andraste’s hand locks around my wrist, forcing me to straighten. “Stand,” she hisses.

  And then the pain is gone, and so too is the sensation I felt.

  Some of my mother’s courtiers hiss at the prince. Others smile malignantly. He ignores them, wading through the crowd as though they’re but flotsam and jetsam that seek to hinder the inexorable surge of the tide.

  I can’t take my eyes off him.

  “Vi,” he says, again, stopping but five feet in front of me.

  My mother’s herald raises his staff and drives it into the stone at his feet. Once. Twice. Thrice. A hollow boom echoes through the stone beneath us, and then silence falls.

  “Just breathe and this will be all done in a moment,” Andraste murmurs. “I know you don’t understand, but it will be done soon. It will all be done.”

  As I turn toward her in confusion, the crowd draws back. Andraste withdraws with them, her face expressionless.

  Suddenly, I’m alone in the center of the Hallow with the Prince of Evernight on one side of me and my mother on the other.

  He steps forward, reaching for me. “Do you—”

  “Enough,” snaps my mother. “We are bound to silence. Any attempt to sway proceedings will end in a forfeit.” Her smile twists. “Though I would welcome such an attempt.”

  My head swivels between them.

  I feel like the bone caught between a pair of fighting dogs, though I’ve no idea how I became the prize.

  “Let the test begin,” says the Queen of Aska.

  “Let the test begin,” says the Queen of Ravenal.

  “Let the test begin,” says the Prince of Tides, though he, at least, looks sad.

  “I know you don’t understand what’s going on, Princess, but this is a challenge between the Prince of Evernight and your mother,” the herald assures me with a faint, placating smile. “Please answer our questions truthfully, and this will all be done in a few minutes.”

  I glance between them. I know my mother well enough to know this is not merely a test between her and the prince, b
ut one meant for me as well.

  “Very well,” I say, drawing my spine as straight as I can manage as I return the prince’s stare with one of my own.

  “Do you know the prince?” my mother taunts.

  I look at his face again, an uneasy sensation crawling down my spine. The “no” is on my lips, but there’s some part of me that hesitates. Perhaps there’s a look about his eyes—a desperate sort of pleading.

  I glance at Andraste, but there’s little enough assistance there. Her eyes are down, locked on the ground in front of her boots, and her hand rests lightly on her sword.

  The prince takes a step toward me. “Vi—”

  “Speak again at your own peril,” my mother snaps.

  “If you can speak, then so may I,” he returns.

  “Agreed,” says the Prince of Tides, earning a scornful look from my mother.

  “Agreed,” repeats the Queen of Ravenal.

  The tension that fills the Hallow feels like nails down my spine.

  “Curse you,” he whispers. “Look at me, Vi. Look at me.”

  I can’t look away. My fingernails drive into my palms, and there’s a horrible sensation inside me, as if something’s threatening to tear its way free. Perhaps a scream, for it certainly feels that way.

  The look in his eyes burns me.

  He stares at me with pure belief burning in those green depths, as if he’s trying to tell me something.

  “I-I don’t know,” I whisper.

  I could swear I’ve never seen him before, and yet an uncomfortable sensation lingers, as if, were I to say no, I would be somehow lying.

  “Could you love him?”

  It seems a trick question—which is precisely what my mother is most fond of. Take one wrong step, and she’ll cut you down with words as sharp as knives.

  “Though I find it doubtful,” I reply carefully, “I cannot say it would be impossible. I have never known love, but who is to say where it shall strike?”

  Our eyes meet.

  And I can’t help feeling as though I’ve failed in some way.

  Both him and my mother.

  “Do you love him now?” my mother insists, resting both hands on the edge of her throne and leaning forward intently.

  It seems as though the entire court holds its breath. Hungry eyes watch me with anticipation. The only one who seems in any way empathetic is Kyrian, the Prince of Tides. He sees the answer in my face, and his gaze flickers down, hidden by his lashes.

  “I don’t understand….” The Prince of Evernight’s a stranger. The enemy. What does she want from me? Is she testing me in some way? “I barely know him.”

  “Answer the question,” she thunders. “Yes or no, Iskvien?”

  “No.”

  My answer echoes through the sudden silence like a door slamming. As if they are one, the entire gathering sucks in a sharp breath.

  “Vi.” The prince makes a move toward me, anguish written all over his face. “You know me. You do. You love me. She’s stolen your mem—”

  “Gag him,” my mother commands.

  The Queen of Aska snaps her fingers, and a golden band of magic snaps across the prince’s mouth. Glowing manacles form around his wrists, jerking his arms behind his back, and something forces him to his knees.

  “The Alliance must be satisfied,” Adaia purrs, leaning back in her throne. “The Prince of Evernight has gambled with his kingdom and lost. His life is forfeit.”

  Emptiness spirals through me. This is wrong, somehow.

  I know him as my enemy, but to see him on his knees like this, fighting against those magical bonds, awakens something inside me that I don’t understand.

  My temples ache.

  I drive my palms against the hollow sockets surrounding my eyes in an attempt to alleviate the pain, but it only makes it worse.

  What is wrong with me?

  What is going on?

  “His life is forfeit,” the Queen of Aska says with a malicious smile.

  “His life is forfeit,” the Queen of Ravenal agrees.

  Everyone turns to the Prince of Tides, who curls his lip in a sneer. “I disagree. The rules were broken. Many times. If the Queen of Asturia cannot win without cheating, then I call it a loss.”

  “It doesn’t matter, little princeling,” my mother sneers. “Two of the ruling alliance have voted. Yours doesn’t count.” She turns to the Prince of Evernight. “Kill him. Then bring me his head. I want to mount it above my throne.”

  Mother’s retainers start howling and laughing.

  I am going to be the cause of this stranger’s death, and still he looks at me as if I’m the center of his world.

  “I forgive you.”

  It’s the faintest trace of sad words whispered on the breeze, though I know they somehow came from him.

  The hobgoblins that serve my mother scamper around the enemy, darting in with leers to stick him with small knives.

  Someone hauls on the chain around his throat, driving him to his knees. The prince flinches away from a knife, blood welling on his cheek, but his desperate eyes are still searching for me. Condemning me with a glance.

  “Stop.” It’s a bare whisper. I can’t stand to watch this, knowing I’m to blame. “This doesn’t have to end this way.”

  “His kingdom and his life,” my mother calls. “Those were his terms. Be silent, daughter. You’ve done enough.”

  She snaps her fingers and her executioner steps forward, snapping the leather sheath from his axe.

  Hobgoblins snatch at the prince’s chains.

  They haul him forward until his chest and face slam into the stone of the Hallow’s floors, his cheek grinding into the runes carved there. Even now, his eyes remain upon me.

  The Prince of Tides looks at me. “Long live true love,” he sneers before turning and walking away.

  My arms start itching. I dig my fingernails into my palms, trying not to draw mother’s attention. Curse it. How can I stop this?

  I grab Andraste by the wrist. “Do something. Stop this!”

  “I can’t,” she replies sharply.

  “She’ll listen to you! You have magic. You have her ear. This is… this is wrong. It feels wrong.” I’m nearly shredding my arms with my fingernails. “Please. Please! If there’s any part of you that ever loved me, please stop this.”

  Andraste swallows. “You set this into motion, Vi. You’re the only one who can stop it.”

  “I set it…?” I shake my head. “Why are you doing this to me? She’ll listen to you. You’re the one she adores. You’re her favorite.”

  Andraste hesitates.

  “I will never forgive you for this.” The pain is drilling, drilling, deep into my soul. I can barely see her face. “I cannot have his death on my conscience. I cannot.”

  She captures my hand, tugging it from my eye. “What’s wrong?”

  “It hurts.” I curl in half, crippled by the pain. A scream lies trapped in my throat.

  “Curse you,” Andraste mutters. She turns. “Mother.”

  The hobgoblins fall silent, the lack of noise leaving my ears ringing.

  The executioner pauses, his axe gleaming razor sharp.

  “I ask… for mercy,” Andraste pleads, going to her knees and bowing. “Let him be exiled into the north, where he belongs.”

  There’s a stillness on my mother’s face that warns me even before she speaks. “You disappoint me, daughter. You share your sister’s weaknesses.”

  “An Asturian before all else,” Andraste says. “My loyalty lies with you, but it also lies with her. You speak of weaknesses, but I call it strength to speak for my own.” Slowly, she looks up. “You have won. Many times over. Ask for exile.”

  “When a thief steals from our court, we do not grant mercy,” the queen hisses. “When he kidnaps one of our own, we do not think of exile—”

  “Is it theft or kidnapping if what he stole left willingly?” Andraste dares to ask. “And I ask for mercy, not for his sake, but for he
rs.”

  The other queens exchange slow glances that speak a thousand words.

  But my ears are ringing with the sound of Andraste’s voice.

  Is it theft or kidnapping if what he stole left willingly?

  One by one, glyphs light up against my skin. The itch worsens. They feel like they’re burning, right through to the bone. I try to stifle a scream. There’s one between my eyes, branded on my skull.

  My head, my head….

  I feel as though I’m slowly being unraveled, thread by thread, until there shall be nothing remaining.

  “What’s happening to her?” someone whispers.

  Light shines from the glyphs. And then there’s a rumbling from beneath the ground, as if something ancient stirs.

  “No mercy,” my mother intones, pushing to her feet. Her eyes blaze with fury. “No weakness. Executioner! Kill him!”

  “The bargain is made,” echoes a hollow voice in my ears. “The bargain is met. Strike the veils from thine eyes. Remember, leanabh an dàn . Remember it all.”

  Hammer strikes of memory slam through me, one after the other. The prince rolling toward me on a bed of heather, desire darkening his eyes as he claims my mouth for a kiss. A stolen kiss behind the stones of the Hallow. Swords clashing as we duel. Arguing in a ballroom I don’t recognize.

  “Thiago,” I whisper.

  It’s all coming back to me.

  One by one, until I can barely see, let alone think. But through it all, I see the axe rise over the executioner’s head.

  “Wait!”

  It’s too late. The axe begins to fall.

  Desperation strikes me. Energy rumbles through the ground beneath my feet—an ancient ley line thrumming with quiet power—and I open myself up to it.

  And through it, I hear the Mother of Night laugh.

  I remember it all.

  The last three months. My desperate search for an answer. The bargain.

  And more….

  Leanabh an dàn , she called me.

  All along, I’ve been terrified they’ll discover what I am.

  But maybe I’m not the one who should fear.

  Because the Old Ones could access the power of the ley lines, and I have their blood in my veins.

  Magic bursts from me in a gush, white light obliterating the Queensmoot and throwing everyone backwards. It brings me nearly to my knees. The power is like a broken dam, gushing through me as if it’s been waiting eons to be released. Torrents and torrents, burning so brightly I can’t believe it doesn’t incinerate me.