The Prince of Secrets

by A J Lancaster

  “Aroset,” King Aeros chided, and Hetta abruptly inhaled. Wyn felt as if his own breath had returned with hers. Her harsh pants were the only sound as the King turned his attention to her. “My daughter has poor manners, but I trust the message was still received? You are in my court, Lord Valstar, and Hallowyn is my son, not your vassal. You have no claim on him.” He paused, and his smile grew edged. “Unless you would like to bargain for one? I believe Prince Rakken outlined my terms.”

  Wyn laughed then. “Trade me for Stariel as a vassal state, you mean?”

  His father turned towards him, eyes cold. “I did not ask you to speak.” Compulsion bit into Wyn again, and he dropped his head, unable to hold his father’s gaze. King Aeros turned back to Hetta. “But yes. What say you, Lord Valstar, to my terms?”

  Hetta hesitated, and Wyn’s blood froze in his veins. No. No, she mustn’t consider it. He raised his head to glare at her from across the room. She’d drawn lines around their relationship, things she could not countenance. This was his line in the sand. I will never forgive you if you do this, he tried to tell her, suddenly furious and terrified both. I will never forgive you if you let me weaken you, if you let me cost you everything. The thought of Stariel’s people at the mercy of his father’s rule…it hardened something in him, sent the Maelstrom’s energy dancing to a new, higher frequency.

  She gave him a small, sad smile and nodded slightly before turning back to his father. “No,” she said, her voice quiet but clear.

  His heart began to beat again, and he slumped in relief. Thank the Maelstrom. They were still in precisely the same situation as before, but his worst fear was now alleviated. Hetta’s strength was part of why he loved her, but it had never been tested like this before.

  His father didn’t seem surprised by her answer. “This is how much your lover values you,” he said, as if he expected Wyn to be hurt rather than thankful. He still doesn’t understand me. “That is the love of mortals for you, little Hallowyn.”

  “I believe we are in fact the same height now, Father.” How strange to notice that now, of all times, another small similarity he could do without.

  Hetta gave him a Look that asked if now was really the time for levity, but he saw her regain a measure of calm at his words and could not regret them. The amulet lay cold against his throat underneath Rakken’s glamour. How could he get it to Hetta?

  King Aeros ignored him. “And that is the sum total of effort you will expend on bargaining for my son, is it? I thought he meant more to you.” His wings rustled. “How disappointing.”

  Hetta shrugged, though the motion was constrained by Aroset’s grip. She raised a contemptuous brow at Wyn’s sister, surprisingly similar to the expression she reserved for the village councillors when they were being particularly ridiculous. “I’m willing to give quite a lot for him, actually, but you already know that. I, however, have no idea what you want that I’m prepared to give, so it’s your turn to provide information. I’m not sure what else you were hoping for, other than to draw out the suspense.”

  Wyn choked back a pained laugh. Had she just matter-of-factly told the ruler of Ten Thousand Spires that he was being ridiculous? Of course she had. But he needed his father’s anger to focus on him, not Hetta, so he added, “Stariel has many sheep, for example. I am certain Lord Valstar deems me worth a few.”

  King Aeros rose then, coming to his feet with a lion’s sleek grace. He shook out his wings, and the light from the jewel-encrusted walls fell upon them, picking out the fine silver filigree edging each blood-red primary. Lamorkin’s comment snagged at Wyn. Your bloodfeathers are coming in. Very like your sire’s they will look when they are done. How could his godparent have lied? He might hate it, but King Aeros was definitely his father. Setting aside his bond to ThousandSpire, they looked alike. Even Wyn could see the echoes of his own features in the King’s. He hoped Hetta did not. Assuming an optimistic outcome here, he didn’t want his face to remind her of his father. That would definitely put a damper on things.

  King Aeros sauntered down from the throne without hurry, supremely confident in his power, and paused at the foot of the dais to consider Hetta, who met his guinea-gold eyes without fear, head high.

  “I don’t think you truly understand, Lord Valstar, what I am capable of,” he said thoughtfully. He went to tilt her chin up and she flinched away, but Aroset held her in place.

  A deep rage burned in Wyn, for all the good it did him, kneeling here in helpless servitude. The Maelstrom’s aura vibrated in response. ThousandSpire, too, twitched, alert to his distress but answering to another master. And lastly, a hint of pine and frost stirred against his chest. His anger was nothing to Stariel’s, distant and frustrated though it might be. The cold ferocity of it burned through the amulet.

  If he could just get the amulet to Hetta. He wasn’t sure exactly what Stariel had done to it, but it clearly carried some connection to the faeland. It might boost her magic, but in any case, it could get her out of here. One trip each way, Lamorkin had said.

  King Aeros’s eyes flicked briefly to Wyn. “You know,” he said, voice ripe with amusement. “Don’t you, my son? And yet you have dared to try to defy me.” He moved so swiftly that Hetta had no time to avoid him, his hand abruptly around her throat. He lifted her casually off her feet and threw her upwards with a swirl of air magic. Hetta kicked in midair, awkward and panicked, as his father’s magic held her effortlessly above the floor. “Come, Lord Valstar. Let us see if I can find another way to convince you.” He turned and strode towards Wyn, Hetta bobbing helplessly along in his wake.

  His father was right; she didn’t understand what King Aeros was capable of, not in her bones. Wyn didn’t want her to understand, didn’t want to strip away that warm human naiveté. He struggled against the compulsion, but the only thing that moved was the Maelstrom’s energy, skittering wildly over his skin.

  King Aeros’s smile grew razor-sharp as he stalked towards Wyn. Wyn made another effort to stand. He drew on his anger, burning cold as the midwinter depths of Starwater, cold as the frozen air high above the Indigoes, where only fools flew. And in the heart of that winter, the Maelstrom’s energy abruptly caught, flooding him with icy, borrowed strength, hardened to diamond chill. He rose, panting, wings protesting, the power of his father’s will threatening to make him buckle with every breath. King Aeros’s smile grew, if anything, even sharper, the throne room humming with storm-scent.

  His father was deliberately drawing things out, savouring the anticipation of pain. Wyn did his best not to think about what might be coming, of all the ways his father might hurt him to try to persuade Hetta to do what he wanted. He balled himself up, ready to become a pebble in a river once more. Perhaps this could buy time, time in which he could figure out how to breach the tantalisingly short distance between him and Hetta. She was only a few strides away now, her arms flailing for balance in the air magic’s grip, but it was all he could do to remain upright under the weight of his father’s displeasure. If he lifted a foot to step, he’d fall. But maybe if his father were distracted…

  “Oh, little Hallowyn. Always so very good at boxing away your fear. Is it because you have hope?” And without warning King Aeros whirled, the blast of air catching Rakken dead-centre and whirling him straight into a column in a crash of bronze and green feathers. “Ah, disobedient sons. Did you really think you could fool me with your pitiful magic, Rakken?” He smirked at Catsmere, who’d drawn her blade instinctively. “Or that I was unaware of you and your sister’s plans?” Catsmere would have rushed for Rakken, but he held up a hand to check her advance and she halted, bristling.

  Rakken shrugged, as if he weren’t sprawled beneath the pillar, a thin line of blood dripping from his head where he’d hit.

  “You cannot blame me for trying, Father,” he got out. His voice was huskier than normal, but his smile evoked the same dagger-sharp humour as King Aeros’s.

  King Aeros eyed the twins speculatively. “I will dea
l with the two of you later. For now…” He turned back to Wyn, and his smile broadened. “Did you hope that this would save you?” he asked, tapping a finger on the amulet, as if the glamour were simply not there at all. “Did you hope to give it to her?” He laughed. “You’re a fool, Hallowyn.” Hetta’s eyes were wide as she spun helplessly in the air behind him. King Aeros wrapped a hand around the amulet to lift it away.

  “FallingStar,” Wyn said, releasing the storm of anger and magic inside him. The world tore in two, pulling him and his father with it.

  34

  Oathbreaker

  They translocated onto cold stone and snowy mountainside. Wyn had braced for the disorientation, but there was still a moment of breathless confusion where he wasn’t sure which way was up, the world cast in the unfamiliar shadows of the setting sun. He choked on pine and frost, and Stariel’s anger rose up through his feet, consuming him, spreading out through his veins and into the broken pieces of his wings. The faeland’s demand for Hetta hit him with the force of a typhoon, and Wyn fell to his knees for the second time that day, eardrums reverberating.

  King Aeros turned on Wyn with death in his eyes, wings flaring out to their full extent. Ozone hissed, sparks washing over his wings, and the pressure plummeted as the storm answered his father’s command, jagged lightning crashing its way over the mountains. Thunder boomed overhead. But the storm magic was a beacon for something else, something that here was stronger even than one of the oldest faelords in Faerie, for they stood on Stariel’s soil.

  Wyn said to the faeland. He knew, in a single hard moment, exactly what he was doing, exactly what it would cost, and it did not stop him.

  The swelling charge redirected with Stariel’s rage. Its fury burned as hot as stars and as old as mountain bones, relentless as the swell and dip of lake water, full of the shaking of branches in a high wind, the sharp taste of blood. Wyn had been in the Maelstrom, but this magic was the might of a faeland, focused on a single point, overwhelming his leysight.

  Lightning forked from the sky, but the earth rose up to meet it with a roar. The world shuddered as the wave of earth broke, crashing over his father and swallowing him whole.

  Something snapped in Wyn’s chest—a blood tie suddenly cut loose. He staggered, knowing that all his siblings would be feeling the same sharp knowledge, the death of ThousandSpire’s ruler a shockwave reverberating out along their shared bloodline. But he had no time to process, because Stariel turned its attention to him.

  Wyn smelled of ThousandSpire, and Stariel was in a killing rage against that court. The earth quaked again, and Wyn could not breathe as leylines glowed and writhed like a sea of agitated snakes. Hetta belonged to it, and Wyn’s blood had taken her. It wanted her back. Now.

  Wyn’s temper shattered. His father was dead, and the Maelstrom had broken something more than just his wings. Something sharp and feral came loose in his chest in a painful, knife-sharp fury that seared through the ice in a sudden roar. He poured magic into the leylines, wrenching them out of Stariel’s grip, heedless of the cost. He didn’t care that Stariel was bigger and older and stranger than him.

  It shouldn’t have worked. Stariel hadn’t even noticed King Aeros’s opposition, and Wyn’s magic was a mere shadow of his father’s. But Stariel quivered as if struck. For the space between heartbeats, the faeland paused. And then, with a rush of wind, it wrenched the leylines back from Wyn and—

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Jack said.

  The universe froze, and Wyn froze with it, trembling with magic so hot and potent he couldn’t even feel his broken bones. And then, with a release of breath, Stariel’s anger eased back from the trigger. It still seethed in the air around him, but Wyn no longer stood on a knife edge between life and death.

  Wyn sagged and let the storm charge in the air fizzle out. “Challenging a faeland’s wrath, fool that I am. Thank you, Jack.”

  He turned. He and his father had arrived in a small gully on the lower slopes of the Indigoes. Or possibly it had been a ridgetop moments ago and was now a small gully. He’d been too disoriented to pay much attention to topography before the earth had shifted. Jack stood on the crest of the nearest ridge, staring down at Wyn incredulously, scarf flapping about his neck, hands tucked in his greatcoat. He wasn’t alone. Barely a breath later, Marius appeared beside him, looking uncomfortable out-of-doors in the exposed weather.

  Wyn stared at the two of them. They looked so normal, so very human and so very…Valstar. Affection swelled up, love for this land and its people, and he knew that the fae were wrong; love wasn’t a force of weakness. Not this sort of love, that didn’t soften anger but hardened it into something unyielding.

  “Alexandra?” he asked.

  Marius’s face was pale. “Fine. I mean, not fine, but, well, you know what I mean. Not any worse.” He sketched the distorted shape of Wyn’s bound wings. “What’s going on? Why did Stariel try to…” He trailed off, looking disturbed. The Valstars weren’t used to thinking of their faeland as anything other than wholly benevolent.

  Wyn took a deep breath and began to piece together a rapid plan. There was no time to waste now. “The Maelstrom. My father. It does not matter much, now. I need to get back to ThousandSpire immediately. We need to get Hetta back.” He rose to unsteady feet, the ache of broken bones once more making itself known. He changed to his mortal form and it helped, a little, though the loss of magic made the world as dull and thick as soup.

  “Get back to ThousandSpire?” Jack asked.

  “Yes,” Wyn said. “I’m going to need a lot of Valstars.”

  The two men trailed him back to the house, and he could feel their disquiet. He was having trouble re-assuming his old skin. Marius tried to question him about his physical state and seemed faintly surprised when he answered bluntly and without prevarication.

  “Your wings are…broken?” Marius said as if he could not quite believe what Wyn had just said.

  Why had he chosen a resonance point so far from the house? How much longer till they reached it, and how many Valstars were still in residence? Wyn did a quick calculation and came to a total somewhat less than what had been here for Wintersol. That would have to be enough. Using people for a resonance was generally a bad idea. People were too fleeting to really change the nature of a place, but enough Valstars in one place might be enough. He would make it be enough, combined with his own feathers and blood and the itch of the Maelstrom’s magic. Thank the High King he’d given Hetta one of his feathers.

  “Are you sure you should be racing around like this?” Marius said hesitantly. “I mean, you don’t look…” He was slightly out of breath at the pace they were keeping. Wyn would’ve run, but he wasn’t sure he could get far enough without collapsing. Besides, he needed these two Valstars as well. He was going to need every Valstar he could get, now that the amulet’s power was sucked dry.

  “It doesn’t matter what I look like,” Wyn said with a shrug he regretted, since mortal form or no, his shoulders were strung tight with pain. “Your sister is a foreign power in a faeland that has just lost its lord. Exactly how safe do you think she is?” The earth rushing up to swallow his father…

  “Lost its lord…?”

  “My father. He’s dead. Stariel killed him.” I brought him here so it could kill him, he did not say, though the words clawed at the ice around his heart, seeking entry.

  He realised he’d left the others behind and turned impatiently. “Come on. If you’re going to pause in shock at every surprising revelation, I shall cease answering your questions.”

  “Your father’s dead?” Marius said, his expression unsure. “Are you…are you all right?”

  “No, Marius, I am not all right. But my state of mind is not important right now. Come.” He wished he could teleport them all to the house, but that wasn�
�t a stormdancer skill and he wasn’t the lord of this land. Hetta would want to know if she could teleport within Stariel now that she’d seen his father’s abilities. Usually he would say it wasn’t within the scope of human magery, but he’d learnt not to underestimate Hetta. He would teach her anything she wanted to know, spill any secret he could think of if only he could have her here and safe.

  Jack shook himself but started forward again. Marius fell into step after a pause. “All right. But you still haven’t really explained what you’re planning.”

  “Madness,” Wyn said. “But it’s the best I can think of right now. We’re going to need the Star Stone.” He addressed this comment to Marius, who narrowed his eyes but nodded.

  “I’ve always wondered what it would take to make you angry,” he said quietly.

  “I’m not angry at you, Marius,” he said, trying his best not to snap it.

  “I know,” Marius said. “You’re not the only person who loves her, Wyn. We’ll do anything to get her back too.”

  The words were good ones, and they loosened the tightness inside him a tiny fraction. But they were still so far from the house, and he didn’t know how much time they had. Who knew what chaos ThousandSpire would be in, how it might lash out at a foreign lord. King Aeros had ruled the Court of Ten Thousand Spires for so long. Wyn didn’t even know how old his father was, and he had no idea how the faeland would react. Stariel was so much more accustomed to the fleeting lives of humans, to being without a lord for a time. If ThousandSpire was still without a lord. Aroset would waste no time trying to wrest control of the Spires. He hoped Rakken and Catsmere had some sort of plan for that. He didn’t trust any of them, but at least the latter would probably not be actively trying to kill Hetta.

  Cherries, ripe and jarring with the season. Wyn froze and spun, abused muscles protesting at the speed of the movement. But Princess Sunnika made no effort to hide as she appeared in front of them. She was in her fae form, her ears twitching as she tilted her head thoughtfully, her hands on the curves of her hips. Her gaze met Wyn’s. She would have felt the magical upheaval up in the Indigoes.