Promise of Darkness

by Bec McMaster

  Erlking’s hairy b—

  I clap a hand to my racing heart and hastily shove the pair of books and my lantern on the nearest table. “What in the Underworld are you doing in my room?”

  On my bed….

  “Waiting for you to return, of course.” He rolls onto his side, fingers idly stroking the bedspread as if he wishes it were me. I ignore the soft caress and the way my skin prickles in anticipation. His gaze drops to the books I tried to secrete on the table. “Stealing some of Kyrian’s books, were we?”

  Kissing him in the alleyway like that was a bad idea.

  Really bad.

  Because now I know what awaits me, should I let him lure me into bed.

  And it’s not going to be awful at all.

  Wouldn’t. It wouldn’t be awful. I want to punch myself in the thigh at the thought, because even my mind is betraying me.

  “I thought I distinctly told you to stay in your room.” The sound of his voice is still a purr, but now it has a bit of edge to it.

  “And I thought you wanted my help working out what Angharad is doing, but I’m fairly certain the pair of you shut the door in my face earlier.”

  He sits up. “So you thought you’d ignore me. Was that supposed to be retaliation?”

  “I’m not thirteen,” I reply archly. “If you and Kyrian want to keep your secrets, that’s fine. But I’m not going to sit here in the dark, waiting for you to throw me a hint. How else am I going to learn anything?”

  “You do remember that we were attacked several hours ago?”

  I hold up my arm, revealing the white fingerprints. “Really? I had no idea.”

  He pushes to his feet, and while I was firmly aware he wasn’t wearing a shirt, the aggression in his stance highlights every flawless inch of him. It’s like the candlelight is doing its best to revere each muscle.

  “If the city isn’t safe, then the palace might not be either. We don’t know what those creatures were, or what they want.”

  “It almost sounds as if you think I’m stupid.” I cross to the fireplace, warming my hands. “They stepped out of the shadows, Thiago. I doubt they’re going to balk at these stone walls—” I rap my knuckles on the fireplace for emphasis. “—just because they belong to my bedchamber. I was just as safe in the library as I was here. Oh, and you might not know what they are, but I do. Thanks to my little expedition.”

  He pauses.

  “They’re fetches.”

  “I know.”

  It stops me in my tracks. “You knew.” I hold my arm up, “You didn’t think to tell me?”

  “I’ve never seen them before,” he snarls. “It wasn’t until I was speaking with Kyrian that I realized Angharad’s set her pack of hunters on your trail.”

  “My trail?”

  A hint of strain shows around his mouth. “You didn’t notice how they went straight for you?”

  I’d been too busy fending them off. I’d assumed—

  “Why me?”

  Thiago paces. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know? Or you don’t intend to tell me? Since you’re the Prince of Secrets….”

  He whirls on me. “I don’t know. The only leash they wear is Angharad’s, which means she wants to get her hands on you for some reason.”

  Between my mother and the Unseelie Queen, I’m not certain which option is worse. “Do you think Angharad knows I was there? At Mistmere?”

  “If she knows you were there, then she knows I was there,” he replies. “And yet it practically shoved me aside to get to you.”

  It makes no sense.

  I have little enough magic. I’m not my mother’s heir, nor am I likely to be named as such. I’ve never even come face-to-face with Angharad, other than that glimpse of her at the Queensmoot. The idea she even knows who I am is ridiculous.

  Out of the two of us, I’d have thought her to be more interested in the prince. He’s powerful, dangerous, and was one of the dominating factors in the Seelie winning the last war and driving the Unseelie Queens back.

  He picks up a golden cuff from the bed. “I want you to wear this. It will help cloak your whereabouts and protect you. You might wear the fetch’s mark, but this will muffle your precise location. It’s why I went to see Kyrian.”

  I let him close the cuff around my wrist. The filigreed gold is finely woven in the shape of birds and feels warm against my skin, soothing the seeping chill from the fingermarks. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” With a sigh, he hauls a chair in front of the door and sinks into it.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Someone has to keep watch, Vi. They can walk through stone walls.” He turns his face to stare through the arches that lead to the balcony, moonlight cutting across those sharp features. “And I refuse to lose you.”

  This time, the dream steals me away to a ruined castle.

  Thirteen eyeless sorcerers kneel around a Hallow, chanting, and there’s a black skull with horns in the middle of the circle. I step through the shadows and find myself watching them emotionlessly.

  Skirts rustle like dry leaves, and then Angharad appears from the nearest arch, a crow resting on her shoulder. “Well?” she demands.

  The fetch bows before the queen. “I have found your sacrifice, my queen. She is marked.”

  It makes my heart flutter in my chest, as if some part of me is aware of the danger. I don’t know why the fetch is in my dreams, but it feels like I’m staring out through its eyes.

  It feels like this is not a dream at all.

  “Fetch her for me,” Angharad says. “The Hallow is nearly resurrected. I’ll offer her heart to the Mother, and then She and I will make a deal.”

  I whimper.

  There’s no escape. All I can do is watch as the chanting begins to rise in tone.

  “Vi,” someone whispers, and I turn into a warm embrace. “You’re safe. You’ll always be safe in my arms.”

  “Please.” I’m tugging at something. Fighting my sheets. My flailing arms.

  “Vi, wake up.”

  There is no escape. I feel my body turn, stalking through the ring of sorcerers.

  “Wake up,” says a whisper in my ear. Then there’s a soft curse. “Dream of me, Vi. Not them.”

  A gentle mouth brushes against mine.

  The sensation tears me in two. One moment, I’m ducking down a long corridor, and the next my eyelashes are stirring, a large, muscular form kneeling over me. I can taste his breath on my lips and feel the stroke of his tongue.

  My fingers clutch at his shoulders as I wake with a jerk.

  “Thiago.”

  He wraps me in his arms, drawing me against his chest. “Shh, Vi. Shh. You’re safe.”

  “I was inside the fetch,” I gasp. “And Angharad was speaking to me—to it, rather.”

  He runs a smooth hand down my spine. “They can’t hurt you, Vi.”

  “Yes, they can,” I snap. “They were speaking of using me as a sacrifice to resurrect the Mother of Night.” My heart still pounds. “D-do you think it was real? Do you think I was somehow seeing through its eyes?”

  “It’s possible. Fetches create a bond with their mark. It’s how they track them. Perhaps it uses that bond to see where you are and what you’re doing. Perhaps you managed to follow the trail back to the hunter?” Every inch of Thiago goes still, as he strokes my back. “I won’t let them hurt you, Vi. I won’t let them have you.”

  “How are you going to stop them? They can walk through shadows.” I push to my feet, wrapping my arms around myself. “Sunlight is their only weakness, or the blood of the purest, whatever that means.”

  Why me?

  Why are they searching for me?

  Thiago’s face turns hard and cold, and the tattoos that crawl up his throat writhe. “There are ways to counter a creature of the shadows. Trust me, Vi. It will not have you. No matter what I must do.”

  28

  Kyrian waits in his inner tower, staring out thro
ugh the windows at the sea. There’s a compass in his hands, and its needle points due west, though he swiftly snaps it shut when we enter.

  “Well?” Thiago asks.

  The Prince of Tides turns to face us, his windswept brown hair tied at his nape and his shirt open to mid-breast. “I’ve found her. Angharad has her pet sorcerers working on the Spell of Unmaking. You were right. She’s up to something. They’re looking for a sacrifice to break open the Hallow at Mistmere.”

  My blood runs cold. It’s exactly what I saw last night in my dreams.

  Thiago exchanges a glance with me, but he doesn’t say anything. “A sacrifice? Why the Mother? If they thought they could break open a Hallow, I thought she’d go straight for the Horned One.”

  “Who knows?” Kyrian replies. “The Horned One was a special case. Bran the Mighty linked the pair of them, then drove the Sword of Unmaking straight through his own heart. It was enough to trap the Horned One in a deathlike trance before they closed the prison. Perhaps Angharad needs some way to bring him back from the edge before she releases him?”

  “And the Mother has the power,” Thiago says, cursing under his breath as he paces. “She has the skills. She created spell craft, so if there’s anyone who knows how to break that link, it’s her.”

  “Angharad seemed to think there was a specific sacrifice required,” Kyrian says. “Do we have any idea who it is?”

  Another little chill runs up my spine.

  Thiago insisted I wear long sleeves, and I’m grateful for it now, as the blue silk covers the fetch’s mark.

  “No,” Thiago lies, looking his friend in the eye. “No doubt a queen. Or a prince. Or someone of equal power. The Hallows required a powerful sacrifice to create the link to the prisons. No doubt they require one that’s just as powerful to break them open. Either that, or one of the great relics like the Sword of Mourning. But most of them are lost.”

  I don’t understand. I don’t have the power required. My magic dwells beneath the surface, caged by the wards Thiago laid over me the night I nearly burned the bed. But it’s no greater than that of any pure born fae. I know, because my mother had both Andraste and me tested when we were twelve.

  And as far as I can tell, my memory loss begins and ends on the day I first met Thiago, so that previous memory must be real.

  “Watch your back then, my friend,” Kyrian says, slapping a hand on Thiago’s shoulder.

  “You too. And start preparing for war. I’ll send my armies west, to Mistmere. We need to stop her before she can get the Hallow working.”

  “My ships are at your disposal,” Kyrian replies. “And my men. Send word the second you’re ready to attack.” He turns to me. “In light of certain revelations, you may consider my grimoire a gift. I think you may need it, Your Highness, though next time… ask.”

  It’s a quiet trip back to Ceres.

  Though the thought of travelling through the Hallow and meeting that saltkissed bitch haunts me, the trip is uneventful. The gold cuff on my arm goes ice-cold, but there’s no frightening whirl of seawater, no screaming saltkissed hissing in my face.

  I’m almost disappointed.

  29

  One day later we have word from the other kingdoms.

  The queens have discussed our tale of Mistmere, and have decided to send their own emissaries. We’re to meet them near Mistmere where we’ll continue on foot. Each queen has sent ten retainers. No more. No less.

  Even a single extra guard might be considered a threat against the other retinues, or a plot to exploit the situation.

  “Maia help us if Angharad intends to invade and has an army awaiting us,” Baylor says, pacing the shadowy forest outside the tents we’ve set up.

  “At least it shall be a glorious death,” Finn points out.

  “Or a swift one,” Eris mutters.

  The edge of the swamp that runs into Mistmere lake is the best place to meet, as the brackish waters will hide our scent, and it’s unlikely banes will be patrolling here. A castle turret sticks out of the water ahead of us, moss lining its crenellations. It looks like the swamp has swallowed a castle whole, and only the tip emerges.

  Maybe it will swallow us whole too.

  That’s a cheery thought.

  A light flickers in the top window, highlighting a pale face, and then it vanishes.

  “They’re here,” I murmur, blowing warmth into my cupped hands. I forgot how cold it was this far north.

  “It’s about time.” Eris wades into the shallows, pushing the boat out a little further. “It’s not as though the fate of the seelie alliance rests upon the other kingdoms actually getting off their asses, for a change.”

  “Ah, Eris, my love,” Finn says quietly, “You expect everything to be straightforward. It’s your uncouth unseelie nature showing. This is Seelie. If we don’t stab each other in the back, slit someone’s throat while they sleep, toy with our allies’ emotions, or promise everything and nothing in the one breath, then can we even call ourselves fae? The only good news is that at least we look good while we do it.”

  “Never trust a beautiful face,” Eris murmurs, as if she learned the saying by rote as a child.

  “And never trust a seelie smile,” Finn adds.

  “You smile all the time,” I whisper.

  “Precisely.” The grin on his face doesn’t shift. “Don’t ever believe a word I say, my sweet princess. I’m a born liar.”

  “I suppose you did tell me how handsome and brave and amazing you were, when we first met.”

  Finn claps his hands over his heart, and staggers back as if mortally wounded.

  Baylor merely sighs and rubs a hand over his eyes. “Here lie the hopes of Evernight. We’re doomed.”

  A drift of shadow moves toward us in the night. Thiago dissolves out of nothing, looking as if he was born for nighttime.

  “Is anyone here aware how far voices carry in the mist?” he whisper-breathes, as the guards following him melt into stillness.

  Instantly, the four of us stiffen.

  “Get in the fucking boat.” He includes me in his fierce look, though he does offer me an arm.

  I can’t help feeling a nervous flutter in my veins as we seat ourselves.

  My mother will have sent her most loyal and her best. Andraste’s standing in that turret. I know it with every fiber of my being, but the question is: Who else is with her?

  One of her generals?

  No, Mother won’t want the confrontation with Eris or Baylor. Never reveal your cards, she always tells me. And she won’t want any of her generals wondering about the unseelie we’re facing. Her generals are firmly under her spell, but they’re also responsible for the safety of Asturia. Any hint of a threat and all five of them would start asking questions Mother won’t want to answer.

  I can’t help thinking of the conversation we had through the flames. I told her about Angharad and Mistmere, and yet she arrived at the alliance meeting acting as though the truth is something to smother, not face.

  It doesn’t make sense.

  Why would she not want the rest of the alliance to know about Angharad? Every day my eyes open to a new truth, including the one that’s been dwelling on my mind most.

  My mother is acting as though she’s working with the enemy.

  But that’s impossible.

  She wouldn’t. She hates the unseelie and sees them as beneath her. All my life she’s warned against their lying, deceitful ways, and their filthy courts.

  But what if she hates the prince more than she hates them? What if she thinks she can use them to ruin him, and then sweep them aside afterwards?

  Someone taught her to curse-twist the fae into banes.

  And someone cursed me with the dark magic the unseelie possess.

  It’s a troubling knot and one I’ll need time to unpick.

  Fog sits like a blanket on the lake as we make our way across.

  Baylor rows, the heavy flex of his shoulders rippling beneath the stark black leat
hers he wears. A leather thong ties half his hair back from his face, but there’s no hiding the harsh slant of those cheekbones, or the glitter of his eyes as he watches me. I jerk my gaze away, but it’s too late.

  He knows I’m hiding something.

  Then we’re arriving at the small island that houses the turret. Thiago helps me ashore, and I realize I’m right. We’re not standing on a stony beach, but the remnants of a castle wall. Moss and lichen coat the stones, and I can see the gleaming amber eyes of demi-fey watching us from nooks and crannies. Some of them flutter in the air with translucent wings that hum on the verge of hearing. Others hiss at us from between reeds. One gnaws on a freshly caught fish.

  “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Thiago murmurs, squeezing my fingers.

  Maybe he can sense my nerves, which means I’m not hiding them as well as I should be. “I’m ready.”

  This meeting is important. If we don’t convince the other courts of the threat then we’ll be standing alone against a possible unseelie invasion.

  But when I climb the slick stairs, my sister is standing in the middle of the remains of the tower door, looking every inch a warrior princess.

  My sister, who has lied to me every bit as much as my mother has.

  And suddenly, I don’t want peace.

  I want war.

  I’m trembling badly as I sweep past Andraste into the tower.

  It’s all I can do not to look at her, not to vent the rage that bubbles beneath the surface.

  In a way, her betrayal is the sharpest blow. I’ve always known my mother never cared for me. It didn’t mean that I didn’t try to seek her approval, but when I constantly failed there was a small part of me that merely saw it as inevitable.

  But Andraste….

  She was the only one who had my back.

  I loved her.

  A part of me still does.

  And as they say, the sharpest sting of betrayal is the fact it only ever comes from those you trust.

  She reaches for my arm. “Vi—"

  “Don’t.” I jerk away from her with a snarl. There are a thousand words I want to say to her, but none of them spring to the tip of my tongue. I’m so angry. Furious, even. I can’t put them all together.