by Bec McMaster
And right now, mine are blaring.
It knows my face. My name. And I swear I’ve never come across an envoy from the Kingdom of Evernight. Mother will barely let us speak its name, let alone encourage mingling.
I lower the sword. “How do you know who I am?”
Movement shifts behind it.
“Don’t move,” says Andraste, stepping inside the room with her bow drawn.
The bane hisses, rising onto two feet, its hackles lifting. Amber fury rolls across its eyes, driving away any last vestiges of its humanity. All that’s left is rage.
“Don’t kill it!” I have to know who it was.
“Did you hit your head? That’s what we’re here to do.”
“Something’s wrong.” I don’t take my eyes off the beast. “How does it know who I am?”
Andraste steps to the side, her bow nocked, the string tight with tension. “Step back, Iskvien.”
Before I can even move, the bane roars and rams me. My sword lands with a clatter as I slam onto the stone floor, the beast leaping over me.
An arrow flashes, and it screams.
Then it’s upon my sister, driving her into the wall. Andraste whirls beneath its lashing claws, swirling her cloak in a flourish that traps them. She ducks free of the fabric, draws the knife from her right boot, and lunges forward.
It should have been an easy kill, but the beast shoves away from the wall and throws her off-balance.
She staggers back, boots clipping against my side and sending her sprawling. We’re both down, scrambling to get out of the way as the enraged monster roars and launches itself toward us.
A hand shoves me in the back as I stagger to my feet, knocking me clear. Claws rake down my arm, spilling blood, but it’s my sister who grunts as she barely deflects a killing blow. My sister who pushed me aside.
Curse her. She wants to steal the glory of this kill, but I need to know how the beast knows who I am.
If it doesn’t kill us first.
There’s no hint of those fae eyes in its monstrous face. Not anymore. Only rage and fury and pain. The beast in ascendancy.
I grab Andraste’s fallen cloak and throw it over the bane’s head. Andraste drives her knife between its ribs just as I kick the back of its knee. For one shining, precious moment, we’re moving in unison. A deadly, unstoppable force to be reckoned with.
“Don’t kill it!”
Her eyes flicker to mine, and then she slashes through its hamstring. The bane screams. Her knife flashes, catching the last dying rays of sunlight that glint through the arch, and then it’s burying itself in the bane’s throat.
“No!”
Blood gurgles from the stab wound. The bane’s roar chokes off.
She stabs it again, right in the kidneys.
Those amber eyes lock upon me, breath wheezing from its lungs as it goes to its knees. “Prinshess….”
And then the light in those eyes fades, and the beast hits the floor.
My sister turns to me, her eyes alight with fury as she wipes the blade on her thigh. “What in Maia’s name were you thinking? Were you trying to get yourself killed?”
Light shimmers around the bane, as though the curse isn’t quite done with him. Its fur shrinks, claws sinking back into flesh and becoming fingers right before my eyes.
When the light fades, there’s a fae male on the floor, naked and bloody. Scratches mar his back and buttocks, and his blond hair is long and ragged. I can’t stop myself from squatting beside him, trying to avoid the growing pool of blood.
I don’t know his face.
I would swear I’ve never seen him before.
But he’s seen me.
Or he knows what I look like, which sends a shiver down my spine. Catching the attention of the vicious prince who rules Evernight is never a wise idea.
There’s a chain around his throat, and I slide my hand along its length, revealing a golden amulet shaped in a wolf’s snarling head.
“Leave it,” Andraste says, sliding her dagger back in her boot.
“It knew me,” I insist, slipping the amulet free. I don’t know why, but I feel the urge to keep it.
“It was Evernight.”
“Precisely the problem,” I snap, fetching my sword and pocketing the amulet. Won’t Mother be thrilled with her now. “A pity you’re not going to get a nice fur throw for your floor.”
“Haven’t you learned anything, Iskvien?” My sister says coldly. “We do not treat with the enemy. And we show the beasts no mercy. Both are only likely to get you killed.”
“And we wouldn’t want that.” I slide my sword home with a steely rasp. “Or do we?”
Andraste startles, looking me in the eye for a long moment. “I don’t want you dead,” she says after a long moment.
Only bowing at her feet.
“There can be only one.” One queen. One heir. It’s how the Kingdom of Asturia operates. And there are whispers our mother, the queen, is fading, though I’ve seen no sign of it myself. “Let’s not pretend I wouldn’t be a threat to you if you left me alive.” Every scheming courtier in the castle would see me as an opportunity to climb the ladder at court. “Let’s not pretend I’m stupid enough to think you wouldn’t. You should have waited. You should have let the bane have me.”
“Vi.” She snags my wrist as I turn to go.
I arch a brow, waiting for her to protest that it’s not like that at all. That we’re sisters, not a threat to each other. But Mother has done her job far too well.
“I am either Mother’s heir or I am dead,” I say quietly. “I don’t even want the throne. I just want to stay alive. And so do you.”
“There are other options.”
“Oh, really? I would love to hear your proposition.”
Her lips press thinly together.
“Marriage into another kingdom? You know we’d both be merely pawns. And Mother’s done too good a job in alienating every other royal court. Besides, I’d prefer to choose my own husband rather than become some petty prince’s little plaything.”
None of the royal options are anything short of skin-crawling. The fae can be merciless and malicious. Royals never sit on an easy throne, and the truth is, no innocent ever holds a position of power in this world.
Not for long anyway.
Those who rule kingdoms are rarely kind.
“Maybe marriage doesn’t have to be a death sentence,” she says slowly.
“And maybe that bane there didn’t intend to kill either of us. Maybe it was trying to give me a hug.”
Andraste slowly lets me go. “We’re not enemies, Vi. I would protect you.”
She doesn’t understand. She never will. She’s always been Mother’s favorite. The one who sits in on council meetings. The one who receives gifts from visiting nobles, as if they already consider her to be Mother’s heir.
The one who can wield her own magic, when mine dies on my fingertips in a shower of sparks.
“I wish that was the truth,” I murmur. I miss my sister. But neither of us are children anymore, and I can’t afford to forget that. “And I’d stay to help you lug your trophy home, but I think I’d best get a head start before night falls. Got to watch my back out there.”
2
Two dresses hang in the closet in front of me, both gauzy and overflowing with far too much fabric. Neither are my preferred style, but that’s not the point.
Tonight is Lammastide and appearances have to be met.
Tonight I’m not Iskvien, second daughter of a merciless queen. Tonight I’m an Asturian princess, ruthless in her own right, invulnerable to those who might seek to bring down my mother’s court. It might only be silk, but it’s armor of a kind, though I’d far prefer a chain mail vest.
“Wear the red,” says a clipped voice from the doorway. “It will accentuate your dark hair and olive skin.”
My fingers still on the fabric. “Mother. What a pleasant surprise.”
It is neither.
Sh
e wasn’t here when we returned from the hunt. It’s been three days. And I know Andraste made her report. I daresay it wasn’t favorable.
I’ve been waiting for the queen to make an appearance, and point out all the ways in which I fail her. Queen Adaia is not the type to strike immediately. She likes to let her opponents wait. And each day she hesitates to strike is one more hint of her displeasure, one more sign it’s going to be fatal.
Three days…. Not quite a storm of rage that could threaten to tear the palace apart, but a quiet, deadly chill, I suspect. Like the breath of winter down your spine.
I turn as the queen sweeps inside the room, her heavy silver gown dragging over the marble tiles with a rasp. We’re as different as night and day, and I see Andraste in the queen’s features, which is simply another reminder of whom the favorite daughter is. They share the same stubborn chin and full mouth, high-swept cheekbones highlighting the vaguely feline shape of their blue eyes.
But Mother’s hair is wheaten gold, drawn up into a coronet of braids upon which rests her sharp-pointed crown. And she’s taller, slightly thinner. More dangerous.
Anyone looking at the two of us might wonder if we shared any blood at all.
“To what do I owe this pleasure, Mother?” It’s the edge of impertinence, which is all she will allow. “Won’t we be late to the Queensmoot?”
“They’ll wait.” Her eyes glitter peculiarly, somewhat like a cat focusing on its prey.
“You expect an attack?” Lammastide is the one night of the year when all five surviving kingdoms of the Seelie Alliance come together to bring in the new year. Drinking, dancing, bloodshed, and assassinations are all to be expected.
Because allied we may be, but it’s only against a common enemy. If my mother could destroy the other kings and queens of the alliance, she wouldn’t hesitate. I think, in some part of her mind, she sees herself sitting on a single throne that rules over the entire southern half of the continent.
“Sit,” she says.
The only option is to obey.
“No attack,” she says, slinking behind me as I take a seat at the vanity. “Or nothing beyond the usual. The Prince of Evernight will be there, after all. He craves my downfall.”
Someone’s projecting.
“I thought the Unseelie delegation would be the greater danger?”
Five hundred years ago we defeated them in the Wars of Light and Shadow, but the peace has always been tenuous. This recent treaty between Seelie and Unseelie courts is a relatively new development, and if I were my mother’s daughter, I wouldn’t trust it.
The three witch queens of the Unseelie court are bloodthirsty, vicious, and powerful. If my mother has delusions of grandeur, then they’re nothing compared to the Unseelie, who want to cast us all into chains.
The queen lifts the heavy strands of my hair from my shoulders and runs her jeweled claws through it. “Angharad is still bleeding from that last skirmish, and some say she doesn’t have the full support of her sister queens any more. She’s trying to fight a war on two fronts, so she won’t have the courage to cause trouble for us. She wouldn’t dare. Focus on the real danger, Iskvien. Those at your back. Those with a knife to your throat.” Her claws caress my collarbone. “Those who were never meant to rule the earth beneath their feet.”
She’s speaking of the two Seelie princes who forced their way onto the thrones of their own kingdoms. The Seelie kingdoms have always been matrilineal—queens are tied to the lands, and the earth beneath them flourishes from the bond. Any kings that sought to elevate themselves were slowly and mercilessly destroyed. My mother considers Prince Thiago and Prince Kyrian’s claims to be unnatural, and she’s been working on ruining them ever since they proclaimed themselves.
They’re also a threat, for both rule with a ruthless fist.
“No,” she whispers, stroking my hair. “Focus on the threat, Iskvien. Don’t ever take your eyes off it.”
Prince Kyrian never attends the Lammastide rites in person, I’ve heard. Mother once mocked him for the loss of the woman he loved, and he swore an oath that if he ever set eyes upon her again, he’d have her head. To uphold the peace, he sends an envoy to the rites in his stead.
So she’s talking of Evernight.
Always Evernight.
My thoughts stray to the forest and the bane. The creature who knew me.
And the Prince of Evernight, who rules the dark kingdom.
“What should I expect?” I’ve never met the prince. These are the first Lammastide rites my mother’s allowed me to attend. “Will he avoid us?”
“Unfortunately, not.” The scrape of one of those claws almost draws blood as she focuses down upon me. “And he’s the reason I’m here.”
Here it is. I still, like prey catching scent of a dangerous predator as she moves to the side, considering the array of scents and powders on my vanity.
“What does he have to do with me?”
“You’re not coming home with us tonight, Iskvien,” my mother says, lifting the stopper of my perfume vial and sniffing delicately at the scent within. Her nose wrinkles.
I blink.
“What?”
“The Prince of Evernight agreed to a truce over the territories of Mistmere after that unfortunate clash near the border, but it has come at a price.”
I can feel the edges of the world sucking at me. “What price?”
“There are to be hostages, to prove our good faith. His cousin is to be exchanged tonight, for you.”
The jaws of the trap spring shut. This is what she’s been angling for. I shouldn’t have trusted her sweet smile, her gentle touch. I’d expected punishment over my lapse the other day, but all along she’s been waiting to spring this trap.
“You bartered me away?” She’s the one who’s spent hours lecturing me about how dangerous he is. “Like a fucking trinket?”
The queen’s eyes narrow. “Watch your tone, daughter.”
Rage fills me, but it’s tempered with the quicksilver flash of fear. All these years I’ve been wary of her temper, but this is…. How do I…?
“It’s only for three months,” she continues, as if I’ve accepted it.
The prince could do anything to me in the space of three months. “Is this punishment?” The words erupt from my mouth. “For failing to kill that bane? It was just a hesitation, Mother. Andraste stole the kill. It won’t happen again.”
“What hesitation?”
The look on her face freezes my tongue.
Andraste didn’t tell her?
The queen’s face tightens imperceptibly, and her hands come to rest upon my shoulders. The tip of each of her fingers is covered in a silver claw, the points pressing into my collarbone. Thin chains connect them to the gauntlets around her wrist. It’s nothing more than a focus for her powers—not that many know that—but the effect is also eerily threatening.
She doesn’t say a word.
She doesn’t have to.
“Andraste was faster than I,” I say swiftly, to cover my misstep. “I thought she’d told you.”
“The bane is of little consequence.”
I square my shoulders. “Why worry about a ferocious beast when you’re throwing me to the wolves?”
“You are not to be harmed.”
“Of course not. Am I to be his whore instead?”
She arches a brow at my tone. “You are to be his political hostage, Iskvien. Make whatever bargains you need to, to keep yourself safe. But remember…, his cousin will be in my hands.”
And any harm that befalls me will be returned in kind.
“Forgive me, Mother, if such a concept brings me little peace. They say the prince betrayed his queen and murdered her sons. I daresay he’ll not hesitate to consider his cousin to be an acceptable loss if he can strike a blow upon you.”
“You disappoint me, daughter. I offer you an opportunity, and you throw it in my face.”
This is another one of her challenges. Prove yourself, she’s
telling me. Show me you have the strength and wit to survive.
“What opportunity?”
“There is a way you could serve your queen while you are there,” my mother murmurs, unsheathing the dagger at her belt and placing it on the vanity in front of me.
Star-forged steel. My gaze locks on it. No trueborn fae can wield the iron that lies on this world, but this knife was forged from the heart of a fallen comet, and its iron came from beyond the stars.
As long as I don’t touch the blade itself, I can wield it.
For a second, I see his blood splashed across the marble tiles of his palace, the knife planted between his shoulder blades. An end to the monstrous lord of the Evernight court, and freedom for those Asturians who’ve been imprisoned in the war camps. No more fighting. No more endless wars. No more scheming and politicking.
But murder, just the same.
“No,” I say abruptly. “I’m no assassin.”
Adaia leans down, her face resting on my shoulder. “Perhaps not. But he’d never expect it. Not from you, with your soft heart and those pretty eyes. And perhaps you should consider your people. The Kingdom of Asturia has been at war with Evernight for centuries. Whilst this treaty sparks a fragile truce, it doesn’t mean anything. We could end this war with a single strike. We would own Mistmere, perhaps more….”
I push away from her, the hem of my silk wrap brushing against my calves. “Murder, Mother. I’m the first person they’ll point the finger at. And you were the one who taught me strategy. Who do you think they’ll blame? If I kill the prince, then his people will execute me immediately, and their armies will rise against you.”
“Not if it’s self-defense,” she points out.
So now I’m to frame an assassination as an assault by the prince. My head is spinning.
“Thiago has no heir,” she continues. “Without him, his generals will fight for control of his armies. It will be chaos, and I will crush them.”
I notice she doesn’t address the part where I lose my head.