Crown of Darkness (Dark Court Rising Book 2)

by Bec McMaster

  “Make it hurt,” I beg.

  Make me feel.

  He pushes away, both of us reeling a little and breathing hard.

  We stare at each other.

  The line that once held me safe from his advances has been crossed. Obliterated. And he did it deliberately.

  Resting on his knuckles, he stares into my eyes as if he’s trying to see through my soul. And then he laughs under his breath and shakes his head before he steps away. “No.”

  No?

  “What do you mean?”

  Edain turns around, the simple linen of his shirt clinging to his shoulders. “I mean no. I won’t be the tool you can use to make yourself bleed again.” Wiping a hand over his lips, he licks his fingers as if he can still taste me. “Kiss me when you want it to stop hurting, Princess, and I might think about it.”

  That’s the problem.

  I never want it to stop hurting.

  Pain means life. Pain is an end to the nothingness. Pain is a reminder that I’m still here. I’m still me. And sometimes, it’s the only way to remind myself.

  Edain sees it in my face. “I might be your mother’s fucktoy, but I’m not about to become her daughter’s toy too.” He crosses to the window and twitches the curtains aside, staring out into the night. The distant fires highlight the stark lines of his face. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

  “Game?”

  Edain allows the curtain to fall, and somehow it makes the room feel smaller. “You may have fooled the rest of the court, but you don’t fool me.” He turns around, his expression dark. “Your mother is beyond furious. I’ve spent all evening trying to talk her out of marching into Evernight with every warrior she can get her hands on. She’s still fucking sobbing in the ashes of that tree.”

  My lashes lower. “A regrettable mistake. The prince of Evernight chose his target well.”

  “You and I both know the prince never went anywhere near that tree.”

  It’s a dangerous accusation.

  And I’ve never entirely known how much I can trust him.

  Edain’s father married my mother and then died in a hunting “accident” several years later. By the end of the week, Edain was in my mother’s bed, and he’s been there ever since.

  “The gift of fire runs in your mother’s line,” he continues, his eyes glittering with an expression I can’t quite name, “but your sister’s never been able to master it the way you have. And the way that tree lit up, as though someone had packed it with explosive powder, makes me think magic was involved. So if it wasn’t your sister, and it certainly wasn’t your mother, then….”

  “Are you trying to suggest I had something to do with it?” I load my voice with every ounce of haughtiness I can find, and this time, I hop off the bench and step toward him. “Do you hear yourself? I am the Crown Princess of Asturia. I am my mother’s heir. And I have always been loyal to her. If you ever suggest such a betrayal by my hand, then I will be sure to—”

  “What?” He doesn’t back away. “Are you going to murder my father? Are you going to force me into your bed? Threaten to cut my throat if I don’t behave?” The muscle in his throat bobs, and he captures my jaw in a merciless grip. “Do you know, right now, you look exactly like your mother’s heir. Every inch of you.”

  I tear my face away. “Don’t you ever touch me.”

  “Again,” he says softly.

  “Ever.”

  His hand tenses into a fist, but he paces away from me before spinning on his heel.

  We stare at each other, like enemies daring the other to cross the undrawn line between us.

  “Have a care,” he finally murmurs. “Your mother is right on the edge. It seems someone stole her crown as well as setting her favorite tree on fire. She wants to burn things.”

  “Then I guess you had best prepare for a long night ahead.”

  Oh, that makes him angry.

  “And there you are again.” He shakes his head and turns for the door. “For a second, I almost thought you were something more than your mother’s clone.”

  It’s only once the door slams behind him that I find I can breathe again.

  And I feel sick to my stomach, because as I lift my eyes to the mirror, I see exactly what he sees.

  My mother’s daughter.

  Eaten hollow from the inside out.

  “One thing,” I whisper to myself. “You did one thing right.”

  It’s not enough to balance the scales. It never will be.

  But at least my sister has the crown she needs to save her daughter.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Iskvien

  We land in a Hallow in the snow, and Thiago freezes, his head cocked as if he’s listening. Baylor and Eris fan out, swords held low, and Finn nocks an arrow loosely, prepared to draw on a second’s notice.

  I don’t care if there’s danger here.

  My daughter is here.

  And if anything gets between us, I will destroy it.

  “Snow,” Thalia growls under her breath, taking a step and sinking up to her boots. “Why does it always have to be snow?”

  “Quiet,” Baylor mutters.

  She rolls her eyes. “Did you think I didn’t ward us all the second we arrived? If there’s anything out there, they won’t see or hear us. All they’ll see will be mysterious footprints appearing in the snow.”

  The last time we were in unseelie, Thiago said he didn’t dare use his power here, and it’s furled up tight and small within him, just in case there’s another darkyn nearby.

  My heart skips a beat as he and Eris share a look.

  “Nothing,” Eris finally says. “I can barely even hear the heartbeat of a pair of birds.”

  “The wards on Old Mother Hibbert’s cottage are so old, they were crafted by the otherkin,” Thiago murmurs. “You won’t smell the children. You won’t be able to hear them. Not even a heartbeat. She puts a spell on all her children, so they’ll always be able to find their way back to the cottage, even on the darkest night.” He turns to the south, peering intently into the forest. “It’s this way.”

  “Even after all this time?” I ask as I follow him.

  Thiago slogs through the snow, cutting a trail for me. “It’s not a sound or something I can see. It’s the call of the hearth. A beating drum in my heart that says, ‘Home, home, home.’ A feeling more than anything. And yes, even after all these years.”

  Eris frowns as she falls into step beside me. “There aren’t any animals nearby,” she says in a troubled voice.

  “The cottage spells tell predators to move on,” Thiago explains. “They won’t know why, but they’ll simply feel the urge to be elsewhere.”

  “Not even any birds, Thiago,” she points out. “There are no mice squeaking beneath the snow, no owls fluffing their feathers in the trees. The world is simply silent and empty.”

  Finn sets a hand on the hilt of his sword. “Thanks, Eris. I wasn’t quite feeling nervous enough about entering unseelie in the first place. Now my balls want to tuck tail and run.”

  Thiago shoots her a look, but he doesn’t say anything.

  She’s said enough.

  Something’s not quite right here.

  Even Grimm remains quiet, from his perch atop my shoulders.

  It takes us nearly an hour of walking before Thiago holds up a hand. “The cottage is just ahead,” he says. “The children aren’t used to strangers. Strangers mean death here in the north, so don’t make any sudden moves. I speak their language, so I’ll tell them to take me to Old Mother Hibbert.”

  We all nod and stamp our feet.

  I feel sick with nerves. I’ve been trying not to think of it all morning, but Amaya’s within earshot. I don’t know what to say to her. She doesn’t know me—she doesn’t know any of us—and all I can hope is that she’s led a happy life until this moment.

  What if she hasn’t led a happy life?

  I freeze, and Thiago squeezes my hand, as if he can sense what I�
�m thinking.

  “Soon,” he whispers in my mind, and then he’s pushing through a pair of fir trees, sweeping snow off the branches with his arm.

  A little glade appears.

  And there’s a cottage in the middle of it, the kind of cottage that belongs in all the old fairy tales. It stands cold and silent in the forest, and Thiago slams to a halt as he sees it, his nostrils flaring.

  “What’s wrong?” I can practically feel his tension. “We’re nearly there.”

  “You can see it?” he asks slowly.

  I nod, and then I remember…. The wards keep prying eyes away. I’m not supposed to be able to see it.

  “The fires are always burning,” he breathes. “She always keeps the fires lit for the littlest ones, and there’s more than a tongue-lashing for you if you allow them to fall cold.” He takes a step toward the cottage. And another. “The lanterns burn with faelight, night and day, just in case one of the children loses their way in the forest. Something’s wrong.”

  My stomach drops. My little girl….

  “Can you sense anything?” I ask Grimm desperately.

  “Pain. And fear,” the grimalkin replies quietly. “And the stink of the Shadow Ways.”

  They came for her, I know it.

  I should have paid more attention to my dreams. The fetch no longer had need of me, because they had her….

  I’m not the only one with the blood of the Old Ones. I’m not the only leanabh an dàn. And Angharad only needs one; the right kind of sacrifice to break open the Hallow that guards the Horned One.

  A breathless sob escapes me as Eris pushes past us, drawing her sword.

  “I can smell blood,” she says.

  And that’s when I start to smell it too.

  “Amaya!” I yell, shoving past all of them, but Thiago grabs my arm grimly.

  “Slowly, Vi.” He turns to look at the cottage. “Because whatever did this may still be here.”

  The closer we get to the cottage, the more I see signs of ruin.

  Glass shards glitter in the window panes, and flames have burnt one side of the house before they were seemingly doused. Someone’s torn the shutters from the windows, and they hang from broken hinges.

  There’s a trail of blood leading through the snow. Footsteps churn the snow to slush, and all around the clearing branches lie broken and cleaved, as if someone threw enormous amounts of spell craft around.

  Thiago wrenches open the door to the cottage, and nothing prepares me for the sight of a broken broom lying forlornly in the entry. There’s blood on the floor. Blood on the walls. Smashed toys and an abandoned boot that looks far too small to be an adult’s.

  It’s the boot that does me in.

  “Amaya?” I’m choking on the word, my heart pounding so hard I swear I’m going to break a rib.

  But there’s no sign of any children.

  I shove inside. “Amaya!”

  Thiago pushes past me and slams into an invisible ward. He feels at it. “The blood wards.” The words steal from his lips. “Old Mother Hibbert unlocked the blood wards.”

  “What does that mean?” I demand.

  He flexes his fingers against them. “I can’t get through. Nothing can get through. It was something Old Mother Hibbert always warned us about. If we were ever attacked, then we were to flee into the cottage and hide in the cellar while she fired the blood wards.” He curses under his breath. “It was the last line of defense, and something she would only ever do if she thought the children were at grave risk.”

  “Then Amaya may be inside,” I whisper, hope bleeding through me.

  “If she’s in the cellar, then she’s safe. But Vi….” He swallows hard. “They’ll last for twenty-four hours after Old Mother Hibbert’s death. She’s either dead or dying. We need to find her.”

  “This way,” Grimm tells me, “I can hear someone wheezing.”

  And then he launches from my shoulder and flies over the snow as if he has invisible wings.

  I stagger after him, careless of the others.

  Grimm follows the blood trail through the snow, to where a patch of firs shiver under the weight of their frozen burden. There’s a patch of multicolored skirts, and I find an old woman propped up with her back resting against the trunk of the fir, a bloodstained flask in her hand.

  The ancient hag gulps and gasps, as if her lungs have been pierced. I walk toward her in a dream-like state, even as my mind sees everything.

  “Don’t… come closer,” she hisses, and she curls her hand around a femur that looks like it was snapped in two.

  I don’t know why, but the sight of her ragged fingerless gloves breaks my heart a little.

  She took my daughter in and raised her as her own, despite the fact she has so truly little. Ancient blue tattoos are engraved on her haggard cheeks, and her half-rotted teeth are stained.

  “I’m not here to hurt you,” I call, sweeping my cape off my shoulders. “Here.” I squat beneath the firs and lay it over her legs. “We’re friends. We’re…. You have my daughter. You have my…. My Amaya.”

  The worry etched on her face eases, and she stares at me for a long, slow moment. “You’re her, aren’t you?”

  I don’t know what she means.

  “Said they wanted… a princess. But if they couldn’t… get the mother…. They’d take the child.” She spits a bloodied mouthful onto the snow. “Wouldn’t let her go…. Not one of my babies. That filth…. That filth. Swore I’d kill it….”

  She laughs and shudders, and then coughs on blood.

  “Where is she?” I whisper.

  Tears streak down that weathered old face. “I c-couldn’t… Couldn’t stop ’em. All I had left in me… was this….”

  They took her. The fetches took my daughter.

  I knew.

  A part of me knew the second I saw that broken door.

  I rest my forehead against hers, squeezing her hand tightly. “I will get her back.”

  A shudder runs through her.

  “Here,” I whisper, reaching out with my magic. “Let me heal you a little.”

  “No.” A hand grasps mine, surprisingly strong. “Ain’t enough… left o’ me.”

  Healing is a sharp-edged sword. I can use my magic to seal those ragged wounds, but I can’t gift her with strength. All it will do is weaken her further as the magic draws on her body’s reserves.

  She’s too far gone for me to bring her back. Too old. Too weak. Healing will kill her. But I hate feeling so helpless.

  “Just find my sweet Amaya,” she grates out. “Find my little girl and bring her back.” Grabbing hold of a set of keys hanging around her throat, she gestures for me to take them. “Give ’em… to Larina. House… belongs… to her now.”

  I take the keys and help her tip the flask to her lips, cradling her scalp as she tries to drink. My vision blurs. “How long ago?”

  “Three… hours.”

  Three hours. We were so close.

  She slumps into the snow, and the fight slowly leaches from her eyes. Too much. Too much blood, too much pain.

  “Blessed be,” I whisper, squeezing her hand.

  Thank you for taking care of my daughter.

  “Find… them.” The pressure of her hand begins to falter. “Find my… my babies….”

  “I’ll find them,” I promise her as her hand falls to the side and her head slowly lolls back. “I promise I’ll find them all and I’ll protect them. As you have.”

  And then her lungs give one last rattle.

  Silence falls.

  The only thing that breaks it is footsteps crunching through the snow behind me.

  I tug my cloak up over the old hag’s face, dashing the tears from my eyes. There is no time to mourn. No time to regret.

  I will burn that fucking bitch alive, and all her fetches too.

  “Vi?” There’s a look of horror on Thiago’s face as I shove to my feet, taking the keys with me.

  “They took Amaya.” My fingers
unerringly find the bracelet that keeps me safe from the fetch’s eyes, and I start to slip it from my wrist. “The fetch will have taken her back to Angharad, and they’ll be preparing her for the ritual.”

  My voice sounds so cool and so far away.

  “They’ll be at the Black Keep.” Eris stands behind him, and I realize they’re all there.

  “There’ll be guards,” Finn says, and for once his face is serious. “Angharad has packs of fetches and banes who serve her. The Black Keep…. The defenses alone…. I don’t know how we’ll get in. Or even if we can.”

  It was different when it was me they were after. I was merely prey trying desperately to escape my bloody end.

  But they took my daughter.

  They took my daughter.

  This time, I’m not prey. This time, I’m the hunter.

  I drop the bracelet into the snow, feeling a little tingle run down my spine, as if my magic gives a breath of relief to be unsmothered. There’s no longer any fear left within me. Realizing the truth has scoured me down to my bones, and all I feel is empty.

  Though there’s a little spark of rage there, just waiting to be kindled.

  “I can get in,” I tell them.

  After all, there’s a Hallow there.

  It’s not just an Old One’s prison.

  “And then we’ll kill them.” I meet Thiago’s eyes. “We’ll kill them all.”

  And he nods.

  I wait outside in the snow as Thiago leaves the keys for the eldest girl. He can’t break the wards, but he can slide the keys through them, because they belong to the house.

  It’s just me and Grimm.

  The others are sweeping the snow to make sure there’re no other survivors out there—children who didn’t make it back to the cottage in time, but who might have found shelter.

  And the grimalkin’s tail lashes back and forth, back and forth, as he sits there and watches me.

  “Did you know?” I ask hollowly, my fists shaking with rage. “You say you see the future, and everything you have said to me…. Tell me you didn’t know that I have a daughter out there who is all alone!”