Seduced by Darkness (Dark Court Rising)

by Bec McMaster

  “Are you coming?” Andraste calls as she slips within my tent. “Mother’s gone to the queensmoot’s opening ceremony. We’re supposed to—”

  My sister’s voice cuts off as she notices I’m not even dressed, my hair hanging in tangled knots over my shoulders. I’ve spent the last two hours pacing, trying to think my way around this.

  “Vi.” Andraste’s brows furrow. She looks like a miniature version of my mother. Tall, blonde, blue-eyed. “What are you doing? The first bonfires are being lit at any moment. Mother wants us to be there for it.”

  Traditionally, the three Seelie queens light the bonfires that bring in Lammastide. It hearkens back to a time when the fae went to war against the Old Ones and the otherkin who ruled Arcaedia before the fae arrived; night was a time of mischief and murder, and fire was used to ward them off.

  The first time the fae lit the bonfires and sang in the equinox the way they did in the home world, there was a bloody ambush.

  The otherkin fight with fangs and claws, and knives chipped from obsidian or stone. They hunt in packs and prefer ambush over outright confrontation.

  And the first time Lammastide darkened the skies, when the fae were merry and drunk, the otherkin slipped from the forests and attacked.

  Hundreds died until Blessed Maia and the other fae queens joined their powers together and fueled the fires with their magic, until the otherkin were blinded by the sudden light and left defenseless. The fae retaliated and drove them back, but now we always remember to light the bonfires.

  It is an honor for my mother.

  It’s a moment where she and her sister queens will stand in power before all the fae assembled.

  And it forces her hated enemy, the Prince of Evernight, to bear silent witness as she reigns supreme.

  I don’t give a damn about any of it.

  “Did you know?” I stare at myself in the mirror, clad in my underthings.

  There’s a pair of dresses laid out on the bed behind me.

  One is green and gold—the colors of the Goldenhills, now that I know the game is afoot. Mother gifted it to me weeks ago. It’s another slap in the face to know this has been going on for at least a month, and I was completely unaware of it.

  “Know what?” my sister asks.

  “That she’s sold me to Etan,” I snap.

  Andraste pauses, her gaze sliding over everything. It returns, hesitantly, to me. “I thought you were enamored of him. You wrote of him when you served in Queen Maren’s court. You seemed… to bear feelings for him.”

  I can’t stop myself from pacing. “That was before I came to know him. He found me today in the tents. He….” I bite the words off. “Marrying him would be… unpleasant.”

  Andraste’s eyes sharpen. “Did he threaten you?”

  “He practically said I would be his property.”

  “Mother’s signed the contract,” she says slowly. “All it requires now is your signature. It was supposed to be announced on the final night.” Her mouth tightens. “I thought you knew.”

  How? I can’t stop my gaze from lifting to meet hers in the reflection.

  Mother barely speaks to me, and Andraste is too fucking busy with her little court within courts to have time for me.

  The courtiers all know which way the wind is blowing.

  I’m the queen’s unfavored daughter.

  Without magic. Without power. Not even half as pretty as my mother and sister.

  And Andraste is angling for the position of heir. She’s built a small court of courtiers around her—the Crown Princess’s Larks, they call themselves. An unofficial title, but one which I’m certain is not too far away.

  I don’t know where that leaves me.

  “Here.” Andraste pushes me into a seat and gathers my hair into a pile on my head, twisting sections of it into place and considering it. Those blue eyes wear the weight of a thousand years, and sometimes I wonder what she’s seen at court. “Let me fix your hair. Mother will have your head if you appear looking like this.”

  It’s been years since we’ve even touched.

  I hear the echo of laughter in my ears as she rifles through the pins on my vanity and finds the comb.

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  “I know.” She begins to soothe the silken weight of my dark hair with the comb. “She won’t renege on a signed contract with Maren. If you even mention it, she’ll be furious.”

  “I know.”

  And Mother’s fury is to be avoided at all costs.

  My stomach sinks like a lead weight.

  What am I going to do?

  “Tell me about Etan,” Andraste murmurs. “Why would marrying him be unpleasant?”

  It feels strange to confide in someone, especially her. But Andraste might be my only hope. If Mother will listen to anyone, it’s her.

  I tell her everything, finishing with, “He said he intended to visit my tent tonight.”

  Andraste weaves golden chains through my hair. Little stars hang from the end of them. “If he wants to get through, then he will. He’ll bribe the guards, and someone of them will have overheard Mother gloating. They’ll know that encouraging Aska’s favor is to be allowed—”

  “That’s hardly reassuring—”

  Our eyes meet in the mirror again as she says. “You don’t have to be here.”

  My mouth feels dry. “Where am I going to stay?”

  Staying in her tent isn’t an option. The maids will gossip, and then Mother will want to know what’s going on.

  Andraste leans closer, resting her chin on my shoulder as she examines the masterpiece she’s made of my hair. “I don’t know if you can avoid this fate, Vi. I’ll help you. I’ll try to speak to Mother, but you know how she gets. My influence is limited, at best.”

  And you don’t want to lose your precious seat at her side.

  I look away.

  “But maybe you don’t have to give him everything. Etan likes your innocence, and all men like to know they’re the first—maybe they’re afraid they won’t be able to hold up to the memory of any others? But you don’t have to give it to him. Maybe you don’t have the choice in who you will marry, but the gift of your virginity? That’s yours to gift as you please, Vi.”

  “What?” My jaw drops open.

  “You haven’t signed the contract,” she points out. “As far as Mother knows you are unaware of her plans, as she no doubt intended. The fires will burn for the next three nights while the queens meet. The wine will flow. The dancing will leave us all with blistered feet and sore heads. You’re not expected to do anything other than be seen to be enjoying yourself.”

  “That’s not exactly helpful.”

  “You want a choice?” Something dangerous beckons in her pretty blue eyes. “Then this is your chance to make that choice. If Etan wants your virginity then deny him that pleasure.”

  “I can’t just sleep with a stranger!”

  “Why not?” She gives a shrug. “That’s what I do every Lammastide. This is the one night of the year where no one knows who I am. It’s the one night of the year I can be… free.”

  It’s the first time I’ve ever wondered if she feels the same way I do—trapped by the circumstance of our birth.

  Could I do it?

  Could I take a lover?

  “And what happens afterward?”

  Andraste’s lashes smother her eyes. “I will see if I can convince Mother this alliance is not in our best interest.”

  Neither of us holds much hope of that. It’s written all over her.

  My mother rules Asturia with an iron fist. The whims of her daughters are never taken into consideration. We are pawns for her to move about at whim.

  “There,” she whispers, stepping back. “There’s some color in your cheeks now. Get dressed. Meet us by Mother’s tent. Hopefully by then, you’ll have made a decision.”

  She leaves as I stare at myself in the mirror.

  Find someone.

  A shiver r
uns through me.

  I’ll need more than that if I’m to escape this trap.

  Because I will never marry Etan of the Goldenhills.

  Not even if I have to kill him myself.

  3

  Thiago

  “Why does she have to look so smug?” Thalia demands, glaring across the clearing at the Queen of Asturia.

  Adaia sits upon a gilded throne before the bonfires, her expression cool and serene. A red velvet gown clings to her breasts and falls to the floor. Her pale shoulders are bare, the gown looped around her throat with a golden collar. Rings glitter on her fingers and a golden snake curls around her upper arm. It’s far more muted than anything I’ve ever seen her wear, but the mask makes up for it.

  Glorious red, blue and gold feathers, somewhat akin to a plucked parrot, cascade over her forehead. Her golden hair is slicked back and falls down her spine.

  “Because Adaia doesn’t know any other expression.” My gaze hasn’t shifted off my enemy since she arrived in this clearing, but there’s something about the way Thalia says it that makes me glance down at my cousin. She’s on edge. We’re all on edge. But while my cousin might look like the sweetest member of my court, she’s also the most dangerous when she wants to be. “Relax, Thalia. What is it you always say? Information is currency. Patience is its own reward. Right now, we have neither. We need a confirmed sighting of Finn, and then we can set plans into motion.”

  “Or I could simply walk across this clearing, draw my knife and drive it through that merciless bitch’s heart,” she murmurs as she lifts her wine glass to her lips and drains it.

  “She doesn’t have one.” Alarm spikes through me. There are no knives on her that I can see, but then the mysteries of female clothing are lost on me. Apparently, there’s a long-running vendetta against the lack of pockets on female clothing.

  Thalia likes improvisation.

  She designs her own wardrobe.

  Which means she could be carrying half an arsenal in the folds of those skirts.

  “What’s wrong, Thi?” She knows exactly what I’m looking for. I can see it in those wicked green eyes.

  “I love you and you know that. But I wouldn’t even send Eris after Adaia, and she can kill anything,” I point out. “You wouldn’t stand a chance. Don’t do something stupid.”

  Thalia merely smiles. “Oh, please, Thiago. If I wanted to kill the Queen of Asturia, she’d never see me coming. But I won’t. Because that would prove a considerable headache for us right now. That doesn’t mean I’m not going to retaliate. All I can say is that Adaia ought to be careful how much wine she drinks tonight.”

  I look at her sharply.

  She taps the side of her nose, her mask obscuring the top half of her face. “Lysander might think my little legion is hardly going to win us a war, but he’s wrong. Nobody looks at the demi-fey. Even if they’re slipping powdered shepherd’s rot into the queen’s wine.”

  Shepherd’s rot is a mushroom notorious for bursting the stomachs of sheep. It’s rarely deadly for the fae, but it does cause a bout of indigestion that is extremely painful. The effects last for months too.

  On one hand, if Adaia suspects us of being behind it, then she’ll only be more intractable than usual.

  On the other hand, maybe it will improve my mood.

  If I could bottle Thalia’s rage and send her to war armed with only that, then I’d probably be holding Adaia’s crown in my hands by the end of a week. Thalia takes great joy in fine silks and velvets, and indulging in honey cakes and sweet wine, but mistake her at your own peril.

  “I have a better idea,” I say as a hush falls over the gathering, my voice lowering. “Save it for the last night when we have Finn back. A gift, courtesy of Evernight.”

  Thalia grins at me and I straighten my mask.

  It’s subtle and molded expertly to my face, courtesy of Thalia. A hawk’s sharp leather beak with velvet feathers. The cloak I wear is plain, my doublet made of crushed black velvet. Among all the glitter and glamour of the fae courts, nobody would look twice at me.

  It’s perfect.

  “Let us all sing to the night,” the herald calls, interrupting our plotting. He lifts his enormous staff and brings it down upon the flagstones in front of the bonfires. “Let us sing to the fires! Let us sing to the coming dawn!”

  The three enormous bonfires that stand in the heart of the clearing tower over us. The queens of Aska, Ravenal and Asturia gather before them, prepared to light them, and the crowd hushes.

  Right now, Eris and Baylor should be making a furtive foray into the Asturian encampment. I doubt they’ll have much luck. Adaia will expect it. But I want more details about the way the camp is set up, and preferably a glimpse of Finn.

  Just because the demi-fey say he’s alive, it doesn’t mean he’s in a decent condition.

  All Thalia can get out of them is poison and iron sickness. Watching the little demi-fey pretend to choke and fall to the ground would be humorous in other circumstances, but I really don’t know what kind of condition he’s in.

  We could kill her, whispers the Darkness. Look at her. It would be so easy.

  I lift my gaze to Adaia as I sip my wine, and the clearing vanishes around me as the world becomes black and white.

  Death peeks over many a shoulder here. It would be disconcerting to see if I wasn’t in the grip of the daemon within me. I am empty and hollow and my heart stills like a stone sinking to the bottom of a rushing river.

  It doesn’t have to beat, for a heart is what stirs life through a fae’s veins, and I am nothing more than Death right now.

  It’s quiet here, in the Shadow World.

  Hungry faces leer at me, superimposed over the fae beneath them. Shadows writhe as they thicken and solidify. Shadowy arms slide up a young woman’s body. Dozens of them. Threatening to drag her back into her own silhouette.

  She’ll die soon.

  Days at best. Maybe a week.

  But it’s Adaia who I focus on.

  Adaia Thornborn.

  Even in the Between, the light of her magic and power burns bright. Shadows writhe as her light pours over them, desperate to touch her and drag her down. She doesn’t even know they’re there.

  It’s a simple flex of power. I twitch my fingers and they crawl up her skirts, dragging themselves claw by claw. The light shreds, dissipating around her like smoke. The shadows are hungry. So fucking hungry.

  A rushing sound fills my ears.

  Hunt, whispers a voice in my head and this time it’s not my daemon. It’s the Darkyn soul trapped within me that I’ve named Fury.

  Torment is not far behind it. Gods, she tastes so divine. I want to eat her all up.

  Make her scream. Make her bleed. Crush her bones. Crunch, crunch. Rage pushes against the wards tattooed into my skin.

  It feels like a knife dragging over the inside of my chest. They want out. They always want out. They’re mere remnants of a whole and combined they’ll form a single entity, but over the centuries, the separation has fused them into individual beings.

  Adaia looks down as if she senses something. Her light dims. Her face pales and stands sallow against the flickering torches behind her.

  Behind her, a shadow drags the claw of its thumb across her throat and Adaia gasps as if she feels it, clapping a hand to the mark.

  “Thi?” A hand grips my arm, wrenching me back out of the gloom.

  Light and heat and sound burst in upon me. For a second, it’s more than I can handle and my grip tightens around the golden goblet I bear, crushing the imprint of my fingertips into it. I can barely see for the sudden brightness. Pain almost brings me to my knees; my heart, starting to beat again.

  “Ignore her.” There’s a certain urgency in Thalia’s voice.

  “Weren’t you the one arguing for murder?” The words sound so distant it’s a wonder they came from my mouth. I blink again.

  Light. Fuck, I need the light.

  Claws screech down the insid
e of my skin like nails on a chalkboard as the daemons retreat.

  “Your skin is freezing.” Thalia searches my face. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.”

  Adaia smirks at me as she lifts her hands, her rings gleaming in the light of the torches that line the clearing. She will never know how close she came to dying this night.

  Sweat breaks out upon my brow. It’s never been this hard to control.

  What is wrong with me?

  Almost as if thinking of him summons his attention, I feel my father turn to look at me from the north. I won’t give him the satisfaction of responding, but I can sense his focus sliding over my skin like the pad of a finger trailing down a long-bleached spine.

  Searching for me. Yearning to destroy me. To consume me.

  Wondering perhaps, who it is that catches his attention every now and then.

  He’s never seen me. He doesn’t even know I exist.

  But he can sense me—or the daemon inside him can.

  It’s inside me too, and it yearns to be whole.

  Thousands of years ago it stalked these lands. Death, they called it. The Everlasting Night. The Primordial Darkness. A creature so malevolent and powerful that even the Old Ones feared it.

  A band of fae warriors spent their entire lives hunting it, and when they finally captured it, they had to consume fragments of its body and soul in order to defeat it. It cannot die. It cannot be contained. They were forced to venture to the ends of the world in order to separate its desperate soul, and I wonder if those long ago fae felt the crush of this hunger, this need, this yearning to reunite.

  Somewhere along the way, some of them fell prey to its lure.

  They hunted their own, consuming the fragments of that Darkness.

  Now only a few of us remain.

  My father, who birthed this evil within me, and myself, veiled and cloaked from his eyes with the best illusions any fae can wield. There are two others, I think, somewhere far to the west and east, but I suspect a sea stands between us for I can rarely feel them.

  Of the five Darkyn souls trapped within me, only two of them ever give me any peace.