by Bec McMaster
Sorrow fills me as we stare at each other. I don’t blame her.
I don’t blame her for any of this.
No. I know who I have to kill.
Slowly, my gaze lifts to my half brother.
“Is that fury I see in your eyes, Zemira?” Ruhle grabs a fistful of her hair, pressing her face against his thigh as if she’s a dog. Ismena flinches, looking down. “You thought you were in control, didn’t you? But all I was doing was testing a little theory, and it seems I was right.”
“No.” I can see where this is going now. I wasn’t the fucking card in play when I was sent to the Court of Blood; I was the bait. If I managed to capture the horn, then my father would have used it. But now he’s going to make another play, and I can’t let that happen. I lunge forward, but one of the guards yanks me back. Another kicks my feet out from under me, slamming me back to my knees.
And the fucking manacle of light stops me from Sifting.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” Ruhle prowls in a small circle around me, his eyes glittering maliciously. “I knew something had occurred when you came back from the Court of Dreams long after your sister returned. I know Keir’s reputation. Regardless of your skills, he wouldn’t have just let you go like that. I wanted to know more…. And so I found this pretty little bird and made it sing.” He wrenches Ismena’s head back with a fistful of her hair, squatting down and setting his face close to hers. Grazing his fingertips against her cheek he smiles when she flinches. “And what a story she told. About a prince who couldn’t take his eyes off our little wraith. About stolen kisses. Dinners alone. About the fury in his expression when you betrayed him. It made me start to wonder…. Did our little thief steal something more precious than a relic when she entered the Court of Dreams?”
“He’s a prince,” I scoff. “He doesn’t like to lose. And if you think he’ll trade me for the horn then you’re quite mistaken.” He wouldn’t dare. Not with the suspicion that Calliope survived the massacre within the Court of Dreams. Not with the cauldron still out there.
“The horn….” His smile is sinister. “You’re always so many steps behind, Zemira. Keir’s in love with you. And he’s going to give us everything we need if he ever wants to see you alive again.”
“You son of a bitch!” I lunge for him again, but one of the guards drives a boot into my ribs.
“How’s your sister?” Ruhle mocks as he paces around me where I lie gasping on the floor.
I try to suck in a breath, try to stop the pain. Something’s broken, I think, but it doesn’t matter. I can’t fight my way out of here. I need to be smart. They’ll know Soraya’s alive—Father will be able to see her soul writhing within its trap—but I’m not about to volunteer any information on Soraya’s whereabouts.
What I do know is that she isn’t here.
She’s with Keir. With Mistmark and Falion. Maybe I’m not entirely reliant upon the mercy of wolves.
“Soraya’s probably imagining a target right in the center of your back right now,” I whisper to him. “Don’t start sleeping easily, Crown Prince. Especially now you only have two or three of your seven left to watch your back.”
His eyes narrow, but his smile is nasty. “I’m going to enjoy cutting the heart from your lover’s chest. In fact, I might make you eat it once we’ve used it to power the spell.”
Ice floods through my veins.
A dragon’s heart.
They know.
Ruhle grabs my upper arm as I lunge forward, his fingers digging in cruelly as he leans toward me. “Did you think Father was going to make the trade? Your precious soul in exchange for the horn? Did you think you were going to be finally free?” He laughs. “We know the truth now. We don’t need the horn. We don’t need the cauldron. What we need is waiting for us at the Easternwick ruins. The dragon’s heart was right there in front of us the entire time.” He lets me go, brushing imaginary dust from my shoulders. “I do thank you, dearest sister. If you hadn’t spoken such a thing so loudly, my little sparrow here would never have overheard you, and we’d still be none the wiser.”
Ismena flinches, scrambling away from me with her head bowed.
And despite myself, I can’t quite summon complete hatred for her.
If Ruhle speaks the truth, then she’s only trying to save her own skin.
He’s our father’s favorite child for a reason, after all.
She’s just another victim of these vicious creatures.
Just like my mother. Just like me. Like Soraya. I curse and yank at the sunlit bracelet around my wrist, but all it does is burn my fingers.
I turn all my rage, all my focus upon Ruhle. “I will kill you,” I whisper. “You won’t hurt him. You won’t.” Maybe it’s a declaration of my feelings, but they’ve already got me bent over the altar with the knife to my ribs. There’s no point in keeping my silence now. “I swear I will stop you. Somehow. I’m going to burn your entire kingdom down.”
He throws his head back and laughs. “Where you’re going, you won’t have a chance. Prepare her for the trap.”
Hands grab me, dragging me away from the throne.
“Stop!” I scream, kicking at the floor. “Stop! Don’t do this!” I turn my attention to Father. “I’ll bring you the cauldron. I’ll break the curse. I swear!”
But there’s no hint of mercy in his expression.
There never is.
“I don’t need the cauldron,” Father says, waving a hand dismissively, “when I have the dragon’s heart right in front of me. Throw her in the cage and ready the horses. But don’t harm her. Keir will want to see her before we spring the trap.”
“No!” I scream as they drag me across the throne room floors.
I can’t Sift. I can’t warn him.
I don’t have a single ally in this place.
But I swear I will stop them.
Somehow.
To find out what happens next, Zemira and Keir’s story will reach its epic conclusion in Thief of Hearts.
Dear Reader,
Thank you so much for reading Thief of Souls. I hope you enjoyed it.
To find out what happens next, Zemira and Keir’s story will reach its epic conclusion in Thief of Hearts.
Books in series:
Thief of Dreams
Thief of Souls
Thief of Hearts
Want to know more about future release dates?
Make sure you sign up to my newsletter to be the first to know when they’re available.
Here are some other ways to stay updated:
* Follow me on Bookbub
* Follow me on Amazon
* Visit my website at becmcmaster.com
*Or join my Facebook group,
The Company Of Rogues
I hope we meet again between the pages of another book!
Cheers,
Bec McMaster
P.S While waiting for THIEF OF HEARTS, why not try PROMISE BY DARKNESS? Turn the page to find out more….
READ NOW
Princess. Tribute. Sacrifice. Is she the one prophesied to unite two warring Fae courts? Or the one bound to destroy them?
In a realm ruled by magic, the ruthless Queen of Thorns is determined to destroy her nemesis, the cursed Prince of Evernight.
With war brewing between the bitter enemies, the prince forces Queen Adaia to uphold an ancient treaty: she will send one of her daughters to his court as a political hostage for three months.
The queen insists it’s the perfect opportunity for Princess Iskvien to end the war before it begins. But one look into Thiago’s smouldering eyes and Vi knows she’s no assassin.
The more secrets she uncovers about the prince and his court, the more she begins to question her mother’s motives.
Who is the true enemy? The dark prince who threatens her heart? Or the ruthless queen who will stop at nothing to destroy him?
And when the curse threatens to shatter both courts, is she strong enough to break it?
A fairytale
twist inspired by the Hades and Persephone myth.
Keep reading for an excerpt from Promise of Darkness….
Chapter 1
Kill the beast.
And don’t disappoint me this time….
My mother’s words play in my head in time to the drumming hoofbeats of my gelding. It’s a song that’s been repeating itself for years, though the verses often change depending on her latest critique. Disappointing my mother seems to be my greatest ability these days.
Golden leaves drip from the trees in a steady tumble as autumn starts its slow, seductive slide into winter. I ease Jaeger to a halt, and he snorts, no doubt catching scent of the rank musk I too can smell.
“I know, boy.” I pat his neck as I slip from the saddle, landing lightly on the leaf mulch. Smells like a troll’s breath the morning after a feast of decayed corpse.
Late afternoon sunlight ripples over the ground, the wind whispering through silent trees. The forest itself seems to be holding its breath.
Watching.
Waiting.
Drawing my sword, I tie Jaeger to a tree and then creep toward the ruins.
There are eyes upon me.
I can feel them.
“That’s right, you ugly bastard. I’m here.”
The trail of blood leads directly toward the ruins ahead. Where it fell, the leaves have shriveled into brittle shreds, as if the blood itself is tainted.
The news came from the borders three days ago. An empty hamlet discovered on the edges of Vervain Forest, the woodcutters within vanished. Instead, there’d been claw marks in the door and a bloodied fingernail on the floor inside, as if someone had been dragged out by the ankles.
Other empty cabins were slowly discovered. Tales of a beast stalking the edges of Vervain and whispers of hunters not returning from relatively easy hunts began to grow in strength. Chickens slaughtered in their coops over the summer months, though nobody had mentioned it until it was too late.
It always starts with the chickens.
Banes are violent, magic-twisted beasts, cursed to live in a half-animal, half-human shape. It takes a powerful witch or spell to create them; and to break the curse is both dangerous and difficult. True love’s kiss. Eating the heart of the witch. Sometimes another spell will gift them with the ability to remain a man during the day and a beast at night, but magic often sloughs off them.
Which leaves me with one option.
The cold kiss of iron, straight through the heart.
It’s my first bane hunt.
Preferably not my last.
“Let’s make this nice and easy,” I mutter as I slip through the forest with murder—or mercy—on my mind.
Thorns encircle the ruins, some of them bearing spikes as long as my forearm. Poison drips from their tips; they call this particular bramble Sorrow’s Tears. It sprang from the ground the night the King of the Sorrows was slaughtered by his new Unseelie queen. Where his people wept, the brambles grew. It’s deadly to the Unseelie and excruciating to my kind, though it won’t kill us.
How, in Maia’s name, am I going to get inside the ruins?
The snuffling of the bane echoes in the distance. No doubt it made its lair deep inside where it will be safe from predators.
Skirting the brambles, I hold my sword low. Demi-fey peer at me from the shadows, their golden eyes vicious and unblinking. Sweat drips down my spine. I’m practically jumping at shadows, my skin prickling at the faint whisper of claws on stone.
“You can do this,” I tell myself quietly.
I have to do this. I have to slay the beast at my mother’s behest or suffer her consequences.
After all, if it tears my head from my shoulders, then at least I won’t have to hear about it for the next ten years.
Or worse.
Girding myself, I follow the bane’s blood trail to an overgrown arch. Shadows loom beneath it.
This was once the ancient stronghold of my kingdom, many years before my mother took power. The king who ruled wore a gauntlet coated with pure iron. A literal iron fist. Though the main tower’s half-shattered, with stones strewn about it like rumpled skirts, it wouldn’t surprise me if the tower once bore a certain phallic resemblance.
My mother overthrew him nearly a thousand years ago.
Nobody even remembers his name—she had it wiped from public record, and no one dared speak it upon pain of death. The years passed, and he faded from memory, crushed to dust just like this keep. Now only the forest remembers him, slowly swallowing what remains of his grandeur.
I wonder what he did to her to earn such a fate, such enmity. My mother is petty and vicious, but to ensure even history forgot him speaks of an enemy she saved her most vengeful acts for.
“This way, Princess!” a voice cries through the ruins. “I can see its tracks!”
I freeze.
Hooves echo on half-buried cobblestones, and then a glint of gold shines through the brambles as a young woman canters into view. Her blonde hair knots into tight braids that circle her head like a coronet. A trio of Seelie hunters clad in hard leathers are at her heels.
Curse it.
The Crown Princess Andraste. Strong. Dangerous. Powerful.
She looks like the epitome of a warrior princess, with a battle-hardened leather corset protecting her slim waist and boots that cling to her calves. A lush dark green cloak wraps around her shoulders, but it’s the bow at her back and the knives tucked into her boots that make her dangerous.
Andraste doesn’t miss. She doesn’t fail.
I might have once called her sister, though it’s been so long since we’ve been close enough for such a word. It’s not encouraged anymore.
After all, in my mother’s kingdom, there is only one ruler, only one heir.
And I’m not the favored child.
I have to kill the bane first.
Darting up the spiral staircase of the tower, I slip my knife from its sheath so I’m well armed. I can’t afford to rush this and make a mistake, but I cannot afford to lose the chance.
Thighs burning, I make it to the highest level, my steps slowing.
Wounded grunts echo from within the chamber at the top. I slip toward the door, pressing my back to the stone wall beside it and softening my breath. A glance shows the turret room inside, dust and dead leaves covering the floor. In the middle of the room is an enormous, twisted mass of fur and sinew.
It looks like a wolf and a lion had a baby.
Or no, not quite.
There are enormous teeth that don’t belong to either animal, and claws over two inches long. It moves like a man, though its spine is curved like a cat’s, and it loped along on all fours when we were hunting it.
Blood drips from the wound on its flank where my arrow sank between its ribs, and it licks the ravaged wound, wincing a little.
The movement’s so familiar my fingers curl around the knife. The sound it made when my arrow sank into soft gray fur lingers in my memory. A cry. It sounded like a man’s pained cry.
No mercy for the monsters, sneers my mother’s voice.
But is it a monster?
It was fae once, whispers my conscience.
Aye, and now it’s terrorizing local villages.
Year by year, it will lose itself to the curse, until all it craves is blood. All it will hunger for is flesh. There’s no turning back. If the curse hasn’t been broken yet, then I doubt it ever will be.
This is mercy.
Or at least, that’s what I tell myself.
My fingers flex around the knife as I creep closer, picking my way between dead leaves.
The creature freezes.
So do I.
“Schmell you,” it whispers. “Coming to finish job.” The word comes from an inhuman mouth, but it freezes me right to the core.
There’s no reasoning with a bane. All you can do is put them out of their misery and stop them before they slaughter entire villages.
But this one is fae enough still to s
peak.
The slight hesitation almost costs me.
The bane lunges toward me, muscle rippling beneath its fur. I drive to the side, blade swinging up. Its claws lash out, smashing my sword to the side. The weight of it slams into me, and then I’m going down. Only pure luck—or years and years of practice with my mother’s swordmaster—mean that my knife drives into its side.
Stupid. So stupid.
As my back slams into the stone floor, I kick my heels up, driving it over the top of me. Lines of heat sear my thigh as its claws glance off me, but if I hadn’t reacted so quickly, they’d be buried in my gut.
Rolling ungracefully to my knees, I scramble for my sword. I have no idea where the knife went. Probably still in its flank.
The bane lashes out, claws swiping my boots from under me. I hit the floor, my hand closing over the hilt as I flip over. Like a turtle on its back, I shove the sword between us, scrambling back across the floor until my back hits the wall.
The beast stretches its spine, eyes glowing an amber gold in the dying afternoon light that pours through the open arch window.
It laughs, a faint, wheezing sound, as it prowls back and forth. “In trouvle now, little fae.”
It’s between the door and me, and even though it’s bleeding heavily, it’s still twice my size. And I’m down a weapon.
Curse it.
I clamber to my feet, forcing my voice full of a false bravado I don’t feel. If in doubt… bluff. “I don’t know. It seems I swapped the knife for a star-forged sword. I’d say I just traded up.”