by Bec McMaster
“I don’t give a fuck about their acceptance.”
I meet his eyes. “I can’t be what you want me to be.”
Keir stares at me for long seconds before he sighs in surrender. “You’re not merely a wraith, Zemira. You’re fae too. And if you want the truth, I think your mother was of the Court of the Moon and Stars.”
“What?”
The Court of the Moon and Stars is mere myth to most of the fae these days—though I have wondered whether my gifts came from there. Once upon a time it sat high in the Forbidden Mountains, a palace carved of alabaster that gleamed like the moon itself.
It was destroyed several decades ago by an avaricious king.
“Why would you say that?” I can’t bear to sit still any longer and push off the bed. There’s some escape in movement, in pacing—some escape from the emotion clawing its way up my throat. For as long as I can remember, my mother has been a mere shadow to me.
I don’t know her name.
I don’t know where she came from.
I don’t know if she had sisters or brothers, or parents. Or if she liked cheese or blackberries or riding or painting. I don’t know anything about her.
All I know is that she had eyes as clear as an alpine lake, just like mine.
And that she gave me three names.
She loved me. She loved me enough to name me true, according to the old ways. I have to believe that. I have to. But it’s a knot that twines its way around my heart like strangler vines, because no one and nothing has ever loved me, and if I cling to that… then it makes the stone weight in my chest feel a little like a heart.
“Because the Queen of the Court of Moon and Stars was a Shadow Walker, just like you,” he finally says. “It ran in her blood, and some say it’s the reason her court was shattered. She had three daughters, each as fair and lovely as the others, and each one powerful and dangerous. Myrinda, Amithiele, and Zyra Starsworn.”
My breath catches as he conjures a ball of light into his hands. Movement swirls within it as it spins, letting shadows dapple over the walls. It’s like a snow globe. A child’s snow globe. But it’s not glass. No. It’s a dream. A fragment in time, captured within a tiny pocket realm and fused into the shape of a globe.
Three fae women appear.
One is blonde and lovely, clad in a gown that shimmers like the moon off the waters of a lake. The second has her ashen hair bound into a braid, and her earrings are little daggers. There’s no mercy in her face, and the sword at her hip has a moonstone set into the pommel. But it’s the last one that captures my attention.
The one with hair like spun starlight, clad strictly in black leather with a hunting bow at her side.
The one with the emblem of a slashing hawk carved into her belt.
“The Starsworn,” he whispers, and the other two women vanish like smoke as he forces the third princess to lengthen until I might as well be looking in a mirror.
All I can see is her face, lovely and dangerous.
Something hot slides down my cheek as I reach for her. The second my fingertips touch her cheek, she’s gone, ghosting into mist. The globe dissipates.
But for a second, I felt her.
And I saw her eyes widen as if somewhere—long ago—she felt a phantom caress on her face.
“Why did you show me that?” Rage and sadness threaten to overwhelm me.
“Because Raesh is but one half of you, Zemira. It’s the only half you know. But you are fae too. You were born under an ancient moon, and you have the stars in your blood. You were made of the shadows, and you have the power of an ancient fae queen thrumming through you.”
He reaches toward me. “Do you know why King Ryddhaen broke the Court of Moon and Stars? It’s because the queens that ruled there were powerful beyond belief. Thousands of years ago, a long-ago fae queen found a fallen star high on the mountains, where she eventually made her court. The stories say she swallowed it, and nine months later she gave birth to a daughter who glowed like the stars and had the power to shift the tides themselves. You are a child of that bloodline, made of starshine and shadows. You are unmatched by any among the Blessed courts.”
“I am also a child of darkness and despair,” I breathe.
His face is merciless. “Yes. You are.”
My heart sinks like a stone.
“You are darkness and you are light, and if you could ever bring yourself to accept the entirety of your nature, then even your father would fear you. You could kiss the stars themselves, Zemira, if only you would let yourself.”
“And you?” I whisper.
“Me?”
“Would you fear me too?”
A dangerous glint comes into his eyes. “I fear nothing, my lady of starlight. I never have, and I never will.” Flames suddenly flicker in his eyes. “Because I am Fire and Fury, and if I were to ever unleash myself from these mortal trappings, then the very world would burn.” He captures my chin. “I do not fear you, Zemira. Even though you could be my undoing.”
No matter how much I try, I can’t stop the violence trembling within me. “If you continue to offer me such terms then I will be your undoing.” My throat goes dry. “He’ll kill you, Keir. My father will kill you. No.” I turn for the wash chambers, desperately needing a moment alone. “This is all we can ever be.”
15
I know what I have to do now.
I Sift along the hallways of the court, searching for my target. I checked on Keir before I left and found him sleeping, which means this is the perfect opportunity to take. My heart might be in turmoil, but my head is clear.
I can feel her, deep in my heart, stirring, reach for me—
It feels like days of mulling over the court, the gossip, the rumors and lies, has finally cleared the mess in my head.
Malechus has spent the days hunting and drinking, and the night’s debauching himself in his private grotto. I can’t get into his bedchambers, and there’s no sign of Soraya in the rest of the court, but there’s one place I haven’t looked for her.
The grotto.
It’s an old sunken limestone cave that’s been turned into a garden of sorts. Thousands of candles are tucked in nooks and crannies around the walls, and thick vines tumble from the roof. The floor is a carpet of moss and night-blooming flowers, and a little brook babbles somewhere in the distance. Ancient stone sarcophagi line the room. The stone is so old the symbols on them are rubbed bare, but they don’t seem like anything I’ve seen before. Someone whispered that they were the tombs of ancient dragon kings, long since turned to stone, and I haven’t dared asked Keir about it. There was rumor that they opened one of the tombs last night, just to check, and the enormous vault was empty, except for an eerie puff of dust that was unleashed when they levered the lid off it.
Malechus’s debaucheries aren’t for the faint of heart.
I’ve seen the masked recipients coming and going—always from a distance—and there are rumors that Malechus simply pours the rapture on the nearest table and lets his guests fight for it.
A young brunette casts her mask free as she tumbles into the arms of a naked faun, the pair of them vanishing into one of those hidden chambers that line the grotto. Snatching her mask before it hits the ground, I Sift into the shadows and then step out of them. Binding her mask around my face, I check the position of my knives, before I steal a wineglass from a passing tray with no intention of touching it.
I swirl the wine, breathing it in as though I know the difference between whether the berries that brewed it came from the mountainous slopes of the Shadowfangs, or whether it’s low country swill.
Really though, I’m testing for poison.
It’s one of Soraya’s favorite weapons and we spent our youths tasting poisons and antidotes. Even over the scent of a cloying wine I can pick out the faintest hint of hensbane or wolf fever, but this is innocent enough. Adding a little saunter to my stride, I step into the light and join the party. Instantly the music assails me.
<
br /> Clear head. Clear heart. Clear eyes.
I’m going to need it.
I know she’s here.
I’ve sensed it ever since I woke to that dream.
Malechus stalks into the grotto, his chest bare and a long black silk robe falling from his shoulders. A pair of loose silk trousers hangs low on his hips. It should look ridiculous, but there’s something about the way he moves that makes me suspect he could wear a jester’s bells and still pull it off. Dozens of hands reach for him, and the fae cry out in welcome.
Gorgeous golden sigils are tattooed across his chest. I recognize a crescent moon, a sun, a spear, dozens of others….
“Every single one of those marks represents a fae house that he’s destroyed,” whispers a woman beside me, clearly following my gaze.
“Someone’s ambitious.” There are dozens of them.
“Hungry,” she says, watching Malechus with the same blaze of need in her eyes. But I half suspect she doesn’t desire his body—only his throat. “He was born hungry, that one.” Her mouth twists. “Though some say his father drove him to it.”
It’s not the first time I’ve heard of tensions between the king and his son. “Oh?”
The woman smirks and drinks a mouthful of her wine. “His older brother was stronger than he was, and the king spent years pitting them against each other for his love.”
“That doesn’t sound like love to me.”
The woman takes her first full look at me, as if surprised to find someone so naïve here. “Well, the brother’s dead now. Hunting accident, they say. Though Malechus is fond of his hunting…. Now they say he’s starting to see a crown in his future.”
“Is that why the king’s not here?”
“The king wants no part of this mockery. He cast Belladonna out of his court long ago.”
Again, I’m missing threads. But I don’t say it this time. “Have you placed a bet on whether the wedding will take place yet?”
“My money’s on Belladonna,” the woman replies. “I hope she takes them all out. She’s earned a little peace and quiet.”
I stare at Malechus. “Oh, I think she’s making plans to that end. I just hope he’s not going to present too large an obstacle.”
The woman laughs as if I’d said something incredibly droll, before she walks away.
A golden statue moves next to me, and I nearly leap out of my skin.
No. Not a statue. A fae youth.
Naked. Painted gold from head-to-toe. Even his lashes and hair clump together, as if he’s been gilded. The shock of the whites of his eyes and his blue irises is a little eerie, but he presents a tray of goblets to me.
I shake my head and circle the room. One thing is becoming clear. Malechus likes his displays. Everything screams of excessive wealth and power. Who imports a white hart all the way from the fens? Who unwraps an ancient dragon king, just to see if he’s turned to stone?
I’m finally starting to put all of the pieces of the puzzle together.
Mistmark claimed the horn when it crossed his lands.
Malechus wanted it.
And so, what? He threatens war? No. The Court of Storms is dangerous enough that even Malechus wouldn’t dare cross its king. And then there’s his father, who considers his ambitions dangerous enough that he’d quash even the merest notion of war.
The king would not dare let his son come into possession of an army.
I rub my temples as I rest my back against the grotto wall. I think this is all a power play. Malechus doesn’t have the strength to stand against his father, but if he gets his hands on the horn, he will wield the Wild Hunt. He can challenge his father. Kill him. Take his crown.
But the question always came back to: How did he force Mistmark into marriage?
What did he use against the lord in order to blackmail him?
It had to be something Mistmark would kill to get his hands on.
I already thought I’d found her, a long time ago….
My breath eases out slowly. It all comes down to Soraya.
My sister is missing—the same sister who lost more than her killer’s touch when she was sent to kill Mistmark, the same sister who won’t even breathe so much as a hint of his name.
Malechus has her, I’ll bet every coin in the treasury on it.
And he’s using her to blackmail Mistmark.
There are still so many unanswered questions—how did Malechus even know my sister would blunder into his court?—and yet my head is spinning as it all locks into place.
“Every time I see you, you look so melancholy,” says a cool voice.
As if summoned, Malechus swims into view, watching me with those shark’s eyes.
“Have you tired of your prince?” he asks. “Are you come to try something new?”
I can’t stop my knife from slipping from my sleeve and finding welcome in the warmth of my hand. He sees it too, and his lips quirk. “Perhaps I was curious,” I tell him. “But you will keep your distance.”
“I’m not here to harm you,” he murmurs.
“No? You certainly had no compunctions about sending your little handmaid to do your bidding the other night.”
“Handmaid?” His eyebrow arches. And then comprehension dawns. “Ah, you think her mine. Alas, my dearest Rhea has found another master who suits her purposes. Or should I say, ‘mistress.’”
He smirks at me as if he knows something I don’t know.
I think of every time I’ve seen Rhea.
Ismena is always nearby, and Ismena hates me.
Maybe he’s telling the truth. Maybe he merely came along and took advantage of my rapture-addled state. Maybe he didn’t plan it.
“I was wondering if you’d ever win free of Keir.” He prowls closer. “He’s so protective of you, my sweet. It must be chafing. But then, what is it they say? Keep your enemies close?”
I run my tongue over my teeth. I need to play this right. “Sometimes. But sometimes I like knowing he gets jealous.”
“Such a cruel game you play,” he whispers.
“Aren’t they all?”
A smile.
“A gift for you,” he murmurs, conjuring four long thin hair needles out of nowhere. He certainly wasn’t hiding them behind his robe.
“For me?”
A denial dies on the tip of my tongue as I catch a glimpse of the little jeweled ornaments on the end of them. A crescent moon adorns the largest. The other three are glittering stars, encrusted with tiny crushed diamonds.
“For you,” he murmurs. “For you shine the brightest of any here.”
Now I know he’s full of shit. As amazing as I am, the women here are beautiful. “That’s so sweet of you.”
Circling around behind me, he slides the first pin into the hair twisted on top of my head. “Sweet. Now I know you’re mocking me.” Another pin. “Does it amuse you to have two powerful princes chasing after you?”
“Are there two of them?” Even though my voice sounds flirtatious, I can’t quite manage to soothe the tension from my shoulders. He’s right behind me with a weapon in hand.
“There could be.” Another pin. And then the final one, sliding into place within my hair a little painfully. He strokes a strand of hair over my shoulders. “Where has he been hiding you?”
“Keir?” I take a nervous sip of my elderberry wine, then force myself to spit it back into my glass before he notices. It’s not every day a girl finds herself the center of a prince’s attention and I’m not fool enough to think this has anything to do with me.
No. Malechus is playing games.
I’m just the pawn he’s using to take a tilt at Keir.
Something about Keir unnerves him.
“He’s kept you from every court in the land,” Malechus muses. “Just think of all you’ve missed out on because of him.”
Murderous fae. Blood curses. Overly ambitious predators. Oh, yes, such a shame. “Maybe His Highness makes up for it in other ways.”
His sm
ile is dangerous and knowing. “You remind me of someone.”
“Was she beautiful?”
He leans closer, forcing me to put my back against the wall in order to maintain some semblance of distance. Over his shoulder I catch a glimpse of the room. He’s managed to herd me away from others quite nicely. “She was beautiful.” There’s hunger roughening his voice as he slips the sleeve from my shoulder. “But better yet, she belonged to another and I wanted her. I like taking what I want.”
Pressing a finger to his chest I arch a brow. “Then your father should have taught you to share better. Being the bone caught between two dogs is hardly flattering, Your Highness.”
His hand curls around my wrist. “Only when you think you’re the one with the leash in hand, is it?”
There it is.
The glimpse of something ugly in his face that I saw the other night.
This seductive tease is nothing more than a mask for his true intentions.
“Tsk, tsk, Malechus.” A voice calls out. “Chasing sloppy seconds again?”
The Lord of Mistmark appears, winding his way between sarcophagi. Falion lurks at his heels like a watchful hound.
A muscle in Malechus’s jaw ticks, and then he pushes away from me, his brow clearing of any irritation. “Ah, my reluctant groom. I didn’t expect to see you here. I thought you disdained such attractions.”
“I find them tedious.” The look Mistmark gives me, however, is anything but bored. He’s clearly curious as to why I’m here, and perhaps asking if I want to be here. “I find the entire affair tedious.”
“Ah, yes.” Malechus slinks toward him. “But the game is nearly done.”
“Mmm, perhaps.” Mistmark tugs his sleeve into place. “I do like your ambitions, however. It wasn’t enough to merely cross me, but now you’re going to take a tilt at Keir? My, my, someone has grown bold.” He looks at me directly. “You ought to leave, my lady. This isn’t a place for you.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” I smile at him. “All the dangly bits painted gold are kind of interesting to look at.”
Falion stares at me as if he can’t quite work out what type of woman I am.