by Emma Hamm
The queen’s eyes flicked between them. “And the binding curse?”
The tips of Bran’s pointed ears turned red.
She wouldn’t let him take the fall for this. Aisling squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and firmly replied, “It was mine.”
“Is that so? And where did you learn how to cast such a spell?”
“From my grandmother.”
“Who is?” The queen impatiently tapped her long nails against the arm of the throne. “I weary of these games, little girl. You will tell me the answers I want to know.”
“Badb,” Aisling spat. “My grandmother is Badb, the war crow.”
She had the satisfaction of seeing the queen’s eyes widen in shock before she let out a snort of laughter. “Of course, she is. The meddling witch could never leave well enough alone when it came to my family. Ridiculous, speckled thing. She’s still alive I take it?”
“Alive and very well.”
“Just to spite me, I’m sure.” The queen glanced down at her son and made a disgusted noise. “Get off your knees. You look pathetic.”
Bran slowly rose, unfurling his great height while feathers rippled down his neck and disappeared underneath the collar of his shirt.
“Mother—”
“Don’t interrupt me. You know I don’t like that kind of behavior.”
“And you know I’m no longer a lap dog.”
“When were you?” The queen glared at him. “You were always a difficult child. And now you’re insisting upon breaking a curse you have no right to break.”
“Enough.”
Aisling had never heard him speak like that before. The echo of beasts rang in his voice, the growl of an unknown creature stalking its prey in the darkness. For the first time, she understood why there were many who feared him. It wasn’t because of his power or his self-control, but because of what he hid from the rest of the world.
His mother lumbered to her feet. The heavy abdomen attached to her form dragged on the floor as she walked, audibly scraping the smooth stone.
“You dare speak to me that way?” she asked, her voice the quiet before the storm.
“You will not speak to me like that. Not in front of her, not in front of anyone.”
The queen cocked her head to the side. She observed her son as if he had said something that confused her greatly. “It has been too long since you have lived here with us. Perhaps you need a reminder of who your parents are.”
Aisling didn’t have time to warn him about the leg reaching through the webs for him. She barely noticed the dark shadow, infinitely larger than the queen, until it snaked around Bran’s waist and yanked him up into the webbing.
“Bran!” she cried out, racing forward as if she might grab him.
“I think not.” The queen stretched out a leg.
Aisling couldn’t stop her momentum. The grotesque appendage caught her at the shin, sending her tumbling onto the floor in a heap. Her hair pooled around her, dark strands melding into the floor until she couldn’t tell where the castle ended and she began.
She spread her fingers wide. She was here, in the castle, and no matter what the magic in this room tried to tell her, she still existed. The queen would not break her.
The ground shuddered as eight limbs stomped toward her until the queen hovered just out of reach. She could feel the heat emanating from the distended stomach. The faint scratch of bristly hair touched the back of her legs.
“How do you know my son?”
“I cursed him.”
“The binding curse? A relatively easy fix, but I sense you have seen him before.”
Aisling shook her head. “I’d never seen Bran in my life.”
“Bran?” The queen’s laughter shook through Aisling, who realized the Unseelie queen had played a card. The queen now knew how close they were. “Curious indeed, you are a surprising little changeling. Strange, really, your kind is rarely interesting.”
“I’m not the average changeling.”
“I can see that.” The queen stepped away. One of her legs trailed along Aisling’s, and she had to clamp her jaw shut so she didn’t whimper. “Still, it makes you even more interesting.”
“I have no desire to be.”
“You’ve been interesting all your life to many different people. First your own, the granddaughter of Badb was sure to get attention. Then by humans because you’ve always been different, unique, other. And now you are interesting to me. I’ll let you decide which of those is the most dangerous attention to catch.”
“Human,” she spat. “The answer will always be humans.” She pushed her body into sitting and glanced over her shoulder.
The queen’s face twisted in surprise before her slanted eyes narrowed again. “Humans? Dangerous? If that’s what you truly believe, then I wonder if you’ve ever actually seen danger.”
Aisling took in a deep breath. “If I asked you whether or not you were going to kill me, what would you say?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“That’s why I rank faeries lower than humans when it comes to danger. You cannot lie to me.”
The queen tapped a finger to her chin. “What would a human have said?”
“They would have said no. And it would’ve been a lie.”
“Oh, I like you, little girl. I like you quite a bit.” The queen sat back on her haunches and gestured for Aisling to come closer. “Let me see you.”
Aisling never thought she would go quietly to her grave. But each step brought her closer and closer to death, wrapped up in a gossamer skin and a sharp grin.
She took a deep breath and paused before the queen. “You wish to read me?”
“I wish to peel back your skin, crack open your skull, and peek inside your head to see how you work.” The queen reached out her hand impatiently. “Consider this my gift, as my son seems fond of you. I will only ask to see into your past.”
If the queen spoke the truth, then it was a good deal. Aisling placed her hand in the queen’s.
Magic tingled where their palms met, the queen’s covered in faint, bristly hairs. And for the first time since she broke the curse upon her face, the eyes on her palms opened.
The resulting surge of magic tossed her head back. She opened her own eyes wide, staring up into the ceiling, but she couldn’t see anything. Memories flashed before her gaze, too quick to focus upon and too hard to remember. They zipped through her mind at lightning speed until she grew queasy and weak.
Her heart sped up, her lungs worked to bring in enough air to keep her alive, and her mind threatened to shatter. It was too much, too fast, too powerful as the queen’s magic sliced through her sanity and dashed it to pieces.
“Oh,” the queen murmured and finally released her hand. “So, that’s who you are.”
Out of breath, Aisling replied, “And who might that be?”
“The little runaway. It seems you and my son have far more in common than you might think.”
“Explain.”
“Your parents made a deal. One Seelie daughter, beautiful, accomplished, and kind. In exchange, we would grant her a comfortable life. It is a good deal between parents whose children will never take the throne. It was supposed to be you”—the queen pointed at her—“but you disappeared. And then the deal was off. Your sister chose who she wanted, your brother went off to war, and your parents never had another child.”
“They broke a deal with you?”
“You were children. Breaking a deal is rather easy when the expected child doesn’t turn out to be Seelie after all.”
The queen stared at her with a speculating gaze that made Aisling thoroughly uncomfortable. She was only supposed to endure the queen peering through her memories, not her thoughts.
“I am changeling. I am witch. I am many things, and you cannot place the mantle of one upon my shoulders without acknowledging the others.”
“A smart woman. You’ll do well here.” The queen shifted, bringing a leg up as i
f she was going to stand, but paused at the last second. “You are the Raven King’s consort.”
Anxiety spiked in her chest. “I know.”
“Then you understand he is not going to let you go easily.”
“I’ve yet to find a man who didn’t try to get out of a marriage.”
The queen smiled. “There are always ways to test your mettle, witch. But if you wish to break your curse and renounce your future, you may go and speak with him.”
Aisling stared at her, stunned. Speak with him? The Raven King? The queen made it sound as if…as if…
“Is the Raven King here?” Aisling quietly asked. “In the castle?”
“Directly below our feet, in fact. You’re going to cross paths with him regardless.” The queen hefted herself to standing and made her way back toward the throne. “If you want the waters of Swan Lake that is.”
Her head was spinning. Aisling pressed a hand to her brow and stammered, “Why would you let me get the waters? You clearly did not want Bran to break this curse, although I don’t understand why.”
“You won’t understand everything in your life, little witch. And let me punish my son as I see fit. It makes no difference to me if he wants to break his curse. It’s the honor of it all. An Unseelie wears a curse like a badge of pride. It is honorable to struggle through life, even more honorable to kill those who cursed you. Bran has never fully accepted our ways. Not like you.”
Aisling wanted to argue, but she almost agreed. Bran didn’t fit in with any court. The Unseelie valued freedom and disorder, but Bran wasn’t likely to willingly harm someone. He was too busy finding his own way in life to waste time on others. But then he certainly wasn’t Seelie with their laws and rules to abide by.
She shrugged. “If it’s all the same, he wants to break the curse. I’d like to do that for him.”
“What if I told you breaking the curse was a great risk for you?”
“I would still do it,” Aisling said. She didn’t hesitate to answer. “He’s done enough for me.”
“So you owe him?”
“Even if I didn’t, I would still do this.”
The queen nodded and laid a hand on top of her dark throne. “Then I wish you all the luck with the Raven King. Perhaps you might convince him to break the contract. But I think you shall find something else down there.”
“Down where?”
The queen lifted a hand and pulled herself up into the webbing.
“Your majesty, where are you speaking of? I don’t know the way to the lake.”
A quiet chuckle filled the air, and Aisling knew something bad was about to happen. She waited only a heartbeat before a hole opened up in the floor just under her feet, and she plummeted into the darkness.
The Raven King
She fell for what felt like ages before she struck cold water. Ice and silence covered her head as she plunged into the dark depths.
Aisling hung there for a moment, floating in the oblivion and regaining her senses. Was this Swan Lake? It felt like regular water. No magic slid along her lips and greeted her with frozen fingertips.
Light speared through the frozen lake. No water sprites, no nymphs, not even a kelpie, which she would have expected to see in the Dark Castle. Nothing but silence and shadows cast from ice chunks floating over her head.
She kicked toward the surface. Fabric tangled around her legs. The supple boots on her feet pulled her down. Her lungs burned.
Aisling broke the surface and gasped in air. Shivers traveled down her body as the cold sank deep into her bones. Her lips grew numb, and her fingers filled with painful, icy pricks. But she swam, hoping she would eventually hit some kind of shore.
Her feet touched pebbled stones. She couldn’t have hit land already. She could still see water as far as the dim light would let her see. But it was certainly rocks underneath her feet. Solid ground threatened to twist her ankles as she waded her way through the lake and toward a small island in the center of the freezing water.
The air vibrated with the chiming of bells. On and on they rang, quieter than a church bell but higher than the gong. They were the small bells tied to a horse’s bridle, the ringing in a servant’s quarter, the endless call of a high-pitched chime.
She nudged a large chunk of ice out of her way, fingers burning from the small touch. Her shirt stuck to her chest. She pulled it out, then let it fall back with a sticky slap. She had to get out of these clothes or she would freeze to death. But how?
“How fortuitous. I never thought I would see you in my lifetime.”
The voice was filled with a thousand midnights, darkness and starlight wrapped so tightly they were bound for all eternity. She saw flashes in her mind’s eye. Visions of raven feathers crushed in a muddy boot print that slowly filled with water. Scales sliding upon a carefully laid porcelain floor, muscles flexing as a creature slithered across the opulence.
The crisp scent of fallen leaves filled the air, a hint of magic that added a sickly sweetness that caused her to recoil. Fruit rotted in her visions, and the eyes on her palms twitched.
“Lurking in the shadows?” she called back, swallowing her fear. “Hardly intimidating.”
“The shadows are my home, changeling child. It’s you who are unintimidating, standing in the light.”
A shiver rocked her body forward violently. She splashed a few steps in the water to gain her footing, then raced to the small incline out of the water.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“I think you know.”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I knew, faerie.” She took a shot in the dark. He had to be Fae, otherwise he was something far more dangerous.
“Good,” the voice replied with a deep chuckle. “That’s a start.”
Aisling curled her hands into fists. “I am here for the waters from Swan Lake.”
“Why would you want that?”
“To break a curse.”
Wind buffeted her back, pushing her forward again. She whirled too late. Whatever had rushed past was already gone.
“A curse?” the deep voice asked. “What kind of curse?”
“A binding curse.”
“Odd thing to want the waters for.”
“I was told it was the only way to break a binding curse.” She tried to peer through the darkness. There had to be a shift in the shadows, something that would reveal where this creature was. “Were they wrong?”
“You trust me enough to believe my words?”
“I trust no one, but I also know you cannot lie because you are most certainly Fae.”
The voice growled directly in her ear, “So are you.”
She spun again, lifting her fists to strike him in the jaw, but there was no one behind her. Smoke stirred around her raised hand. Aisling took a steadying breath. “How are you doing that?”
“Doing what?”
“You know.”
He chuckled. “You’re a forward child, I’ll give you that. What do you think I am?”
“If I had a guess, I wouldn’t have asked. Tell me what you are, or tell me if this is Swan Lake. Those are the only words I am interested in hearing you speak.”
“So rude,” he tsked. “You already know what I am.”
Out of the darkness above her, a single raven feather floated down to rest upon her raised fist. As dark as obsidian, it gleamed nearly blue in the dim light. It felt like velvet as it touched her knuckles, slid down her hand, and drifted onto the water.
“Raven King,” she gasped.
“The one and only. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
A fluttering of wings made her glance up from the feather drifting away. Her breath frosted in the air, the fog obscuring her vision for a moment. The instant it cleared, she saw him.
Ravens poured from the darkness. They shrieked and screamed as magic drew them together, splicing their forms until he was nothing more than a mass of squirming feathers and gnashing beaks. They settled as one and revealed a ma
n larger than life.
He looked like…
“Bran,” she gasped.
The Raven King arched a brow, and his lips quirked into a smile. “Close, but not quite.”
Aisling could see the differences now, although they were slight. This man was much older than Bran. His nose was more hawk-like, and the feathers spread across his face were much more pronounced. Wrinkles fanned from his eyes and deepened the grooves around his mouth.
He wasn’t quite Bran, but he wasn’t something else either.
The Raven King floated above the water, stepping toward her without creating even the slightest ripple from his movement. Feathers spread from his shoulders in a quivering cloak that shone emerald and sapphire. He advanced with purpose, a knowing grin on his face.
“You look just like him,” she whispered, stepping back until her heels struck water.
“He looks like me. But the resemblance is uncanny, isn’t it?”
The Raven King paused before her, and she stared up into his gaze and noted the differences. His raven eye was red, not yellow. His jaw was a little weaker, his nose a little longer, but he was right. They could have been brothers.
“Family trait?” she asked.
“Not a drop of blood relation.”
“Strange.”
“Not when you factor in magic.” He reached forward and twirled a strand of her wet hair around his finger. Steam rose from the tendril that touched his flesh, then magic pulsed up the strand, drying as it went. “You are not as I imagined you.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“Hardly.”
She watched him through narrowed eyes as he circled her. The cape billowed behind him, raven heads stretching for freedom only to be slammed back into the fabric by an invisible hand.
Aisling didn’t know what game he was playing, but it wasn’t comfortable. His eyes looked her up and down, measuring her worth, finding all the flaws in her features. She felt the gentle nudge of magic and had to force herself not to retaliate with whatever spell she could think of.
“When they chose you as my consort, I wondered what you would look like as you aged. The last time I saw you, you were just a little twig.” The Raven King held up his pinky finger. “All limbs and eyes. You were strange looking, but I could see you would become an intriguing woman.”