Queens of Thorns and Stars
Page 1
Queens of Thorns and Stars
Courts of Inara Book One
Elle Cross
Vivienne Hart
Contents
Foreword
Map of Inara
The Thirteen Courts of Inara
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Spells of Blood and Iron
Excerpt
Dramatis personae
A Note from Vivienne Hart
A Note from Elle Cross
Books By Cross & Hart
The king is dead.
Long live the queens…
* * *
At long last, the cruel King of Thorns is dead. With him murdered and gone, his widow, Queen Acanthe, can finally enact a plan a thousand years in the making. Partnered with an enigmatic dark entity, Acanthe embarks on a killing spree across Inara, collecting the powers of fallen royalty. If she succeeds, she’ll finally be able to open a portal to Earth, her former home—even if opening such a portal means destruction for Inara.
* * *
As one of the few remaining members of Inara’s nobility, Queen Sitara of the House of Stars is the only one who can stop Acanthe. But as a young queen, she hasn’t yet fully come into her powers and isn’t strong enough to defeat Acanthe on her own.
* * *
Enter Raze: a mysterious prisoner with his own secret agenda. In exchange for his freedom, he agrees to help Sitara save their world. But between their mutual distrust and simmering attraction, will they be able to find a way to work together to save Inara before it’s too late?
* * *
When the blood settles, who will reign?
Map of Inara
The Thirteen Courts of Inara
THE LIGHT COURTS
* * *
COURT OF STARS
Sitara, queen of the court
* * *
COURT OF FOG
Avan, prince of the court and current ruler
* * *
COURT OF RAVENS
Bellinor, king of the court
Talon, queen of the court
* * *
COURT OF ICE
Niamh, queen of the court
* * *
COURT OF DREAMS
Lilibet, queen of the court
* * *
COURT OF MOSS
Malachi, king of the court
Aileana, queen of the court
* * *
COURT OF WATER
Lir, king of the court
Cascade, queen of the court
* * *
THE DARK COURTS
* * *
COURT OF THORNS
Bramb, king of the court
Acanthe, queen of the court
* * *
COURT OF BLOOD
Drave, king of the court
Salome, queen of the court
* * *
COURT OF LIES
Clove, princess of the court and current ruler
* * *
COURT OF WASPS
Shabina, queen of the court
* * *
COURT OF NIGHTSHADES
Macsen, king of the court
Noire, queen of the court
* * *
COURT OF VENOM
Oleander, king of the court
“Past the veils of outer darkness, the Vizard, primordial beings of power, conspire to reclaim this realm once more…”
* * *
—The Covenant of the Autochthones
Prologue
Raze
I wake to silence.
In the oubliette of the Court of Thorns, where the crazed mutterings of the damned is a constant thrum, silence can only mean one thing: The king’s guard has come to call.
I take a breath, sifting through the rank odors and filth that have layered the air year after year. The nervous anticipation of fresh young bodies clothed in new leathers and shining metal slices through the thick reek of despair.
In my mind’s eye, I mark their progress as they pass the other prisoners and descend into the bowels of the court’s dungeon. My level. No one has come for me in a few decades. The king made sure to tuck me away into the lowliest cage of all.
The guards’ arrhythmic footsteps trudge through the mud, a strategy to hide their numbers during times of battle, but I already know how many of them there are.
Only four approach. If it were a retrieval team, there would be more of them. The guards must be seeking some entertainment.
Retching sounds echo off the walls, followed by the splashing of liquid. One of the fresh, shiny guards has met his match against the smells down here.
Breathing is optional for me. Scenting, however, is useful—especially in this darkness—making death and decay my familiars. In the fetid stink that soils the air, I taste something new in the ever-night. Something I cannot name. In this still place where time and memory grind to a halt, nothing is ever new. Not like this.
I’m not sure I like it.
I close off my senses and retreat to my corner.
The bark of laughter from a more experienced guard is laced with scorn. The wavering voice that answers only brings forth more laughter. I don’t see the humor of mocking your comrades-in-arms whilst in a hellhole, but what do I know? Once upon a time, I thought it was a great idea to trust the word of a fae royal.
It did not fare well for me.
Footsteps echo and ping closer until they stop in front of my cell. Impressive. I devoured the last group that dared to visit me. Have the rumors about me died down already? After only a few decades? I don’t know if I should feel insulted or if I should just shut the hell up and take this as a windfall of fortune.
After all, it has been a while since I’ve fed.
I lick my lips in anticipation.
The group shuffles as they near my cell. The darkness is so thick, it’s like a living thing. It is impossible for them to see me without light, but I can see them just fine. The guards have brought a young one barely big enough to carry the armor on his body down into the oubliette. His neck, thin and scrawny, would be so easy to snap. Easier than a matchstick. The lump in his throat jumps as he swallows loudly.
He peers into my cell. The look on his face is a little bit arrogant, with a jutted-out lip and wide, simple eyes. I'm surprised he's survived this long, let alone qualified as a guard, regardless of the low rank.
Maybe he's a whipping boy?
"I knew it,” the boy’s tremulous voice whines out. “This is a joke. There ain't anyone here, is there?"
In answer, I tap into the void magic at the core of my being and allow my dormant power to explode over the cell, unfurling the weight of the darkness outward. For a moment, the forbidden spells that I’ve etched into the walls of my prison ignite in a shower of sparks.
If the king suspects what I’ve done, he might decide that I’m too much of a risk to keep alive. As it is, none of the guards see the steps I’ve taken to sustain my life force behind the wave of darkness that I push toward them.
Quicker than he can breathe, I coil the shadows around the boy’s neck and pull him in against the bars. I squeeze the life from him, counting the seconds it will take me to snap his head clear off his body.
The boy’s face is purpling nicely when the damned leader of t
his sad little squad finally remembers his brain and pushes the staff in his hand into a depression in the ground. The interlocking lines and circles carved into the ground flare to life, rushing power through the sigils of the spell until it reaches the stone embedded on the floor at the entrance of my cell.
The stone’s pulses light into the dark shroud protecting me. The invasion is a prickling sensation, as if thousands of nettle thorns press against my skin all at once. It is an unseen force binding my movements, and the more I resist, the stronger it works against me.
Damned star stone.
I shield my eyes, gritting my teeth against the sharp light. My other hand still curls around the guard’s neck and I tighten my grip in response to the pain.
The star stone glows harder, responding to the leader’s will. "Leave him be. Now," he growls through his gritted teeth.
Blinding pressure engulfs me, and I release the whelp. Power coupled with words is an indescribably potent force.
The leader pulls the fresh-meat soldier on to his feet. "What’d I tell you about knowing where the fuck you are at all fucking times?" The young one is too busy coughing life back into his body to really appreciate the rain of insults he’s getting.
As for me, I shake off the prickly effects of the stone’s power. Even in the leader’s inelegant hands, it still fucking hurt.
“Damn fucking fool," the leader mutters under his breath. He braces himself in a stance in front of the cell.
"Now look, you fucking morons. This prisoner isn't like the other unfortunate souls you messed with earlier. This one here is special. A Dark Mage. Brought in by the king hisself as a weapon to rid him of all his enemies."
One of the soldiers spoke up. “Why is he here, then? His Majesty no longer has enemies?"
"Something like that."
Well, that's one way to address the history of how I came to be here. At least he made me sound more like a prize that had been won rather than an idiot novice who volunteered for his own imprisonment.
The leader opens his mouth to say more, but a resonant bell peals out in the night. A bass tone responds, reverberating through the stones of the cavern. The very foundations of the Court of Thorns seem to shift.
It’s something I have only ever heard about.
A Death Knell.
Both of the ominous tones will soon ripple through the entire Court of Thorns, alerting everyone from the fae nobility to the lowliest sprite. Anyone who has sworn fealty to the king will be able to feel it.
Hell, every last blade of grass or loose bit of earth will know. The only thing important enough to warrant a Death Knell here would be the death of the King of Thorns.
Something sweet hits my nose, a delicacy that I haven't smelled in a while. Fresh blood. It comes to me like a newly opened wine and I can't wait to take it in. I let the heady aroma soak my senses.
"Ye gods of old! The king! The king is dead!"
Dread seems to seep into every crevice of the castle. I feel it. The headiness of the chaos that rises in the air around me is aromatic, like incense rising as a sacrifice to the heavens.
"The king is dead!" It echoes throughout the halls. Each proclamation carries with it the shadows of portent.
The prickles on my skin intensify until I look down at my arm. The looping words binding my power into the service of the king are fading from my skin. I smile in the darkness.
The king is dead, hm? If the king is dead, then long live the queen.
As I think it, the echoing hails ring throughout the halls of the castle.
Long live the queen! Long live the queen!
The chants rise to a fevered pitch before morphing into cries for help.
The soldiers before me, so cocksure before, now reek of fear. They have no idea what has happened, and they are beside themselves wondering if they are somehow at fault, whether they need to fix something or if somehow someone else will be to blame for whatever is going on.
In the wake of the distraction, the leader doesn’t notice that the star stone has grown dim again. I focus my will once more and snake my power out, coiling it around the young guard's wrist. Siphoning his energy, blood, and bone, I take him in until all that he has ever been is absorbed into me.
I go from one to the other, too quick for the leader to stop me. He really should have known better than to be distracted in my presence. The staff that he used to channel his will drops to the floor with a clatter; its bearer falls next to it.
These young ones can be such fools. He didn’t think to word his orders precisely so that the guards were off-limits while they were here. Idiots.
The meal from the guards barely fuels the void magic I wield, but it is enough to abate the gnawing want. Enough to sustain the darkness that hides me.
The wretched stone gleams a faint light over the guards’ desiccated bodies. They will be there until some other leader has the balls to come down here and fetch them. Considering there has been what I assume is a little coup, I can think of no one who will care enough to investigate.
I test the bars of my cell, and immediately the spells flare to life, pushing me back. Though my power is no longer bound, the stone still traps me inside.
Figures. Just as well that I stay here for a little while longer. From the rising chaos that sounds from the castle, it seems the safer bet.
Perhaps the queen will remember what I offered her so long ago, and will deign to visit me after the slaughter.
I smile in the dark. Memories of blood and pain flash in my mind.
Yes. She’ll remember.
And soon, I will be free.
Chapter One
Sitara
“I would suggest a different approach, my queen.” Although Galog’s words are polite, I note that his tone lacks deference. Not for the first time, I suspect that he holds me in low regard, if not outright contempt. Well, it’s more than a suspicion. It’s no secret he thinks I’m wrong for the throne—despite my birthright—and he’s failed to mask his disrespect on more than one occasion.
“You’ve made your opinion quite clear, Galog.”
“It’s only that this is your first time greeting a royal entourage. We must make a proper impression on Prince Avan and the Court of Fog. A of congregation courtiers and your coronal diadem would be more formal.”
I inhale slowly through my nose, trying to keep my temper in hand. It won’t do to skin my senior advisor alive when there are guests at court. Then again, Prince Avan has a rumored reputation for ruthlessness…hmm. I tap a long fingernail against my lower lip. Perhaps the prince is the type to be impressed by bloodshed. It’s an idea worth considering.
I lean back in my throne, a towering, filigreed silver affair carved with moons and constellations. I’m the Queen of the Court of Stars and my throne room looks the part: black and silver, lit with flickering torches and glowing balls of faerie light suspended about the room. My eyes are the same silver as the throne, my hair the opalescence of a galaxy. Constellations dust my skin like birthmarks. Whatever Galog might think of me, royal blood flows thick and black as the night sky in my veins. This throne is mine by birthright.
And by that right, I’ve made the choice on how to greet this visiting royal entourage. Formal, but relaxed. Inviting, but guarded. Welcoming, not too stiff, but with a degree of polite reserve. I’m cultivating a certain impression here, and Galog’s antiquated suggestions—technically correct as they may be—are ruining my vibe and my mood.
“Galog, you bore me. The decision is made. Go find someone else to annoy.”
Hatred flashes in the courtier’s ugly eyes, but he nods and retreats. The room feels fresher in his wake, as though a noxious odor has departed. I’m not certain exactly what sort of fae creature he is; with his mottled skin and flat nose, he looks like the offspring of a bog toad and an ogre. But meaner and smellier than either.
“You know he’ll make you pay for that.” Azibat, my other chief advisor, is leaning against the wall sharpening her
claws, the relaxed stance belying her assassin-like reflexes. Her voice is casual, but I’m not fooled: This is a serious warning.
“He can try. He’ll fail.” I say it with more confidence than I feel. Galog has been an advisor to the court for centuries. He has more allies and schemes than a fire orchard has flames. If not for his experience, I would have done away with him ages ago. But despite all the loathsome things about him, he’s knowledgeable, connected, and useful. Damn him.
Still, I won’t let him get away with thinking he can command me.
Azibat cocks her head, her small horns flashing in the light as she tilts her pointed cat-ears toward me. “He does have the tendency to underestimate you, doesn’t he?”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t they all?”
Before Azibat can respond, Mellikor strolls into the throne room. If Galog serves as my biggest headache, Mellikor—handsome but hapless—is a close second. My ex-lover, Mellikor remains convinced he will one day be my consort, despite my repeated statements to the contrary. He is a perfect example of pretty looks being marred by a dreadful personality.