Thief of Dreams

by Bec McMaster

  "Show me the creature," I almost sob.

  The mirror offers me a glimpse of the dining hall last night, but I can sense its reluctance. I was expecting to see the Wyrdwolf, but then... that's not what I asked.

  My breath catches as I see half a dozen of the princesses; Altrea, Narcissa, Calliope, Ismena, and two other girls I barely recognize.

  "Go home," Princess Ismena sneers at one of the girls. "You don't belong here. Neither of your bloodlines could even dream of tempting the prince."

  "Perhaps he's not concerned with our bloodlines," one of the princesses replies bravely. Everly, I think. We've spoken once, but not again.

  Ismena steps forward, her face mottled with ugliness. "Don't make me do something I'll regret. Your little 'secret' is safe from me. For now. But I think the prince might be quite interested in the taint in your blood."

  "Ismena," Altrea murmurs, catching her arm. "That's enough, isn't it?"

  "Oh, let her continue," Calliope says, drawing Everly protectively closer. "The prince is no fool. He'll see what she is. All the precious bloodlines in the world can't hide bad breeding."

  "You speak of breeding?" Ismena sneers. "You? I daresay if we check beneath your dress we'll find a tail. You're Unseelie scum."

  "It's not my tail you should be worried about," Calliope replies heatedly.

  I want to see more.

  I want to see if my suspicion is correct: one of these precious princesses summoned the creature to kill Altrea.

  But the mirror wants me to linger. Even now it leaps ahead eagerly.

  And I can hear voices behind me.

  Steps coming closer.

  How long have I been standing here?

  Break the trap, damn you.

  I want to see who Altrea's murderer is, and so the lock holds its grip on me. I need to see something I don't ever want to remember.

  "Show me the last night in the training camps. Show me Soraya's betrayal."

  There. That ought to do the trick.

  The mirror goes dark, rebelling. But it cannot fight its nature.

  Two figures emerge from the barren wastelands of the mountaintop. It's a simple challenge to pass our training and go on to the challenger rounds. Every trainee had three days to make it to the top of Shadowfang, the mountain that dwarfs all others.

  If you weren't among the first five, then you were culled.

  We were among the best, two of the handful that could almost pass as fae. Two of Father's favorites. From the moment I was thrown into the training camps and found my dark-hearted sister, we'd been inseparable. Soraya cried for the first month, as she'd only recently been torn from her mother, and I'd spent every night curled up in the rough blankets she'd been given, my arms around her.

  "Don't cry," I'd whispered. "I lost my mother too. But we can be sisters."

  But the years had passed.

  And I hadn't foreseen the hungry look in her eyes.

  Only one could be crowned champion.

  Only one could serve at the Wraith King's right hand.

  In the mirror, I reach for her hand, knowing another of the candidates is right on my heels, his knife gripped between his teeth. Together we'd fought our way up the mountain, half-blinded by ice and snow, facing an entire squad of bastards intending to tear us down.

  Soraya squats above me on the ledge, our hands clasping as she tries to haul me up. Two of my ribs were broken defending her from an unforeseen attack, and the cold has wrought its damage on me. I need every ounce of help I can get.

  "Hurry!" I cry as Torrin reaches for my boot.

  We know three candidates have already made it.

  Only two more will get a chance.

  Torrin grabs at my ankle, and his additional weight almost hauls Soraya over the edge. I scream as torn muscles burn. Soraya's thigh muscles flex and strain, and she grinds her teeth together as I dangle precariously.

  There's another pair of candidates to our left, scaling the cliff face determinedly. They're almost neck and neck with us.

  "Kick him off!" she screams.

  "Don't let me go!"

  But she's glancing across, judging the distance. Knowing they're going to beat her to the top if she's not careful.

  And I relive every moment of it as I watch.

  "I'm sorry," she whispers, meeting my eyes. "I don't want to die."

  "We could fight together. We could flee. We promised we'd always have each other's backs!"

  But she lets me go.

  The mirror's hold on me shatters, and the second I tear my eyes from its surface, I Sift away.

  None too soon.

  The guards burst in, seemingly alerted somehow to my presence.

  But I don't linger to see if they're disappointed to find the room empty.

  "Nothing?" Soraya demands as I reappear at her side.

  Seeing the moment of her betrayal has shaken me all over again, but I realized something too. I missed her. I missed the little girl who shared my bed on bad nights, where we'd whisper our hopes and dreams and she'd tell me about the mother she could barely remember. I miss the training partner who sparred with me every day and laughed with me about some of the other boys in the camp. And I missed the girl who'd splash me in the face in the hot baths when I teased her about a certain boy in particular.

  That doesn't mean I trust her.

  "It wasn't there. But now I know where it is."

  "Where?" Her eyes light up.

  I merely smile. "Maybe it’s time for Lady Merisel to seduce a prince?"

  She rolls her eyes. "Has he got it with him, or are you merely trying to get him naked?"

  "Both?"

  And a hint of a smile crosses her mouth, before she slaps me across the back of the head. "Mind on the job, Zemira. We're running out of time."

  There's an uproar in the palace, and I swiftly change into my gown again, trying to hide my late-night sojourn.

  Soraya gives me a look. "What's going on?"

  "I'll find out."

  "If you don't come back, should I check the prince's bed?" she calls as I slip from the room.

  Scurrying through the halls, I'm drawn to the sounds of sobbing, and find most of the prince-hunting party near the library.

  Prince Keir is there, trying to send them all away.

  But it's too late.

  We've all seen what he's looking at. What he's trying to hide from view. The smooth marble walls are no longer unblemished. It takes me a moment to realize what I'm looking at: the drape of a skirt spilling from within the marble; a bloodred ruby shattered on the floor; and a pair of hands sticking out of the stone, as if trying to claw for help.

  I stare at those hands, at the body clearly entombed in the marble.

  "So ends Narcissa's hunt," Calliope murmurs at my side.

  I startle.

  "Narcissa?"

  "Don't you recognize the rings on her fingers?" Calliope drawls. Her gaze slides to where Ismena is only just making an appearance.

  "What's going on?" the Princess of Storms demands. "What's all this noise?" She finally sees the hands, and her mouth drops open. "What happened?"

  "It seems one by one, princesses are going missing," Calliope tells her coldly. "Or dying. Where were you tonight?"

  "In my bedchambers," Ismena replies, arching one cool brow. "Dinner disagreed with me."

  "Can anyone confirm your whereabouts?" Calliope demands.

  "Why? Are you asking if anyone was with me?" Ismena glances at the prince as if she's got something to hide. "Of course not. I was alone. The only one who saw me was my maid."

  "And we all know where her loyalties lie."

  "If you're calling me a liar, then say it," Ismena hisses, balling her fists at her sides.

  "That's enough," snarls the prince.

  Both females step apart, though Ismena's hot glare promises retaliation for this.

  "Return to your chambers, all of you," Prince Keir says. "I shall have guards posted at your doors. If you are
seen outside your chambers, it shall be assumed you know more about this state of affairs than it seems."

  His gaze slides over me, as if he wants to speak to me but does not dare.

  I try not to look at the golden claw hanging from his throat.

  There shall be no seduction tonight.

  I shoot what is left of Narcissa one last look as I slink back to my rooms with the rest of the girls.

  I can't help thinking about what I saw in the mirror tonight. Despite her initial "shock," Ismena has recovered well and is muttering horrible things about Calliope that everybody can hear.

  "Better watch your back," I murmur as Calliope pauses by her door. "Ismena doesn't seem too fond of you right now."

  "Is she ever fond of anyone?" Calliope muses, watching the other princesses go.

  "I thought... I thought she was friendly with Narcissa." The choice of victim confuses me.

  "Narcissa won a picnic with the prince tomorrow," Calliope replies.

  It startles me. "She did?"

  "I forget, you weren't there tonight when we were swimming in the pools in the rose garden." Calliope gives me a steady look, and I hope she's not thinking I had anything to do with this.

  "There's only so much nastiness I can handle."

  Calliope takes a breath. Then pauses. "You know... you're not like the others."

  "I hope you mean that as a compliment."

  She smiles. "I do. I didn't think I'd like anyone here, but you remind me of myself. I've been so alone for so long now, that I didn't think I missed having a friend." She steps forward and impulsively hugs me. "Be careful. The other girls think you're the competition."

  And I don't want to end up like poor Narcissa or Altrea.

  "I will be," I promise as she steps back. "If Ismena plans to come after me, then she'd better bring her best knives." I flash a smile. "I'm no easy target."

  9

  I plead a headache the next day as the prince and his cohort of ass-kissers ride out for another afternoon of bride hunting. After last night, I don't have the stomach for it.

  He doesn't quite look disappointed when I say I'm staying, though he does smile and murmur, "Avoiding me again?"

  To which I roll my eyes. "Only you would think I've feigned a headache to avoid your company."

  "I don't know what gives me that idea."

  Caught.

  "If you're feeling better tonight, perhaps you might care to play a game of Redcap with me in my rooms?"

  It's the perfect opportunity. I don't know why I hesitate. "Perhaps. If I feel better."

  He nods and mounts up, but his hot eyes watch me as he wheels his black stallion out the gate.

  I waste no time. Despite the invitation—or perhaps because of it—I decide it's my only chance to search the prince's rooms. He doesn't always wear the claw, though try as I might, I couldn't see whether he was wearing it beneath his shirt when he left.

  Afternoon sunlight is when I'm at my worst, but it's a simple matter to Sift into his bedchambers.

  Not quite so simple to find what I'm looking for.

  There's no sign of the relic. He must be wearing it, which means I must face him again.

  Tonight.

  I glance at his bed. I joked about it with Soraya, but the idea of stealing a kiss from the prince just so I can slip the relic from around his throat makes my stomach roil. We've barely had any time together—I have been avoiding him of late—but I know his thoughts on betrayal.

  And worse, I know the feel of it.

  I don't want to do this.

  It was one thing to filch Angmar's precious trident. The king is Blessed through and through and makes Ismena look like a kindly soul. I enjoyed stealing it, truth be told.

  But Prince Keir has been kind. He's solicitous, charming, protective... and while he's making a pretense of playing the game, I know the deaths of the two princesses have bothered him greatly.

  I won't pretend he's not dangerous. It's there in every step he takes, every flicker of those hot gold eyes. The man's a predator who exists at the top of the food chain. Cross him, and I'm sure he'll rain his wrath down upon you.

  But he's not cruel.

  And he doesn't deserve this.

  Think of the soul-trap. Think of freedom. Think of everything you can do when you're no longer beholden to the Wraith King.

  It doesn't help.

  Because once I'm free, what then?

  I have nowhere to go. I have no one to go to.

  And every time I look in the mirror, I'll know my freedom came at the cost of his trust.

  It makes me feel dirty.

  That night, every eye is on Ismena, and she knows it. There's an air of nervousness around the dining room.

  Nobody goes anywhere alone—even to the washroom—and dinner conversation is subdued. There's no sign of Prince Keir.

  Probably a good thing, for I haven't yet resolved my feelings in regards to tonight's invitation.

  If I don't go to his rooms, I'll probably never get another invitation.

  If I do, then I'll destroy the hint of... something... that lingers between us.

  "Well, since the company is so subdued tonight, I think I might just retire." Ismena makes a grand show of pushing her chair back.

  Over a dozen eyes watch her.

  And she's clearly a little bothered by the fact no one says anything.

  She recovers well. "I guess I'll see you all in the morning. Or whoever makes it through until dawn."

  Nasty words, but as she leaves, I realize her shoulders are squared and her fingers curl into the fabric of her skirts, as if she can practically feel the daggers lobbed at her back.

  Or as if she's scared.

  Something has been bothering me about the entire ordeal.

  Ismena's a typical Blessed bitch, quite content to tear others to shreds when she's one of the group, but now that she stands alone she's almost scared. She's not the type to face a fight without someone at her back. A coward through and through, who only gains her claws in company.

  But now the little coterie she formed on the first day has vanished. Altrea and Narcissa were her closest allies, and the other girl who hovered in their shadows—Louella of Goldenrod—is suddenly pretending Ismena has the pox.

  Altrea and Narcissa. Why were they the first to fall?

  Why would Ismena kill them?

  Narcissa may have won a private picnic with the prince, but he's made it clear he's unimpressed with their nasty jibes.

  As Calliope said, the other girls see me as the competition, but although the Wyrdwolf attacked me the other night, I wasn't the target.

  And Ismena hates me.

  If she had anything to do with this, I would have been the first victim and Narcissa and Altera would have cheered her on.

  I've been so distracted by the prince and Soraya, that I didn't even think it through.

  With Ismena gone, the other princesses are also retiring.

  A prickle of suspicion trickles down my spine.

  The attacks have happened every night, and I cannot help but wonder if my suspicions are correct and I know who the next victim will be.

  I make my escape politely and dart around the nearest massive column into the shadows there. She has a head start on me, but I can move quicker than she can.

  Blurring from shadow to shadow, I soon catch a glimpse of Ismena, pausing in the hallway that leads to her room.

  One of the sconces suddenly dies, right outside her chambers. Ismena freezes. "Hello?" she calls softly. "Is anyone there?"

  Why are there no guards in this section of the palace?

  Another lamp abruptly plunges into darkness.

  Sibilant laughter whispers through the hallway, and it doesn't sound as if it comes from any sort of fae throat.

  "What's wrong?" whispers the voice. "Are you frightened, Ismena?"

  Ismena staggers back a step, but she's whirling round, as if she's too afraid to flee. "Guards? Guards!"

&nbs
p; "No one's coming to save you." There's a shadowy figure at the end of the hall, and it's suddenly rushing toward the princess. "You will die alone, and nobody will give a damn because nobody cares about you."

  Ismena screams and finally turns to flee.

  The cloaked figure is almost upon her, lifting a knife to plunge it into her back.

  I Sift into the world again, slamming into the assassin. Rolling apart, we come onto hands and knees staring at each other as Ismena bolts to safety.

  And then I blink.

  I'd been unsure of which princess the assassin would be, but the woman staring back at me—

  "Calliope?" What in the Cauldron's name?

  There's a sharp, merciless edge to her face, as if her glamour's slipped. Eyes glowing molten in the night, she bares her teeth. "Where did you come from?"

  "What are you doing?" I demand, tension coiling through my body. But I already know the answer. "You killed Altrea and Narcissa."

  "They deserved it."

  "They were harmless," I snap. "All teeth and claws, but no bite."

  She straightens with a dangerous grace, and so do I. I can't help thinking of poor Narcissa's hands, forever reaching through that wall. What a horrible way to die.

  "If it had been you who met my nightmares, do you think either of them would have shed a tear, worm?" she demands.

  "It's just a name," I reply. "Why care what someone hateful calls you? Once this was over, I'd never have given them another thought. They were stupid and wretched and unimportant."

  And perhaps they knew it, deep in their hearts.

  Perhaps it's the sense of such self-doubt that causes petty princesses to try and tear each other down.

  "Why?" I whisper.

  None of this makes any sense, for Calliope's never shown any great interest in stealing the prince for herself.

  And she was the one who told me I was the competition.

  Why kill them if they're no threat to her? Why... is she even here if she has no interest in the prince's hand in marriage?

  "I am born of greatness. And I shall not suffer the likes of them looking down their noses at me." Calliope seems to grow taller. "They are nothing to me. They ought to have groveled. Instead, they earned their fate when they sneered."