by Bec McMaster
Ignoring the howls, we inch closer until we’re finally crawling on our bellies across a roof. And what I see takes my breath away.
Mother of Cursed Night.
It’s not just a dozen banes. There are nearly fifty of them prowling the ruins. Teams of Unseelie yell and curse at each other, and a pair of huge, lumbering beasts strain against a harness. Canvas tents flap in the night, and a banner flies from the top of the biggest.
A soaring white wyvern, its teeth bared, against a black background.
Angharad.
I catch sight of a shock of white, and realize Isem, her pet sorcerer, is also there. Things just became dire.
“What are they looking for?” I breathe the words into the night.
Thiago’s face hardens, his eyes searching the ruins. “They’re not looking for anything. They’ve already found it. Look.”
Ahead of us, several workmen direct a taskforce. One of them cracks a whip, and the team of creatures harnessed to the crane strained forward. Enormous muscles flex in their backs, and I catch a glimpse of the elegant gold tattoos concealed beneath scabbed-over cuts and whip marks. Goblins, by the look of them.
The pulley systems jerk, and one of the enormous lintel stones around the Hallow slowly jacks upright. It joins three others, though the rest of them lie fallen around the top of the hill.
“They’re trying to recreate the Hallow,” I say breathlessly. “But… why?”
The circles were created to trap the Old Ones and cast them into a prison realm outside of time.
It was only by pure chance that the Seelie realized such portals could also be used to seek passage between kingdoms, Hallow to Hallow.
When Mistmere fell, its Hallow died. Why would Angharad be going to so much effort to create a portal here?
“She can’t bring an army through. Unless she has a few weeks.” The portal needs to repower after every transfer, and the more people it transports, the longer it needs to revive. “And this is the worst place to stage an invasion.”
She’d be crushed between the Prince of Evernight and the Queen of Aska.
“She’s not planning on bringing an army through,” he replies grimly.
“Then what—?”
“The only reason she might be resurrecting the Hallow is to bring one of the Old Ones back from the Underworld. This is the gateway to the Mother of Night’s prison.” Thiago scowls, setting a hand to the small of my back. “Let’s move. I’ve seen enough, and neither of us can afford to be caught here. We need to alert the alliance.”
11
I flee the tunnel into the cool night air on the other side of the lake, but I can’t escape the dirty sensation of something crawling over my skin. Whatever I felt at the circle lingers like little spiders crawling over me.
Thiago follows, cursing under his breath. “I didn’t think Angharad was this stupid.”
“They wouldn’t let one of the Old Ones out, would they? They couldn’t. They’ve been trapped since the wars.”
The Unseelie worshipped the Old Ones, and rode at their command, but surely they remember how dangerous they were?
“They would, and they could, if given the right spells.” He scrubs a hand over his mouth. “The right sacrifice.”
I hadn’t yet been born during the wars. “What do you mean ‘right sacrifice’?”
“What do you know of the wars and the Hallows?”
“We were losing,” I reply. “Badly. And then King Raen came up with a plan to trap the Old Ones and remove their power from the battlefield. Each King and Queen sent their most powerful warriors to lure each of the Old Ones into a Hallow. Once there, the trap was sprung, and the Old Ones were flung into a prison world they cannot escape.”
“They used an ancient spell and blood magic,” Thiago says. “The power required to access the Underworld is immense. A circle of stones to control the power of the ley line; thirteen fae sorcerers standing at each stone chanting; and a sacrifice within the Hallow. A kingly sacrifice, in most cases. They cut the heart right out of Raen’s chest in the middle of Mistmere. It was the only way to defeat the Mother of Night, and he knew it.”
My mouth slowly drops open. “He offered himself up as sacrifice?”
My mother would never do such a thing.
“The sacrifice is the key,” Thiago replies. “If the sacrifice can’t withstand the power of the ley line and the Hallow, then the spell is ruined.”
“So… how is Angharad going to reverse the spell?” She has the power, but I can’t see her sacrificing herself in order to bring back the Mother of Night.
“They need a queen. Or a prince,” he replies. “Someone who has a trickle of the old blood in their veins. The power required to break the prison open is immense, but they need someone who was tied to those who created the circle. A direct descendant, preferably.”
Like my mother.
Or me.
“But why would she…?”
“Power. Angharad signed the treaty, but let’s not pretend she would have any intentions of holding her people to it if she has a choice. It’s been a good five hundred years since the war. She’s bowed her head all that time, but she must have found the right spell to unleash an Old One.” He paces the hill, frustration edging through him. “The Seelie Alliance is not as strong as it once was. If she brings the Mother of Night back, she’ll have direct access to all that power. And we’re a fraction of what we once were, even if your mother could be trusted to guard our flanks during a war.”
“My mother’s many things, but she’s not a fool,” I bite. “If she doesn’t stand beside you in the war, then she’ll be wading through Unseelie the second you fall.”
“If you think, for one second, that she wouldn’t be tempted,” he shoots back, “then you’re the fool. Adaia thinks herself invulnerable. She might just think herself powerful enough to confront the three Unseelie queens by herself. Asturia is far enough south that she might think herself safe.”
I bite down on my words. There’s no point arguing. “So, what do we do?”
“We need to alert the other kingdoms.”
A howl goes up in the forest.
It sounds close. Far too close. And it sounds almost… gleeful.
My head snaps toward the sound. “Was that—”
“Yes,” he hisses, stepping between me and the sound, his hand going to the hilt on his sword.
We both freeze, heads cocked to listen. Hearts pounding and blood rushing through our veins. Every inch of me is on edge.
Another howl echoes.
And this time it’s to the left.
They’ve found our trail.
“Run!” Thiago gives me a shove in the back.
No need to tell me twice. The pair of us scramble up the slope, sprinting through the ankle-deep snow. Thiago seems to ghost over the top of it, leaving no tracks, whilst I’m forced to slog my way through it.
I sink into a deep hollow beneath the snow, cursing under my breath.
The prince returns, yanking me forward and nearly wrenching my arm from its socket. “Move!”
“I’m trying!”
He merely hauls me out of the deep snow and drags me forward.
“The second we get clear of these trees, we’re going to have to move fast,” he yells.
As if in answer, an arrow hisses past.
“Curse it.” Thiago draws his sword, glancing behind us. “Can you hit that archer?”
I slip the bow from my back and swiftly string it. “If I can see where he is. I don’t suppose you’d like to play bait?”
“Funny. Trying to get rid of me already?”
I shrug. “Worth a try.”
Thiago gives me a long steady look. “Don’t miss.”
Then he turns and walks out into the snowy clearing, an enormous target painted against the freshly laid snow.
Erlking’s hairy cock. My mouth drops open, then I wrench an arrow from my quiver and nock it.
An arrow arcs into th
e sky, and I turn and sight into the thicket it came from. Steel flashes at the corner of my eye; Thiago gracefully deflecting the arrow with the stroke of his sword.
I can’t see a cursed thing. Nothing moves in the thicket. There might be a shadow to the right, but it might also be a tree root.
“Vi,” Thiago mutters, under his breath.
“Hold still,” I hiss. “I’m trying to find him.”
Movement glides through the bushes near the thicket. There. The bastard’s on the move. My arrow tracks the target.
Another arrow flies directly toward the prince, a second hot on its heels.
I ignore Thiago and focus along the length of the arrow. I’m not the archer Andraste is, but I’ve spent too many hours on a range to embarrass myself now. Blocking out everything but the archer, I release a slow breath and then let my arrow fly.
It hits the archer right in the center of his chest, and he cries out, then slams to the ground. Thiago smashes the second arrow to the ground, breathing hard.
“Nice shot.”
“Thanks.” I share an exhilarated smile with him, before a baying sound makes my blood run cold.
The archer isn’t the only problem we have to contend with.
“How many arrows do you have?” Thiago yells.
“Not enough!” And banes are far more difficult to kill than the fae.
Bolting down the hill, I follow a narrow animal track that winds through the trees. Branches flash past me, tearing at my cloak, and I nearly lose the bow. I’m almost to a clearing when Thiago yells, “Vi!”
A heavy weight hits me in the back, and I go down, kicking and struggling as Thiago collapses over the top of me. Cold bites my front as I slam into the snow.
“What are you doing?”
Steel flashes.
An enormous iron maw snaps out of the snow—some sort of bane trap, I realize, as we roll into it—and my eyes widen as the metallic reflection flashes in Thiago’s dark pupils.
He flings me to the side.
I slam onto my back as the trap snaps shut. Hot blood splashes across my face as spikes of iron slam through Thiago’s chest and pin him there. A low scream thunders from his throat.
Mother of Night….
“Thiago!” I scramble across the snow and grab his hand just as his knees give out, leaving him pinned in the iron maw.
My hands flutter over the bloody ruin of his chest as he gasps.
“Get… out of here.”
I try to tear at the iron trap, but it burns my hands.
A long, mournful howl echoes through the mountains.
My gaze locks on Thiago's, and I see the same knowing slide over his expression, his nostrils flaring.
"They’re too… close,” he gasps.
As if to mock me, another howl goes up, this time to the north. I spin in that direction, an icy chill running down my spine.
"Vi!" Thiago barks. "R-run!"
Leaving him here…. He’ll never survive. Not trapped by iron that will blunt his magic. And he’s too badly injured to fight his way free. They’ll eat him alive.
It would be the perfect end to the Prince of Evernight, my mother whispers in my mind.
But he shoved me out of the way of the bloody trap.
And as much as I hate to admit it, he’s never given me a single cursed reason to hate him.
“No.”
A fist catches in my cloak, and his teeth gleams as he clenches them. "You need to… get out of here. Find my cabin." He manages to point to the west. “Two miles. Warded. Take some of… my blood for wards.”
"Stay still," I growl, setting hands on the rusted metal. My mind’s made up. I’m not thinking like an Asturian princess, and I know my mother will never forgive this if she hears of it.
But who’s going to tell her?
The burn of the iron sears my clammy skin. I can’t help wrenching them away, seeing the pale white burn marks on my skin. How in Maia’s name can he bear it?
“I’m not locking myself away in a warded cabin while they tear you to pieces.”
"Then return to Valerian." Thiago tries to move, and red blood gushes from the wounds in his chest as he reaches for me. He cries out, his teeth clenching to trap the sound. "Get Eris. You can't… get me out of this." Dark shadows filled his eyes. "I can hold them off until you get back."
It’s a lie. I can see it in his eyes. But why would he lie to me? Why risk his life to protect mine? We’re enemies. None of this makes any sense.
The banes sound like they’re barely a hundred yards away.
“Curse you.” I can no more leave him here than cut my own hand off. “Don’t move.”
“Go,” he snarls. “Leave me here.”
“No.”
“That’s an order.”
“You may as well save your breath, Your Highness. I’m not your subject, and I’m not going to pay any attention to what you say.”
“You stubborn….” I ignore the curses streaming from his mouth as he strains to escape the trap.
No magic can manipulate iron, and I’m not strong enough to touch it or wrench it open.
I swing around, searching for something, anything....
There’s a fallen log, with pieces already split up to be hauled away. I return with a thick piece the length of my forearm. Thiago’s trying to shift the vicious iron teeth of the trap himself, his teeth clenched so tightly I swear they’re going to break.
I jam the end of the log between the teeth, using my weight to work it between them.
Another howl chills my blood. This time much closer.
His nostrils flare, and those very green eyes meet mine. "For the love of Maia, run, you fool!"
"I will." I lean all my weight on one end of the log in order to ratchet up the other end. Iron teeth bite into it, shredding the bark, but I’m gaining an inch. Maybe two. "The second you tell me why you'd risk your life for mine."
"Mother. Night.” White grooves track his tanned face, an anguished cry tearing loose.
"Nearly there.”
It takes all my strength, and I give up on the log, my fingers burning as I yank on the trap's bitter edges. Pain blisters my skin, my stomach threatening to disgorge itself. I can't do this. I can't. I can't—
Hold on.
Tears wet my eyes even as my skin feels like it’s going to peel off the bone. Iron sickness sweeps through me, sweat dripping down my brow.
The banes’ cries grow closer, and I can sense the excitement in their howls as they realize their prey is already down. The last of the sharp iron clears Thiago's flesh, and our eyes meet.
"Move!" I cry, arms shaking as I try to kick the log between the trap's jaw. I don't think I can hold it much longer—
Thiago rolls free, sprawling on the snow at my feet just as my strength finally gives out. The iron jaws spring shut, crunching through the log and shattering it.
There’s blood on my fingers. Blood on the snow. Thiago curls over himself, and despite everything, I want to see him sweep to his feet.
Instead, he collapses.
"Get up!" I drag him upright.
"You stubborn, reckless bitch." It sounds like a curse, and yet there’s something... affectionate about the words as I sling his arm over my shoulder. Something almost familiar.
"I did not just rescue you from a bane trap only to have you fail now. Run."
He staggers forward, his legs threatening to go out from beneath him. "We're not going... to be able... to outrun them."
I know. “We just have to make it to the Hallow.”
He collapses in a snowdrift, and I go to my knees beside him. The first flash of a shadow winds through the trees beside me. My head swivels but it’s gone again. A scout. And I have no fucking idea where my bow and arrows went.
“Get up.”
“Can’t,” he gasps, one hand clasped to his bloodied ribs.
“Yes, you can.” I haul him upright through sheer willpower, but he’s listing so badly I know I’m not
going to be able to carry him. Why does the bastard have to be so big and heavy? “Are you trying to tell me the Prince of Evernight is going to meet his end here? In the belly of a bane? You’d prefer to be shit out all through these forests?”
His lip curls in a snarl, and he takes a limping step forward. The weight nearly drives me to my knees.
“Why couldn’t you be a scrawny half-formed bastard?”
“Because… you like… to stare at my muscles.”
There’s another flash to the right of me. Keep going. We just have to keep going. “In your dreams, Prince.”
“Think it’s mostly… your dreams, isn’t it?”
If he’s flirting with me, then he isn’t halfway dead. We have a chance.
And then that chance evaporates like the dreams he speaks of. The first bane slinks through the trees in front of us, cutting off our escape route. Another flickers through the trees to flank us, and a low chorus of howls seems to echo from every point around us. We stagger to a halt.
Thiago tries to straighten. "Stay behind me."
"What are you going to do? Bleed on them?"
There’s a startled glimpse of green eyes. A low growl echoes behind us. Shadows weave through the trees, barely visible through the softly falling snow. All I can see is the sheer size of the creatures, the slavering menace in their faces….
A high-pitched howl rises. Another lifts its shaggy head, a chilling sound reverberating through its throat.
So, this is it...
This is where it all ends.
I have no more illusions. I can count. Six banes, when two would be a handful even if the pair of us were in any condition to fight.
"Do you trust me, Vi?" Thiago whispers, collapsing to his knees in the snow.
This time I let him fall, trying to draw my sword with blistered, half-frozen fingers.
What sort of question is that?
An ancient hardness cuts over his face as he sees my expression, his eyes turning pure black. "Don't answer that," he says with a soft, bitter laugh before turning to the banes.
Tendrils of shadow sweep around us, as insubstantial as mist. I freeze. The Darkness. I’ve heard of him using it. With his power, he can cut fae down from miles away, but the price is tremendous, for it’s rumored the prince cannot always control it.