Master of Shadows

by E. A. Copen

  And yet here I am again. He lifted his head and took in the familiar high walls draped with dust covered banners. I swore I would never come back to this place believing my oath would be binding like any other fae’s, but it isn’t, is it? I’m not like the other fae. No wonder she kept me locked away.

  The door to his tower, which had stood locked and barred from the outside for so many years, had been ripped from the hinges. Finn climbed over it with ease and ventured into the spiral staircase, moving deeper into the castle. If he had the layout right in his head, he’d been held in the eastern tower. The throne room would be in the center of the palace behind a pair of huge ebony doors, but he had no intention of storming through them. Based on the maps he’d studied as a kid, there was another way into the throne room, one that would let him come in behind the throne.

  Finn reached the bottom of the stairs and started to step out only to flatten himself against the wall. Two large black creatures slithered by while he held his breath. One, two... He counted all the way to twenty before peeking back around the corner. The hallway was clear.

  He crept along the hallway, staying low, blending with the shadows as best he could. If only he could walk into a shadow and come out in the throne room. The thought of trying did cross his mind, but the chances that he would fail and wind up somewhere else were too great. While he could walk through shadows and transport himself elsewhere, he didn’t have the best control, especially over a far distance. The greater the distance, the more likely something would go wrong. The last thing he wanted was to get stuck in a wall or twenty feet underground or something crazy like that. So long as he could creep around the hallways undetected, that was safer.

  Voices carried down the next hallway, coming closer. Finn searched the hall for the nearest door and tumbled through it, swinging it closed and locking it behind him. He pressed his ear to the door, listening to the footsteps pass on the other side. Once they passed, he again counted to twenty before opening the door and venturing back into the hall.

  Twice on his way to the throne room he had to repeat this, jumping into some random room and hoping it was empty. Each time, he got lucky. There were Fomorians everywhere on patrol, but it didn’t seem like they were actually using any of the rooms. Everything was moth-eaten and covered in dust, the beds either smashed or untouched. If they weren’t sleeping in the beds, then where were they sleeping?

  Things got even stranger when he slid down a side hallway and passed the larder. The stench of rotting food assaulted his nose and nearly made him throw up. Some unidentifiable brown liquid formed a sludgy pool just outside the door. In the center of the pool lay two decomposing rats.

  They aren’t eating either, Finn thought, sliding past. At least not in there. There were too many of them to be camping anywhere nearby. Maybe Fomorians didn’t need to eat or sleep. The thought made Finn shiver.

  The door to the secret passage was in a small storage room covered in cobwebs. Finn moved aside an ancient looking broom and ran his hands along the wall, searching for a switch, button, or pressure plate and coming up empty. Maybe he’d remembered the map wrong and there was no secret passage from the closet to the throne room. Or maybe he just needed to look at it a little differently.

  He stepped back, closed his eyes, and let out a long, slow breath. The darkness bent to his will, wrapping around his senses like a suit of armor. Sweet, cool blackness brushed against his skin, the taste of magic on his tongue. He’d used this spell before in Queen Oonagh’s tomb, but something about it this time was different. There were no spiders or rats left in the walls whose eyes he might borrow. They’d fled long ago.

  The Mastery Stone suddenly felt heavy in his pocket. A sudden surge of warmth shot through his arm, penetrating the empty, dead cold of the wall, probing the shadows themselves for information, an entry point, something. It wasn’t the same as searching with eyes, but the shadows could tell him things no creature could. Finn knew the width and height of every stone, the strength of the mortar that held them together, and felt the empty space just beyond the wall. It was narrow and low, shaped like an arch and bathed in shadow, but there was no door that he could detect. No door but the shadows themselves.

  Finn released the spell and frowned at his discovery. Why build a secret passage here that no monarch could use? Perhaps the passage was older. Sometimes old passages got bricked up during a remodel.

  Either way, I only have one way through. Finn took a step back and focused his will, concentrating on the information the shadows had given him. The space was narrow enough that his calculation would have to be near exact. A few inches to either side would have him come through half-stuck in a wall, and pulling his body free would make a lot of noise if he could do it at all.

  He shifted his torch and stepped into the deep shadow.

  When he came out on the other side, he finally let out the breath he’d been holding.

  The passage was indeed narrow, just wide enough for him to stand in. A monarch of any size wouldn’t have been able to fit, making the passage useless for an escape. Even his mother would not have fit through there easily, and she hadn’t been a large woman. The brickwork in the corridor was different too. The bricks were darker, almost black. Or maybe that was just the lighting.

  As Finn made his way down the narrow passage, he couldn’t help but wonder if it had ever been used at all. It had that sort of feeling as if someone had built it thousands of years ago for him to walk through at that exact moment, though he knew it couldn’t be true. How could it? Not even fae could see the future.

  The torch out in front of Finn bumped against a brick wall. No door on that end of the passage either, and he had no idea what lay on the other side. Extending his magic through the wall as he had before told him it was a large open space with a vaulted ceiling and stained glass. He didn’t sense anything living waiting for him in the next room, but he hadn’t been able to sense any Fomorians at all since his arrival. If the throne room was guarded, he would soon know.

  Finn stepped into the shadow and came out in a huge, dark room. The only light came through the tall stained-glass windows on either side of the room, filtering through and striking the ground in shades of purple, jade, and midnight blue. Off to the right, the throne loomed over the room, casting a long shadow. Though he knew it was just a simple chair, a symbol of power, the sight of the throne made Finn’s heart clench. Bat wings flapped in his stomach, threatening to push their way out.

  He closed on the throne, his throat dry. The wood was dark and smooth with little grooves carved into the arm. All those years he’d spent locked away in his tower he’d never dared to wonder what it would be like to touch the throne, let alone sit in it. Yet that was as much his birthright as anything else. Why shouldn’t he sit in it? Why not rule Shadow? With that much power, he could protect Auryn. He could punish the people who turned their backs on him. He could—

  Finn pulled his hand away from the throne. No, that wasn’t the sort of king he wanted to be. He wanted to be firm but caring, just but kind. Like Remy, he thought. She’s good at this. I want to be more like her.

  “Finn?”

  Finn spun around, drawing Foxglove’s dagger as he moved, and holding both it and the torch out in front of him. The dagger came to rest against a familiar throat. Only then did he realize he’d also recognized the voice, though it was impossible for Auryn to be there?

  He blinked twice, just to make sure he was really seeing her. “Auryn?” He pulled the knife away. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you,” she said with a smile.

  Something sharp and icy cold jabbed into Finn’s stomach. He looked down just in time to see a tentacle-like appendage retreat from his body and snap into Auryn. Blood blossomed on his shirt like spilled wine, spreading quickly. Finn staggered back a step, then fell, his head resting against the seat of the throne.

  Auryn’s grin widened. As she stepped forward, the muscle under her skin twi
tched and rolled. Her whole body contorted, stretching into a nightmare with lidless fish eyes and a writhing tentacle for a head. Black hands like vines dragged against the floor. When the creature spoke again, it was with two voices at once: the voice of a small child and of a demon. “You didn’t really think it was going to be that easy, did you?” The creature wrenched the torch away from him and threw it to the other side of the room.

  Finn scrambled to put pressure over the bleeding wound. What had that thing even stabbed him with? His blood didn’t burn from the touch of iron. “Is it safe to assume you’re Mask?”

  “I see my reputation precedes me.” Mask stopped just out of reach. “As does yours, Prince Finnegan. I’ve heard about you. The bastard in the tower. The last Spellweaver. The Master of Shadows. I had hoped destroying Rilvand would force you to come to me so we could settle this, but I expected... Well, I expected you’d be more of a challenge.”

  Finn tried to push himself up, but the pain in his gut was too much. He collapsed back to the floor into an even wider puddle of his own blood. “I didn’t come here alone, you know. Killing me won’t save you.”

  “Oh, but it will. Your friends from Summer are barely a threat, especially now that I control Summer and Winter alongside Shadow.”

  Finn’s eyes widened. “What?”

  Mask’s grin widened to an unnatural size. “It always surprises me how fast beings of such small minds are willing to turn on each other. If I had known it would be this easy to conquer Faerie, I would’ve done it a long time ago. Earth will be even less of a challenge. Of course, humans are much more fragile. Easier to kill. You fae are proving much tougher.”

  Auryn... He tried not to think of what it meant that Mask had been wearing her face, about how he’d left her in the Summer palace where he thought she would be safe. Alone.

  “Anyway,” said Mask, lifting one arm to gesture, “they’re as powerless as worms. Without all that precious blood draining from your body, I’m afraid everyone is doomed. This world, and whichever one I choose next. All I need is the last stone.” Mask’s hands shot out and shoved Finn aside.

  Finn tumbled down the short flight of stairs in front of the throne, his whole body aching from the impact at the bottom.

  Mask’s feet slapped like wet cloth against the stone as he climbed to the throne and sat in it. Black fingers curled over the arm rests. “Give me the last stone, Spellweaver, and I will end you quickly.”

  The stones? Finn blinked and shook his head to clear the dizziness. That move only served to make it worse. There were only three, and Finn had one of them in his pocket. The Royal Stone was in Queen Oonagh’s tomb where he’d left it, and the Control Stone... He’d stolen that from Winter when he and the Pale Horseman raided Winter’s treasury. It was locked in a safe in his trailer in Alabama.

  Mask chuckled. “Look at you, doing the math. Did you think I would let you keep the Control Stone? You see, you didn’t just rob the Winter Queen when you took it; you robbed me. Of course, I went to get it back. The only downside was you were already gone when my people raided your pathetic little trailer. You’ll be pleased to know it burned quite well, as did the other homes in the park. Very flammable, trailers. As for the Royal Stone, I should be grateful to you for finding it for me. Once I knew where it was, it was a small matter to have Sir Braes bring it to me. And now you’ve brought me the third and final stone. If you weren’t half-fae, I would thank you for that.”

  “Braes?” Finn racked his memory. That was the name of the high court knight who tried to apprehend him before. Foxglove had stepped in and probably saved his life, or at least prolonged it by a few days.

  “Sir Braes, Queen Noelle, Sir Malcom...” Mask counted out the names on his fingers before touching his chest. “And me. Well, technically they’re all me. Every vine crawling through your country, every Nightclaw roaming the countryside. They’re all avatars for me, seeing with my eyes.”

  The Mastery Stone vibrated in his pocket, sending small pulses of magic into him along with a strange numbness that dulled the pain. It did nothing to stop the bleeding, but somehow Finn found the strength to stand. He flexed his fingers and called the shadows of the room to his fist, forming them into a long, barbed whip.

  “If you want the stone so bad,” he said, steadying himself, “come and get it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Mask closed a fist around the whip as it snapped at his head.

  Impossible. Finn pulled back, but Mask held firm. How the hell was Mask able to control shadows like that?

  Mask grabbed the whip with his other hand and used it as leverage to pull himself out of the throne before letting go. He clasped his hands together, making a sound louder than thunder, before slowly pulling them apart. Black, shadowy strings stretched between his fingers, each one glistening like the edge of a blade. When Finn cast the whip at him again, Mask caught it in the strange web he’d crafted, twisted and yanked the shadow from Finn’s control. It exploded over Mask’s head and rained down as ash.

  Finn’s head snapped to the side and he called another shadow from the wall, this time crafting it into a scimitar. He swept the sword in front of him just in time to slash through the shadow Mask had sent careening toward him. Another followed right behind. Finn slashed down, up, right left... Mask’s attack was unending. Even as he drove Finn back from the throne, step by step, inch by inch, Mask himself barely seemed to move. He pulled the shadow from nowhere and everywhere, from the empty air, plunging the space around him into even deeper darkness.

  The next bolt of shadow flew close enough to clip the side of Finn’s face. He spun from the impact and hit the floor.

  Mask was suddenly over him, black robes swirling on the floor. He gripped Finn by his shirt and lifted him. “Pathetic.”

  Finn’s arms shook with the effort of lifting the scimitar. He swung it at Mask’s head with a shout.

  Mask simply raised a hand, two fingers extended, and the scimitar transformed into twenty black moths that sparked and died in the air. He smirked. “A true Master of Shadows you are not. You don’t even know how to wield the stone you carry, do you?”

  “Maybe not, but I do know how to hurt you.” He swung his foot up and hit Mask’s elbow with a loud crack.

  Mask’s grip on Finn faltered and Finn slammed to the floor. He pushed himself over on his stomach and crawled forward, eyes focused on the torch Mask had cast away earlier. His fingers barely managed to brush the gnarled wood before something pierced the meat of Finn’s calf, pinning him to the floor. He cut off the pained whimper and fought against the sting and the weight of whatever had him pinned, reaching. Just one more inch. One more and he’d have it.

  Legs skittered over the floor and Mask floated overhead, suspended by strange spider-like appendages that had sprouted from his back. The front legs bent, allowing Mask to dip toward the torch so he could pick it up. Mask squinted at the light and shied away, holding the torch at arm’s length as if it were a bomb. “Ah, yes. Fire. Once, primitive fae huddled around it for warmth and protection from the night. Now you’ve forgotten your fear of the dark. There’s nothing there at night that wasn’t there during the day, you say. All the while we were watching. We’ve been the shadows creeping along your walls, the flicker of dark movement spied just as you come around the corner. Always just out of sight, but never unseeing. No longer.”

  Mask plunged the fire into the nearest pool of shadow. It went out with an anti-climactic hiss. He grinned at his handiwork before tossing the useless stick of charred wood aside. “Now,” said Mask, withdrawing his pointed appendage from the back of Finn’s leg, “the stone.”

  He picked Finn up by the legs using his new spider-like limbs, turning him upside down. With a violent jerk, he forced the Mastery Stone from Finn’s pocket. The stone clinked to the floor and rolled on its side, spiraling in a small circle before falling over.

  Mask tossed Finn aside and crept across the floor to pick up the stone, eyes shining.
“Finally,” he whispered, clutching it in his hands. “Finally, we are freed from our prison.”

  His gangly shadow legs carried him back to the throne where he flicked his wrists.

  Finn tried to push himself up, but his legs had gone numb. He looked down at the hole in his stomach and found the front of him soaked in blood. Blackness closed in at the edge of his vision. Wouldn’t be long now. He’d live just long enough to fail one more time.

  Mask turned around, his back to the throne, a golden crown in his hands. Black shadow dripped from it as if it were water, tainting the very essence of the thing. Two gems—the sparkling blue topaz known as the Royal Stone, and the dull red Control Stone—were already nestled in the band. He pressed the Mastery Stone into the final recess.

  A sickening surge of power swept across the floor, blowing back a layer of dust and pressing Finn to the wall. The crown glowed with an otherworldly light, illuminating Mask’s strange face and reflecting in his too-big eyes. Mask lifted the crown gingerly and lowered it toward his head.

  Black shadow cut through the air, wrapped around the crown and jerked it out of Mask’s hands. The crown flew across the room and into Finn’s waiting palm.

  “You,” Mask hissed, “why aren’t you dead yet? I’ve injected you with enough venom to kill a man twice your size.”

  “Because I’m only half-fae, jackass.” Finn pressed his palm to the cool wall and used all his strength to haul himself up to lean against it. “Annd haven’t you heard? It’s not the size that matters. It’s how you use it. And this... I’m pretty sure this belongs to me.” He lifted the crown.

  “No, stop!” Mask raced away from the throne, but he wasn’t fast enough.

  Finn dropped the crown onto his head.

  Magic lanced into his skull, digging deep in a blinding white-hot flash of pain. Black lightning crawled over Finn’s skin, jumping from one side to the other. If he could’ve moved, he would’ve screamed, though it felt like the power coursing through his veins had already burned away his tongue. With every pump of his heart, the power built until it was too much.