by Bec McMaster
“You think the Mother of Night sent me to you?”
I still. “You were sitting on my chest when I woke, and she’d promised to protect me.”
“Yes. You were warm. My feet were cold.”
A strange thought occurs. “What brought you to these woods?”
“I was waiting for you to arrive.”
My hand curls around my dagger. “How did you know I was coming here?”
The creature rolls its eyes. “I’m a grimalkin. I walk the shadows—the same way the Heartless do—but sometimes, in walking that world, I can catch a glimpse of a future unmapped. I needed help, and when I requested such from the world, your face kept appearing, as uninspiring as it is. And so I am here.”
My feet feel weighted to the ground.
“Put the knife away,” the grimalkin continues. “You’re only going to embarrass yourself.”
I glare at it, but suddenly it’s no longer there.
I spin around.
Nothing.
And then there’s a mocking purr in the tree above me, and something swipes at my hair.
Lambent yellow eyes appear, and then the fucking cat lolls on its back in the branches above me as a piece of my hair sifts to the ground.
“I could have gone for the tendon in your right heel,” it points out. “And you would never have seen me coming.”
Fuck.
I dwell on the creature. It could have killed me while I was unconscious near the Hallow. It wants something from me. I just need to work out what. “Do you have a name, o Lord of Shadows?”
It’s eyes thin, as if it’s not entirely certain whether I’m being sarcastic. “You may call me… Grimm.”
No fae creature gives out its real name. But…. “That’s terribly original.”
“It will suffice. And your own?”
“Vi.” I resheathe the dagger. “You said you needed my help.”
The grimalkin disappears, and I nearly fall over as it suddenly wends its way between my legs. “Excellent. You’re starting to listen. Yes, I need your help. I have lost my child.”
Oh. “I’m so sorry, I—”
“Not my kit,” it says with some dissatisfaction. “As if I would lose my kit. My fae child. I am its owner, and I have been charged with protecting it from the world. It is foolish—though allowances may be made for its age—and small, and it frequently smells because it has a tendency to fall into bogs and all manner of… messes. But it is mine, and no grimalkin loses its child.”
My mind’s trying to work out the logistics. “You’re a familiar.”
“I am not a familiar. It is my child. My fae is impossibly sweet. I keep telling her that she needs to grow thorns, but she’s nothing but a rose itself.” He sniffs to himself, as if it’s a despicable thing to be so gentle. “And now she’s in trouble, and I need to protect her.”
“Well, if she’s in trouble, then why are you here?” Grimalkin are curious creatures. They’re not pets—indeed, I’m rapidly learning they consider us to be their pets—but when they bond with a creature, it’s for life. “How can I help?”
The grimalkin stares into the flames for a long moment. “Because the future tells me I need to be at your side. You’re going to help me rescue my fae.”
“I would help you if I could, but I need to find a crown and slay an evil queen.” A rough laugh escapes me. “And that’s only if I can manage to return to my husband. You’re better off finding someone else to help you. The Heartless are trying to capture me.”
The shadow-cat’s head turns eerily toward me without any corresponding movement of its body. Its eyes remain unblinking. “No. No, I think I shall remain by your side.”
A little shiver tiptoes down my spine—almost like little pawprints. “What do you see?”
The grimalkin’s attention returns to the flames. “A child crying. A princess screaming. And a dark goddess laughing.” It licks its paw. “And don’t ask me to explain any of that, because the future is too broad and nebulous for your puny fae mind to grasp.”
Grimalkin.
“Well this puny fae mind is the—”
“More wood is required.”
I glare murder at it, and then dump another armful of branches on the fire. “I’m sorry that you’ve lost your child, but I’m returning to Ceres as soon as that Hallow recharges.”
“And I will accompany you.” I open my mouth to argue, but it gives me a narrow-eyed look. “Oh, did you think you had any choice in the matter? I can walk through shadows, little fae. You cannot hide from me, not matter where you go. I will find you.”
I swear the fucking thing is smiling at me.
“I protected you while you slept. You owe me a boon, and so my demand is this: You will take me with you until I choose to depart your side.”
“How does that help you find your child?”
“The future is a strange and nebulous thing. Try not to think about it too much. You’ll strain a muscle.”
There’s only one good thing about this entire situation: Grimm is going to drive Thiago and Eris to the edge of frustration.
I can hardly wait.
I’m almost nodding off when something suddenly yowls in my ear.
Clapping a hand to my chest, I sit up sharply, but the grimalkin merely bumps its head against me. “Wake up, pudding brain.”
“What’s wrong?” I gasp. “Are we under attack?”
“If we were under attack, then you would see the ground littered with the corpses of mine enemies.” I swear it rolls its eyes. “The Hallow is nearing completion. You should be able to use it shortly.”
I blink.
And he’s right. I can feel the Hallow’s echo starting to ripple out through the lands, like some sort of sonar frequency.
A heavy weight forms on my shoulders, and suddenly I have a fur cloak.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Grimm demands. “We haven’t got all day.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The second we arrive in Ceres, I stagger out of the Hallow’s copper ring, feeling utterly drained.
The Hallow stands in the second-tallest tower in the castle, and for a second, I simply close my eyes and breathe it all in. Home. I’m home. Bells ring in the distance, seagulls squawk through the open arches that lead to the sky, and I swear I can smell bread baking.
And I can feel the land welcoming me back—a big, deep breath of air that relaxes every tense muscle within me.
“Are you always so slow?” Grimm demands, already sauntering down the stairs of the tower. “Did your mother drop you on your head as a baby? Come on.”
Thiago and Eris.
Their faces when they see my new companion.
I grind my teeth as I stomp down the stairs after it, my skirt still in ruins, and bruises and dirt covering my skin. No queen now, but an untidy vagabond who desperately needs a bath. “My mother would have had to cradle me in her arms in order to drop me, and I’m sure the second she birthed me, she handed me over to the nursemaids. I was merely appreciating the fact that I’m….”
Alive.
I hadn’t let myself dwell on what had happened too much. It’s easy to push such thoughts aside. I’ve been doing it all my life. Just focus on what’s in front of you and keep moving forward.
But this is the first time the fetch has made a deliberate attempt to kidnap me since it lost me the first time.
Angharad wants to cut my heart out on the stone floor of the Hallow in the middle of the Black Keep, and she came very close to doing it.
“I see the future, not read minds,” Grimm tells me.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“I assure you, my faculties are quite adept.”
“An Unseelie queen wants to sacrifice me to the Horned One in order to resurrect him,” I snap. “Forgive me if the thought makes me a little uneasy. I’m grateful to be home.”
Grimm stops on the stairs, and for once there’s no snide remark.
“We cann
ot allow that to happen.” He continues padding down the stairs.
“Thank you.”
“Not until you’ve found my child.”
“Is it possible she ran away from you?” I growl under my breath.
“Impossible. I am a grimalkin. I am her shadow. There’s no place she could go that I couldn’t follow.”
“Then how did you lose her?”
For once, he’s silent.
I’m almost tempted to apologize.
“I don’t want to talk about that right now.”
We circle around the final curve, and as light spills through the archway ahead, I realize there’s an enormous shadow hovering in the arch.
Thiago stands frozen, one hand resting on the rail, his foot on the first stair, staring up at me. He looks like he’s seen a ghost.
My heart skips a beat.
“Vi?” Thiago’s voice comes out with a quiver, and the look on his face—I don’t think I’ve ever seen him wear that expression before. As if he doesn’t dare hope, doesn’t quite believe his eyes and ears.
“It’s me,” I whisper.
And then he’s rushing up the stairs and I’m in his arms, and suddenly everything is going to be okay.
I’m home.
I’m safe.
And the rib-crushing hug he gives me makes me want to simply lose myself in his arms and never lift my head again.
“Where were you?” he rasps. “What happened? I’ve had Thalia’s spies and sparrows searching everywhere. We’ve been to every Hallow we could find, and turned to every fae with the gift of foretelling. None could even catch a glimpse of you.”
“I’m fine.” I squeeze his biceps. “The fetch took me to Charun, and I managed to escape it, and—”
“Escape it?” There’s an edge of the predator in his eyes, and I know he’s battling the instincts that demand he heads north and tear apart everything that had a hand in my kidnapping.
“I used the power of the Hallow to make enough light to rival the sun. I burned it, but I don’t know if it managed to blink into the shadows, or if it… died. But doing so drained the Hallow dry. We had to wait for it to recharge before I could return.”
There’s a weight on his brows. And then he kisses my hand. “Sunlight.”
“The only way to slay a fetch.” I give him a light smile, but we’re both aware of what I’m not saying.
I did something that no fae could manage.
“Good.” Thiago lets out a slow breath. His hand slides through my hair, and he leans down and captures my—
“No!” I squeak. “I’m filthy! And I smell. And I haven’t scrubbed my teeth.”
He kisses me anyway, his hands sliding up and down my waist as if he can’t resist touching me. “I don’t care.”
I do. “Bath,” I growl, pushing at the hard planes of his chest.
Thiago backs away, but the glint in his eyes promises me ruination the second I’m clean—or deemed to be so. He lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses my palm. “As you wish, my love.”
“Maybe you can help wash my back.”
“Hello? Have you forgotten something?”
A furry weight bumps against my legs, and Thiago looks down with a scowl. “What… is this?”
There’s so much to say. So much to explain. But perhaps the easiest thing to start with is this. “I have a cat.”
His eyebrows arch. “Vi, that’s not a—”
“Pfft. Semantics.” I press my finger to his lips. “I know what he is. The bastard’s only too delighted to point it out every chance he gets. But for now, he’s my cat.” My voice roughens. “He guarded me while I slept. And he’s lost and alone. He told me he can’t find his last owner.”
“He probably murdered them,” Thiago mutters.
“I owe him a boon. I told him I’d help him find his child.”
And the fae must pay their debts or suffer the consequences.
Thiago’s eyes turn into thin slits. “It’s not sleeping in our bed.”
“I’ll sleep wherever I please, little princeling.”
From Thiago’s icy glare, it’s clear he heard it too. “If I see a hint of your beady little eyes in my bedchamber, I’ll throw you through the nearest Hallow straight into a troll’s cave.”
Grimm launches into my arms, and I’m forced to contend with twenty-five pounds of pure arrogance that butts its head against my chin.
“Just try it, you big bat,” Grimm purrs, and his claws sink into my arm. “The queen is bound to help me find my owner, and until then, I’m staying with her.”
Thiago shoots me another look, one that clearly says stop making deals with Unseelie creatures.
I bare my teeth in a half smile, half wince. “He’s cute. And he’s nice and warm at night. And he won’t shit in the bed.”
Grimm does this kind of snigger-purr that I take to mean, unless the prince really annoys me.
Thiago stabs a finger toward Grimm. “Don’t eat the demi-fey. Don’t let me find you in our bedchambers. And don’t get too comfortable. As soon as we get a chance, we’re going to find your owner and then you’re gone, do you understand?”
“Aw. Is the wittle pwince afraid she likes me better?”
I swear I see steam shoot from Thiago’s ears as he stomps away.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The next morning, I groan as I roll out of bed.
“Breakfast?” Thiago purrs, proving himself the best husband in the world as he snaps his fingers and a tray appears, laden with all my favorites.
I glance at the towel wrapped around his hips even as I reach for a piece of bread. “That depends.”
“On?”
“Whether you intend to be breakfast.”
He crosses the room, resting both hands on the sides of my chair as he leans down to give me a kiss. “Don’t think I’m not tempted, Vi. Last night was fun.” But his thumb strokes across my cheek. “But you look like you need more sleep.”
I feel like it too.
“I guess the Hallow wasn’t the only thing that was drained,” I grumble, sipping at my cup of peppermint tea. Bliss. “You could do all the work?”
He smiles, but there’s a glint of worry in his eyes. “Patience holds its own rewards. I’ll wait until you’re more rested.”
I roll my eyes. “What are we doing today?”
He walks away from me, tugging the towel loose. “Discussing our next move. If that bracelet doesn’t hide you from the fetch, then we need to figure out how to protect you.”
I tilt my head sideways. Oh, now that’s really unfair.
His bare ass practically begs for my teeth.
“Vi?” It’s clear from the twinkle in his eyes that he’s said my name a few times.
I warm my hands on my cup. “Yes?”
“Later,” he mouths, and then he winks.
Fine. Grumbling under my breath, I reach for the second teapot on the tray. Peppermint to start the day, and then bitter nettle to prevent any unwanted side effects from last night.
But my fingers freeze on the teapot lid.
I didn’t drink any tea yesterday. Or the day before.
There’s a hollow ringing in my ears. It should be fine. Thiago withdrew last night. And I’m almost due for my monthly bleeding, in fact….
When am I due?
I’d jokingly said to Thalia that maybe it was best if I didn’t wear white the other night—just in case. But I haven’t thought about it since. Everything’s been so hectic.
But the thought ringing through my head is: I should be bleeding by now.
I can’t stop myself from counting, but there’s a breathless feeling in my chest that sends my thoughts scattering the second I get to five weeks.
Nearly five weeks since I had my last monthly.
Five. Weeks.
“Vi?” Thiago’s voice roughens. “What’s wrong? You’ve gone pale.”
“I’m late,” I whisper, my hands starting to shake.
“We’ve got t
ime—”
“Late.”
This time Thiago looks at me, and I see a myriad of expressions in his eyes. Confusion. Understanding. Then horror. “No.”
Pressing my hands to my midriff, I can’t stop my nails from digging in. We were so careful. He always withdrew or used a sheathe, and I’ve been drinking bitter nettle tea every cursed morning.
“How late?”
“I don’t know! Three, maybe four days.” It’s enough to make worry worm like a hole in my gut. My bleedings have always been regular.
This should be a moment of joy, but all I can taste is a mouthful of ash.
I want this child so badly, but I cannot risk it. Not now.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“No, I’m not sure!” I shove to my feet, my nightgown swishing around my legs. “I don’t feel any different.” Should I not be feeling queasy by now? I don’t know. This is not an area I’ve ever given much thought to before. “Just tired.”
But that can be explained.
Lack of sleep.
Attacks every time I turn around.
Endless nightmares.
I squeeze my eyes shut and I see her, running through a field of wild poppies, tracing her fingers over their petals as she laughs and looks back at me—
Right before the shadows swallow her whole.
I think I’m going to be sick.
I bolt for the wash chambers, sliding to my knees in front of the bath. My stomach rebels, but even as I gag, nothing comes up, and I don’t know if this is shock or something more.
A hand rubs my back, soft words rumbling through him.
“It’s alright, Vi. It’s alright.”
It’s the first time he’s ever lied to me since we made our promise.
Finally, I managed to swallow down the urge to vomit. A cool rag is draped over my neck, and Thiago squats on the cool tiles beside me as I drag my knees to my chest and cradle them.
“We will find the crown,” he assures me, squeezing my knee. “No matter what I have to do. She won’t have our child, Vi. She won’t.”
I want to cry, but I just feel so wretchedly hollow.
“I might not be with child,” I whisper.
Our eyes meet.
“I won’t know for sure until….” I can’t say the rest.