Promise of Darkness

by Bec McMaster

  “I see your knife hasn’t left its sheath.”

  “I… can’t get near him,” I lie. “Not with her watching me.”

  Adaia’s eyes narrow. “You could stop a war, my daughter. None of our subjects need die—”

  “I don’t think he’s interested in a war—”

  Adaia’s sneer cuts me off. “Your weakness is showing through. Does he woo you with his charm? Whisper his hopes for peace in your ear, even as he amasses his troops?”

  “I’ve seen no sign of any army—”

  “And where is he keeping you? Golden Ceres? The City by the Bay? Or has he got you locked away in Valerian?”

  There’s no need to answer.

  Adaia’s smile widens viciously. “What is he trying to shield you from? What is he hiding? This is why you must think with your head, Iskvien, and not your heart. He will try and turn you against me. He will use you in this petty war between us. Don’t doubt that for a moment. He’s not interested in you. You’re just a pawn he can play with.”

  “Careful, Mother. He’s beginning to sound interchangeable with you.”

  It aches, deep in the cavity where my heart should lie.

  A little bit for the prince who charms and flirts with me, but mostly for the mother I’ve long since lost favor with. And I try to tell myself I don’t care, but a part of me does want my mother’s approval back.

  Adaia’s lips thin in displeasure. “We’re all pawns to our kingdom’s whims. Prove to me that you can be trusted with your heart, and perhaps I’ll allow you to be the one pulling your own strings. Do your people a favor. Kill him. Before he twists your heart against your own kingdom. Your own family.”

  “This isn’t the right time, Mother. Angharad’s been seen in Mistmere. She has her Unseelie army trying to right the stones of the Mistmere Hallow. We think she’s trying to access some of the Mother of Night’s power—or perhaps to free her.”

  Silence.

  “Angharad sealed the accords with her blood. She cannot go against them.”

  “I saw her with my own eyes, Mother!” I can see it doesn’t matter. “If there is any war beckoning on the horizon, then it is with the Unseelie hordes. We will need our allies, if we are not to be overrun by Unseelie. We will… need the prince.”

  The queen shakes her head in disgust. “I had hoped you could retain your senses. I’d hoped he hadn’t gotten to you yet. But I see my trust was misplaced. He’s already twisted you to his whims.”

  “It’s not—”

  The queen waves a hand, her image flickering. “Kill him. Or do not bother answering my summons again, for I will be done with you.”

  And then she vanishes.

  I head downstairs for dinner, still aching in every muscle in my body.

  Voices drift from the dining room.

  "This wasn't just an attack," a strident female voice points out. Eris. "Angharad was prepared to counter any scouts. With that many banes in place, she’s being even more careful than usual.”

  “What I want to know is how she got past the fucking borders without being seen,” Thiago snaps. “Queen Maren and I have enough patrols on Mistmere’s northern flank to spot a grouse trying to sneak through.”

  “I haven’t been able to ride the borders while Her Highness is here,” Eris replies, “and she probably knows it. If you give me a few days, I can ride north and see what’s going on. I left Hainard in charge, and he’s a solid captain. He should be doing his job.”

  “No. No,” Thiago says with a sigh. “I need you here. Especially if Angharad is plotting an invasion.”

  "Your powers keep them in check," said a man. Finn, possibly, as he seems to go hand-in-hand with Eris. "She’s testing you. She won’t consider a full-blown thrust unless she is certain she can defeat you on the battlefield. If they know you were weakened—"

  "I'm not weakened," Thiago counters with a snarl.

  I press my fingers to the crack in the door. There’s a chamber beyond, and I can see the prince pacing, dressed in strict black as always.

  “Those wounds should have healed by now,” Eris says. "The iron is still in your blood—"

  "I. Am. Not. Weakened.”

  "Do they know that?" It’s Finn, resting his knuckles on some sort of round table as he glares at his prince. "The Unseelie aren’t our only cause for concern. If word of this gets back to Adaia….”

  "She'll attack," Thiago says, in a weary voice. “But it won’t get back, because only the three of us know about it.”

  The door is wide enough to see Eris and Finn share a look.

  “And the princess?” Eris suggests.

  “She wouldn’t do that,” Thiago replies.

  “Are you sure?” Clearly Eris isn’t as certain. “She’s still her mother’s creature.”

  “She’s never been her mother’s creature. No matter what Adaia’s tried to mold her into, Vi’s always rebelled. She doesn’t have her mother’s ruthless heart, nor Adaia’s ambitions. She won’t tell her mother, because then she’ll feel guilty. She doesn’t lie very well.”

  His certainty is a shock.

  I didn’t realize he’d been studying me as thoroughly as I’ve been studying him.

  “I just need time for the iron to drain from my blood,” Thiago tells them. “Until then, I’ll keep my magic to a minimum. Nobody in Ceres will know.”

  I clear my throat loudly enough to announce my presence and step through the door. Instantly, Eris scowls, but Finn’s smile widens.

  “Princess,” he says. “You look much recovered after your bath. I barely recognize you. A bedraggled warrior went into the steam rooms, and a radiant woman emerged in her place.” He pats his cheeks. “Perhaps I should try it.”

  Thiago gives his friend a quelling look.

  “There’s not enough water in the world,” Eris mutters, “to transform you.”

  “We’re just about to eat,” Thiago says, coming forward to draw out a chair for me. “We were discussing tomorrow. We’re going to Ceres. I need to contact the Alliance and set a few things into place to counter Angharad.”

  “Am I included in that ‘we’?”

  “Yes.” Thiago eases my chair back in as I sit. His knuckles graze my bare shoulders, and I think he’s almost about to rest his hand there before he thinks better of it. “I need Eris, and I can’t afford to leave her behind to guard you.”

  My heart skips a beat. I can’t avoid hearing my mother’s words in my ears. There’s something he’s not telling me, and somehow, I know I’ll find the answers in Ceres.

  “I’ll be ready at dawn.”

  The prince insists upon blindfolding me for the journey to Ceres, which only engages my curiosity.

  I barely have time to think about it though, as the second he engages the Hallow, my stomach decides to reverse itself. This doesn’t feel like the trip to Mistmere. It feels like the Hallow itself is sucking at me, trying to drain me of my magic. I try to shield, but I’m on my knees before I know it, and my head aches.

  “Here,” Thiago says, resting a hand on my forehead.

  Instantly, the power drain is gone.

  I come to on my knees, breathing hard. “What was that?”

  He swings me up into his arms, which I really should protest, but don’t have the strength to. “You’ve been travelling through portals regularly. It affects some fae more than others, particularly if they’re not warded against the power of the ley line.”

  I know he thinks he’s telling the truth, but I can’t help thinking he’s wrong.

  Something about the Hallow didn’t feel right.

  We seemingly climb a thousand stairs, and I catch the sound of servants bustling through the castle, before the prince sets me on my feet and whips my blindfold away.

  Light stabs at my eyes. I wince, but I can also make out a woman sitting in what appears to be a circular tower room.

  The last time I saw Thalia, she was wearing red, but now she’s in a green gown that’s more daring than an
ything I’ve ever worn. Gold lace epaulets rest on her shoulders, with a heavy golden cloak made of thin metallic scales that drapes to the floor. Dozens of golden chains loop around her throat and cross her bodice. It’s the most elegant gown I’ve ever seen.

  The tall, exotic beauty shares some of the same features as the prince, such as his thick dark hair and almond-shaped green eyes. But it’s the way she claps her hands together and smiles at me that takes me aback. “Your Highness,” Thalia says, sweeping toward me and taking my hands. “I’m so glad to meet you again. I thought Thiago was going to keep you locked away in that gloomy old city forever.”

  For some reason, I’d thought her the cousin that was supposed to be traded to my mother in exchange for me.

  There must be another one.

  I don’t know why, but I want to smile back at her. Her welcome feels genuine, and her smile is infectious.

  “So did I.”

  “E,” she says, turning and giving Eris an enthusiastic hug. “I missed your glowering face.”

  “Ugh,” Eris says, pushing her away and brushing herself off, as if to rid herself of Thalia’s enthusiasm. “What part of ‘I don’t hug’ did I not make clear?”

  “Sorry.” Thalia winks at her. “I forgot you don’t like being touched… unless it’s by a fae lord with an enormous cock.”

  “Erlking’s hairy balls,” Finn mutters under his breath. “Thalia.”

  “What?” she asks innocently. “You should have seen it. I burst into Eris’s rooms, thinking—as usual—she’d be alone, and there’s this enormous—”

  “No, no, no.” He claps his hands over his eyes. “I am not going to even picture it. I refuse.”

  “Speaking of hairy balls—”

  Finn throws a cushion at her, and Thalia bursts into laughter even as Eris winces.

  “Beware the Prince of Evernight’s most dangerous allies,” Thiago says dryly.

  I don’t quite know what to make of it.

  My mother’s advisors and generals are all stiff, malicious bastards who wouldn’t dare break into a smile.

  “Where’s Baylor?” Thiago asks.

  “Frightening small children?” Finn replies.

  “Dangling miscreants off the tower?” Thalia suggests.

  The doors slam open, and a rugged warrior wearing battle-scarred leathers and an enormous helmet stalks inside. “Drilling in the yard with the rest of the guards,” he says, “because someone around here has to actually do his job.” Then he notices Eris and tips his head to her. “Excluding my favorite little menace.”

  “Little?” she scoffs.

  Now I definitely don’t know what’s going on. Eris appears to have a sense of humor. Who knew?

  “Vi, this is Baylor, the last of my generals.”

  “Or first,” the enormous warrior says, dragging his helmet off his head so that a tumble of golden hair brushes against his shoulders.

  It’s like looking into the eyes of a dead man.

  A shocked gasp escapes me as I stare at a mirror image of the bane Andraste killed.

  “Vi?” Thiago frowns as he notices my reaction.

  Indeed, everyone in the room is staring at me.

  “I….” I need space to breathe and a moment to think. “Sorry.” I press my hands to my temples, flinging a weak smile at the prince. “I think I haven’t entirely recovered from the trip through the portal. My head’s aching.”

  Thiago pushes to his feet. “Do you need—”

  “No.” I wave him off. “I’m fine. I just need to rest.”

  In the privacy of my rooms, where I’m not staring my guilty conscience in the face.

  I don’t look back.

  But I can almost feel them exchanging glances.

  17

  The amulet is exactly where I left it, buried among the mess of silver and gold in my jewelry chest.

  I don’t know why I kept it.

  I never expected to see the dead bane’s family—which is what this Baylor must be. No, I threw it in my jewelry chest and then forgot about it.

  Until now.

  The gold feels warm beneath my touch as I turn the amulet over. I know who they are now. Baylor and Lysander, the shapeshifting twins who act as two of Thiago’s generals. They were legends during the wars and served the Grimm himself before turning their loyalty over to the Prince of Evernight when the Grimm was locked away in a prison world.

  It’s strange how Thiago seemingly collects such misfits.

  Baylor and Lysander served an Old One, Cian’s Unseelie, and Eris is….

  I don’t know what Eris is.

  Not fae. Or not wholly fae.

  Then there’s the prince himself.

  The right thing to do would be to return it to Baylor and tell him what happened to his brother.

  But how do I tell him my sister killed Lysander? How do I admit that I shot him too?

  There are legends that speak of him. Eris, Baylor, and Lysander have always been considered Evernight’s most vicious generals. The Blackheart, they call him, though he’s as golden of hair as Andraste is.

  If he discovers his brother is dead by my sister’s hand, then there’s no guessing how he’ll react.

  The walls of my tower room seem to close in upon me. One of the servants escorted me here so I couldn’t take any detours, and I know there’s a guard standing at the door. Clearly the prince doesn’t want me wandering through this castle, which makes me wonder what he’s hiding.

  I haven’t felt this alone since I arrived here.

  It doesn’t help that every time I unearth a clue, another question forms.

  Why is the prince treating me like a dangerous enemy that needs to be locked away in her rooms while we’re here? Why did he blindfold me through the portal? It’s clear he doesn’t want me here in Ceres, and only the threat of Angharad made him bring me. But what doesn’t he want me to see?

  And how did Lysander recognize me that day in the forest?

  A soft rap comes at the door, making me jump.

  “Come in,” I call, snapping the lid of my jewelry case shut.

  Thalia enters, carrying a tray covered with a purple cloth. “I thought you might be hungry after your journey.”

  The thoughtfulness surprises me. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She lays the tray on the bed between us and sits down.

  A swift glimpse reveals an Asturian beef stew with hot bread rolls that still steam from the oven, slabs of butter, a pair of honey cakes, and a handful of grapes. All of my favorites on one tray.

  It’s either impressive or unnerving.

  “The prince has clearly been paying attention,” I murmur, plucking a grape free and popping it in my mouth.

  “He notices everything,” Thalia says, rolling her eyes. “Especially when you don’t want him to notice.”

  “Either that or he has an agenda.”

  She smiles. “That too. Don’t ever think he’s not up to something.”

  “I don’t.”

  I tear into the bread, slathering butter over it and then dunking it in the stew. “Sweet Maia.” It’s so good, though I haven’t eaten in hours so anything would taste amazing right now.

  “Baylor’s not that scary,” she murmurs after an appropriate pause.

  Aha.

  Clearly, Thalia takes after her cousin, for he’s not the only one with an agenda, it seems.

  “He didn’t scare me,” I tell her. “I wasn’t feeling well.”

  “You went white as a wraith,” she replies, “the second you saw him.”

  “He is the Blackheart, is he not? My mother’s generals piss their pants when they hear they’ll be facing him.”

  “I didn’t think you’d be the sort to be afraid of him. And he may be this big, gruff bear, but he’s perfectly housebroken.” She flashes a smile at me. “If you think him scary, you should see the orphaned kittens he thinks nobody knows he’s got stashed in his rooms. He takes them saucers of milk every night, bu
t the demi-fey think it’s for them, so they’ve been stealing it. Now he’s set traps for the demi-fey.”

  She bursts into a peal of laughter, as if she’s picturing it.

  I can’t help myself. A reluctant smile tugs at my lips. I don’t know why, but I feel as though I’ve known her forever.

  Thalia reminds me of Andraste, and how things used to be.

  The second I think it, my smile dies.

  Thalia rests a hand over mine. “I understand. It must be overwhelming to think yourself the pawn between two courts.”

  “No, it’s just…. I miss my sister. I miss my home. And even then….” It was never truly a home. It hasn’t been for a long time. “Have you ever felt as though you don’t belong anywhere?”

  “Yes,” she whispers, and her fingers curl through mine. “When I was a child, I was… unwanted. The fae are rarely fertile, and my mother had a brief fling with a mysterious man on a beach one night. His seed took, and here I am.” She shrugs, but I can see she hasn’t escaped the weight of her past. “I’m the bastard offspring of one of the saltkissed. My grandmother tried to drown me at birth. As you can imagine, I never had a home until I arrived here.”

  “Your grandmother?” Thiago’s grandmother?

  Thalia shudders. “An evil bitch if ever I’ve met one. She’s dead now. Sometimes I spit on her grave.”

  Tugging another piece of bread from the roll, I pop it in my mouth. “When I was a little girl, I spat in my mother’s teapot once. She would have killed me if she ever realized.”

  “Your mother does make my grandmother seem a benevolent soul,” Thalia admits.

  I offer her a grape. There’s not much to say to that.

  At least she didn’t try to drown me at birth.

  That I know of.

  “So you’re half saltkissed?” Does that mean Thiago has the sea in his veins too? Or is it through her maternal bloodline that they share blood? “You were alive during the wars?”