by Lily Archer
“If that were true, Cenet would be toast by now.” I pull my hand away. “I’m not who you think I am. I mean, maybe I’m your daughter. It’s not like I can do a DNA test and find out. But that doesn’t mean I’m, you know …”
“Bad?” he offers, then smiles, his fangs even longer than I remember. “Bad is relative, my dear heart. Think about it. How were you treated in the summer realm? Did you fare well there?”
Imprisoned in a filthy dungeon, threatened, enslaved, smacked around, and almost murdered. I shrug. “I guess it could have been better.”
“So many of those lesser fae and changelings that the summer realm mistreats? They’re here.” He stares down into the valley. “Both realms downgrade their lesser fae and changelings. Both realms commit grave sins against them. That’s why they come here. To take their place in Arin, to gain equality. I have given them a way to fight for what they want.”
I hold up a finger. “Hang on. I’m confused.”
His jaw twitches, and he speaks in a painfully patient tone. “Why is that?”
“Just like, an hour ago, you said that changelings were pets and that lesser fae were … lesser. So why would you help them?”
“Oh.” He laughs, and I think some part of me dies at how ugly it is. Lowering his voice, he speaks in my ear. “They are a means to an end. Once they’ve overrun the realms and claimed their victory, I will take over and reorder everything the way it should be.”
“The way it should be? And how’s that?” I have a feeling I already know.
“High fae should always rule these lands and use lesser fae and changelings as servants and laborers. Their lives are disposable. Why else would I want an army full of them?”
I glance over the precipice. “And what if I don’t want any part of this?”
Cenet hisses and crosses his arms over his chest. “She isn’t worthy. I told you, Father.”
“Silence!” Shathinor’s yell seems to come from all around and echoes off the mountainside.
I shudder and try to pull away, but he keeps me tucked under his arm.
“It is time for you to evolve, dearest one.”
“What?” I wrap my arms around my middle.
“This mortal form isn’t you.” He turns me around to face him, my back to the abyss.
“It’s me.” I look down at myself. “Same old me.”
“Not quite.” He tilts my chin up, then focuses on the soulstone.
“What are you—” I jolt as he holds his hand over it, green electricity crackling around me in bursts of lightning.
“Hold still, my heart.” He winces and takes the stone in his hand. “The magic told me this will hurt both of us.”
“Stop.” I can’t breathe, my lungs flat as a sensation like being sucked through a vacuum compresses the air around me. “Don’t.”
He pulls at the stone, the electricity growing and lifting me off my feet.
“Let go.” My eyes water, pain ricocheting through me, my ears burning, my back ripping apart. “Please!” I scream, agony destroying me at a cellular level.
“Almost there,” he grits out, his black brows drawing together as if he’s under great strain.
“Stop!” My cry erupts in a burst of black sparks. Everything in me constricts, pulling in on itself. It feels like being born. Or dying. Maybe both all rolled into one. Pain and rebirth and the approaching promise of death.
With a yank, he pulls the stone off me, the chain breaking as he stumbles back. The green lightning expands outward, and agony bursts through me, blasting away my thoughts, my heart, and my soul in one searing explosion that ends in a comfortable, easy darkness.
“Daughter?” Shathinor’s voice comes to me as if from a great distance. “Daughter?”
I breathe in, the first gasp of a newborn, and blink my eyes open.
Everything is more. The fine grains of black sand on the stone, the scent of smoke on the air, the sound of the breeze playing along the outcroppings of rock.
I am more. I unfurl from my place on the ground and rise to my feet. Dark wings fan out behind me, the edges dancing with the wind as I reach up and feel the pointed tips of my ears.
The world is sharp. So am I. I stretch out my arms, my fingernails hard and curled like talons.
“It’s you.” Shathinor’s eyes light with awe as he comes to stand by my side.
“Kneel!” he yells, and all the soldiers follow his command, taking a knee and keeping their eyes down.
Only Cenet remains on his feet.
I point my long claw at him and bare my fangs. “Kneel, Brother.”
His slitted eyes widen. “Father—”
My claws are at his throat before he can say more. “I. Said. Kneel.” Blood runs onto my fingers, the tang of his life salting the air as death flows through his veins, streaking his flesh with black. The death I wield, the fate I hold in the palm of my hand.
I strip the obsidian blade from him.
The hatred that swirls in his eyes is like a fine wine, one that hits my palate just right. I like his hate. I want more.
He bends his knees, dropping to the stone as I step back and stand next to my father.
I flick the blood from my claws into the dark wind that whispers its thanks. “Now, Father. Tell me more about this war.”
6
Leander
The winter wind carries us to the western edge of my realm, the Gray Mountains looming in the distance. Kyrin hates flying, and taking so many through the skies drains my magic, but there is simply no time to wait, not when Taylor needs me.
Ravella stands below, a fire already roaring on the bank of a frozen river. I calm the winds, and the rest of us drop to the ground. Gray grunts when his feet touch the snow—he’s about as fond of flying as Kyrin. Valen is a bit more graceful about it, but his color has a definite green tint. Thorn glides down as a white owl and changes form, landing on his feet at a slight run.
I sent word to Phinelas, but he may be too far away with Catcher duties to be of help. Branala is in charge at High Mountain while I’m away, and Gareth is recovering. I can’t reach Brannon, and I haven’t heard a whisper about him since I sent him to Silksglade to investigate Yvarra’s death. The Phalanx is spread thin, but I have warriors at my side who are ready to fight and die for my mate. I can ask for nothing more than that.
Ravella stares across the vast wasteland that leads to the mountain range. “Maybe we should have brought the army.”
“No.” I rub Kyrin’s muzzle. “We need to do this quickly and quietly. Get Taylor and get out.”
“You need rest.” Ravella points to a log next to the icy river. “We need full strength when we enter the Barren Lands.”
“We do.” I can’t disagree. But sitting down isn’t going to happen, not when I know Taylor is in those gray and black mountains. Possibly hurt and afraid. My hands curl into fists. If she’s been harmed … I shake the dark thoughts away and work on feeding Kyrin as Gray tends to his horse.
“You sure we can trust the information on where Taylor is being held?”
I lean against Kyrin. “We can. I made an oath that can’t be broken, just as she did.”
Gray runs a hand over his close-cropped hair. “She might break it out of spite, send herself to an even darker pit of the Spires.”
“Your suspicion hurts me, warrior.” Selene strides up, and the horses snort nervously.
“I don’t think anything hurts you.” Gray drags over a pail of water for his horse. “Though I’m happy to try it out and see.” He straightens and looks at her. “Why do you watch me like that?”
She clacks her teeth, her black eyes glinting. “Just imagining what your hide would look like in my cave.”
“I’m warning you, creature.” He steps toward her.
“Stop.” I put a hand to his chest. “We don’t need division right now. Selene has sworn an oath. Her information is good.”
She kicks her chin up. “Listen to your king, tasty warrior.” Sh
e cocks her head to the side at an unnerving angle. “Did you know your bones call to me? They tell me how I could use them in a stew.”
“I said knock it off.” I cross my arms and stare her down.
“Of course.” She does a curtsy with an imaginary skirt.
Gray glowers but backs away.
“Why did you insist on coming along?” I hold her shadowy gaze. “I gave you what you wanted. You gave me her location. What else is there?”
“I went back to my cave. My lovely, beautiful cave. Sat with my bones and flesh for a while. But then got the itch, felt the power in the air—” She sniffs like a hound. “Tasted it, I did. And I want to follow that scent all the way to the source.”
“The king beyond the mountain?”
She cackles. “He’s powerful, but there is one even more powerful. More glorious.” She sounds almost … smitten.
I didn’t anticipate an even greater foe, but I will fight through whatever the Spires can throw at me to get to Taylor. “I don’t suppose you’ll share any information on the king beyond the mountain or the other threat you speak of?”
“What are you offering?” She spins and clasps her hands in front of her.
“No.” I’ve already given up something of great value. I won’t give up anything else to this dark creature.
She pouts. “Too bad.”
“Let him rest, witch.” Ravella dumps some vegetables into the stew pot. “We eat, and then we ride.”
My magic is replenishing slowly, but we don’t have time for it to rebuild all the way. I won’t be as powerful out of the winter realm, but I send a prayer to the Ancestors that I’m strong enough to free my mate and get her to safety—even if that means I never return from the Gray Mountains.
“The Barren Lands.” The witch dances back, hands still clasped.
Valen sits on the log and stares at her, a mix of curiosity and disgust on his face. He’s never seen an Obsidian before, so I can’t blame him.
“What fun those dangerous pits of sand and hordes of double-fanged snakes will be, and then the mountains.” She puts the back of her wrist to her forehead, seemingly lost in reverie. “So much blood and bone, so much death to come. I want to bathe in all the—” She stills, then her head snaps around at an impossible angle, and her body turns slowly to match it.
“What?” I peer toward the mountains where she’s looking, an ominous feeling growing in my breast. “What is it?”
“Don’t you see it, winter king?” she crows. “The dark sparks, the purple blooms, the black bursts of death?”
Valen shades his eyes. “I see nothing.”
“I see it.” She dances a little unhinged jig, her feet nimble. “I told her she could free her aura when she was ready.” Her head snaps back around to me, her eyes vicious. “And, oh my dark, rotting stars, she’s ready.”
7
Taylor
The guards move aside as I sweep past, my wings aching and my heart pounding. I can feel each one of the dead, their lifeless husks silent and dull. But I can sense life nearby. That idiot Cecile and her pathetic human, the one who looks like me but not half as good.
I burst through the door, and Cecile stands from her spot at the bed.
Her eyes open wide. “What happened?”
I hold out my hand and watch as black embers spark and dance there. But it’s not enough. Something is holding me back. I’m caged, the dark heart of me wrapped in razor wire and stuffed down, down, down. Closing my eyes, I concentrate on the piece of me that’s bound, and I will it to let go, to free me, to release whatever hold it has. I cough, choke for a moment, then spit out a small, green pea.
My magic explodes through the room, tendrils of gorgeous death reaching and swirling, diving to the ground and twining like the roots of the great tree.
Cecile screams, and I turn to her.
“You’re a necromancer.” She tries to ward off the black tentacles and backs away to defend her pitiful human.
I want to hurt her. To suck her life away and leave her a desiccated corpse. And why not? I can feel that power flowing through me, the ability to control life and death housed in my immortal frame.
Holding my hand up, I stare at it, at the black streaks through my veins and the darkness that rolls off me like a fog. “I am death incarnate.” My voice is many, shaking the rock, shattering the glass water pitcher, and piercing the hearts of all who hear.
“A necromancer.” Cecile’s silver eyes brim with tears. “That’s what you were all along. Just like your father. An unseelie monster.”
My black tendrils wrap around her throat and lift her off the ground. “You throw those names around as if they might mean something to me. As if they could hurt me.” I advance until we’re face to face as she claws at her throat. I smile and treasure the terror that blooms in her. “I can smell your fear. I bet your father smelled the same way when he died. I remember his face, you know? How he looked when his throat was cut, his blood pouring all around.” I press the tip of my finger to her chest, right over her heart, and watch as my darkness spreads within her.
She kicks, her eyes rolling back.
I stop her heart.
Then I start it again. For fun.
“Stop.” A voice not unlike my own whispers. “This isn’t you. Please, stop.”
I step back, the blackness rewinding, spooling itself inside me. Cecile falls to the floor, her breath coming in great gulps.
I blink hard. “I’m so sorry.” I kneel next to her and help her to her feet. “I don’t know what that was.”
She backs away. “You’re a necromancer. Evil. Unseelie.”
“No, I’m your sister.” I step closer. “Please, I’m not bad.”
“Stay back.” She holds one hand out to ward me off.
“Cecile, please.” I move closer. “It’s me. You know me. I wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
“Are you back to normal?” She relaxes a little.
Gullible fool.
Normal. The word is so ridiculous. Was the weak version of me ‘normal’? That pathetic Taylor who had to wear the soulstone to keep me repressed? She was a bad joke. It’s a good thing my mother is with the Ancestors, because I would kill her for what she’s done to me. Forcing me to remain locked in a silent, black cage inside a wretched changeling version of myself.
I turn back to Cecile. “Yes, I’m back to normal.” I reach down and grab her pet’s hand, crushing it in mine.
Cecile flies at me. I wrap her in death again, holding her off the floor as she struggles.
Her anger is laughable.
“Don’t worry.” I grin. “I can bring your human pet back. She’ll just be a little … different.” I delight in Cecile’s horrified scream as I send death twisting through her human.
“Daughter.” My father kisses my cheek as I enter the bedroom he’s had prepared for me. “I hope everything is to your liking.”
“It will do.” I peer at the rack of clothes along the back wall. Mostly black items, and the shirts have clever notches in the back for my wings. Good.
I can smell everything—the leather from the pants, the mold on the rocks, the semi-fresh linens on the bed. So many sounds form the background of this place that I could go mad if I don’t learn how to block them out. The groans from the undead are particularly unappealing.
“When do we march for Byrn Varyndr? I have a few scores to settle there.” I pull a black shirt from the rack and a pair of black leather pants. “I want to bathe in Aurentia’s blood. Is that too dark? Because I think it would be delightful.”
“Perfectly dark.” He smiles, his fangs lengthening. “You make me so proud.”
I roll my eyes and strip out of my dress.
He doesn’t look away. I don’t care. I pull on the pants, then drop the shirt over my head. The slits go around my wings, and I’m able to fasten it with a tie at my waist. I wonder if I can really fly with these things. I suppose I’ll find out soon enough. “Fly to Leander. He can help.�
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“Did you hear that?” I glance around the sparsely-furnished room.
“What?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head and strap my blade to my belt.
Shathinor strides to me and dangles a small pendant from his fingers. “I have a gift for you.”
I arch a brow. “Another necklace. No, thank you.”
“This one is special.” He guides me to the mirror above a dressing table.
I suck in a breath when I see my reflection. My eyes are the same, but my skin is paler, my ears pointier than I imagined, my hair somehow darker. Not to mention the fangs and the wings. But I’m still me, right? I pause for a second and stare into my eyes. Who are you? I blink hard and try to place how I got here. Cenet, right? Cenet brought me here. I remember it all—but it’s like it happened to someone else. Not me. To someone weak and foolish and silly. I’m none of those things. So why does this all feel wrong somehow? Like I’m forcing a puzzle piece in the wrong spot.
I shake my head and square my shoulders. Nothing’s wrong. I want to be here. The other woman, the one whose memories I have, was an embarrassment. I’m not her. I’m something better. And I will rule this world and crush any who stand in my way.
The mark at my shoulder catches my eye. My mate. A hint of a smile creeps across my crimson lips when I think of him.
“The traitor marked you with a vengeance.” Shathinor scowls. “The Ancestors are cruel to do such a thing, but there it is. He deserves a death so gruesome that it’s whispered of for thousands of years. Instead, he takes even more from me.”
“I won’t kill him. Not for you.” I can still feel him inside me, the way his body moved, the bite that sealed our mating. My fangs lengthen. I look forward to fucking him upon our next meeting, even if it’s on a bloody battlefield.
“Mate bonds are ancient magic. They can’t be broken, not without the greatest sacrifice.” He taps his shirt where his rotted heart still beats. “I could have been whole. But I chose to salt the ground in the winter realm, destroy future mating bonds, starve them of children until I could return triumphant.”
