Promise of Darkness

by Bec McMaster

  Maiden. Mother. Crone.

  The Mother of Night.

  And as I turn the page, I swear she’s the woman I saw in my vision the night I drew the Sword of Mourning.

  The second I blink the resemblance is gone. But a shiver of excitement lights through me.

  Years and years ago, when she walked the realms, she was worshipped as a goddess that granted her powers to those who pledged their allegiance. She was the one who forged spell craft and taught it to the fae. The first sorcerer. The first curse worker.

  Granted, such powers were not given freely.

  No, they came at a cost.

  But if I don’t take a risk right now, then at the end of the week, I’m going to watch my mother execute my husband, and I’m not even going to know who he is.

  I slam the book shut, nervousness rising in my chest.

  If I turn down this path, then there’s no escaping the consequences.

  I’ll have enough power to defeat my mother, but I’ll be bound to pay the price the Mother insists upon. Magic is never free.

  And yet, I might be able to save my husband’s life.

  Thiago’s spent so many years sacrificing everything, just for me. He fought for us when I didn’t. Or couldn’t.

  If you go down this path, then you’ll lose him.

  He was furious that I released the Erlking. Never again, Iskvien. The Old Ones were locked away for a reason….

  I set the book down with a heavy thud. “I’m going to lose him either way,” I whisper to myself.

  At least he’ll be alive.

  And I don’t have to release her. Just… entice her with a little bargain.

  With that thought, my resolve firms.

  Angharad wanted to use the power of the Mother of Night to break the Horned One free of his prison. The Hallow in Mistmere is resurrected, which means Angharad will be able to forge a link to the Mother if she returns.

  All I need is the Hallow, a blood sacrifice, and a little luck.

  But there’s no way Thiago will allow me to make this sacrifice.

  So maybe I’ll need a few other items as well, including a surly, vicious warrior who doesn’t seem to like me very much.

  42

  “This is a terrible idea,” Eris mutters as she holds my horse’s bridle.

  I swing down from the saddle, looking around. There’s no sign of any Unseelie. The war party that Thiago sent this way has done its job well and cleared the ruins. Mistmere lies abandoned, silent as a grave beneath the full moon.

  “Agreed,” I snap, “but if you’ve got a better plan, then I’ll be quite happy to assist you.”

  She shuts her mouth and looks away, her jaw trembling. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before, but she’s not the emotionless rock she pretends to be.

  Thiago gave me a home when others would have burned me at the stake.

  It meant more to her than I’ll ever know. She pledged her life to him, and now she’s watching helplessly as he hurtles toward almost certain doom. It’s no wonder she hates me.

  I rest a hand on her arm. “I promise I’ll do everything in my power to save him.”

  Eris shoots me a sharp look. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think you would.” Visibly gathering herself, she ties my horse next to hers. “Let’s do this, bitchspawn. Save the sniveling for later.”

  Right. I almost forgot myself there.

  Hauling my pack, with all its supplies, over my shoulders, I head for the Hallow.

  Eris stalks along ahead of me, her eyes roving the darkness, searching for any threat. Her shadow stretches ahead of her, growing longer and longer, and I swear it’s starting to look a little inhuman. The hint of wings flare, as if whatever she hides within her is stretching.

  “You’re not going to go full Devourer on me, are you?”

  Eris realizes what I’m looking at, and all of a sudden, her shadow shrinks to its normal size and shape. She gives me a look that might have shriveled my insides a couple of months ago, before I realized she uses those icy glares to keep others away. “Just play your part. I’ll play mine.”

  We reach the Hallow, and the enormity of what I’m about to do starts to set in.

  This is the moment.

  If I go through with this, then there’s no turning back.

  All the stones stand in place, ropes and pulleys holding them upright. Angharad managed to raise the entire circle. Moonlight glints on their runes as I circle them, looking down at the piece of paper I tore from that book.

  There’s the crescent moon on one column; the circle and arrow on another, that represents the full moon. I just need to find the waning moon, the crone….

  And there it is, three columns over.

  “Found them?” Eris asks, as she sets out the candles and lights them.

  “Found them.” I can’t help feeling the portent in those words.

  I set the piece of paper aside, mentally preparing myself. And then I take a deep breath and enter the circle.

  The ley line quivers.

  Somewhere, deep beneath the earth, I can feel power welling, whispering to me. It’s almost as if some enormous force has turned its head toward me, waiting with bated breath for me to make the next move. I don’t want to think about what that force might be.

  I slice the dagger across my finger, and blood wells. “If this doesn’t work, then ride back to Valerian and tell Thiago I loved him enough to try.”

  “Along with the fact that I rode with you and let you get yourself killed? Thanks,” Eris snorts.

  I shoot her a smile. In another lifetime we might almost have been friends. “If I die, then I bequeath the Erlking’s oath to you. Along with my collection of lurid romantic tales.”

  Eris rolls her eyes. “Just do it, will you?”

  I lean down, examining the stone at my feet. Thirteen grooves are cut into the tiles, and as I squeeze my hand over the center well, I feel the air around me suddenly stir. The Hallow needed a kingly sacrifice to trap an Old One, but if I’m right, then I won’t need to kill anyone. It worked at the Erlking’s Hallow.

  Blood calls to blood.

  Like to like.

  Leanabh an dàn . I think I finally know what that means.

  Blood drips from my clenched fist into the small well, and as if by magic, it shoots along all thirteen grooves toward the standing stones. The ground is shaking, little shards of stone shuddering across the tiles. A hollow boom echoes through the earth, as if entire continental plates shift beneath us.

  “Vi,” Eris says nervously, one hand settling on her sword.

  Look at that. No more Bitch Queen’s Little Pet. I think I’m starting to grow on her.

  “It’s working,” I whisper, painting blood across all three runes I’ve identified.

  I don’t get a chance to even smile.

  Light blazes from every glyph carved into the stones. The ley line suddenly ignites, raw power shooting up toward the stars. Wind whips past me, my hair whipping around my face.

  But it’s the sensation of something reaching for me and grabbing my mind, my magic, that makes me flinch.

  “Princess!” Eris screams, but it sounds so far away.

  Finally, something whispers in my ear.

  Something dark and dangerous, with a laugh like dry leaves rustling against each other. I have a moment of sheer terror, a moment where I realize I may have made a crucial mistake in thinking this being can be bargained with.

  And then the Hallow implodes, taking me with it.

  There’s a sensation of falling.

  It lasts both seconds and eons, until I’m barely aware of the world flashing past me. Little claws pick at my mind, unravelling pieces of me, as if a dozen hungry creatures are eating those memories and finding sustenance.

  I see my sister and me running through a meadow as girls. Laughing, carefree, and happy. My mother watches the pair of us like a hawk from the edges of the meadow, and the cold, calculating gleam in her eyes bothers me now, tho
ugh it didn’t then.

  Then the memories twist, and I’m screaming at my mother, “Give her back! Give her back!”

  Another flicker. “You little slut,” my mother hisses, lifting her hand to lash me with her claws. But it’s Andraste who captures her wrist and forces her back.

  “Think about it,” my sister yells, standing toe-to-toe with the queen. “You can use this. You can trick the prince into a trap of your own choosing.”

  And though it terrifies me at the time, I know I’ve been granted clemency.

  Again and again, I hurtle through memories I’ve never seen before. My sister. My mother. My stepbrother. Thiago. Thalia. Eris. Even Finn and Baylor. The Mother examines them all until my head feels like it’s going to explode.

  Splashing into ice-cold water slams me back into my body.

  It covers my face and I thrash, every primal instinct demanding I fight my way to the surface. It tastes like burned magic and feels as thick in my lungs as liquid mercury. I’m drowning in it, coughing and choking on the tendrils that steal their way past my lips.

  Something hauls me up. I break the surface with a gasp, and the thick liquid sluices down my face as I cough and splutter, taking in the world around me.

  A soaring, cavernous roof arches into darkness above me, and the waters seemed to stretch forever. Or no, not water. I can feel it enveloping me like a gelatinous coating of slime. The taste of it lingers on my tongue, and everywhere it touches feels alive, so alive.

  Pure power.

  An icy, underground lake of magic that glows a faint silvery blue in patches. In the distance, a dark, shadowy island lurks in the water, but there’s no sign of anyone else. No sign of the Mother.

  Sweet Maia, where am I?

  The water—for want of a better word—warms around me, growing brighter as if all the light within it floods toward me. My fingertips tingle, nipples furling into tight buds as my body begins to absorb the power. It leaves me breathless, exhilaration firing along my nerves. Suddenly, I’m floating in one of those silvery blue patches.

  But with the light comes darkness.

  Shadows ripple through the water far below me like leviathan sensing prey, and something brushes against my foot. I jerk it toward me, heart suddenly thundering.

  I’m not alone in the… waters.

  I just don’t know what else is with me.

  “Eris?” A brief glance around shows I’m on my own.

  Well, you are in another world.

  Right.

  All that power flooding through me feels invigorating. I reach for it, and it blooms within me like a flower, long denied sunlight and water. A soft cry of wonder escapes me. This is what it feels like to have magic?

  For the first time in my life, I feel as though I could conquer the world. All those years of trying—and failing—to wield my power, and here it is, mine for the taking.

  I’m so wrapped up in the sensation of it that I don’t realize the danger.

  The shadows swarm like a pool of ferocious fish, as if suddenly realizing what I am. I scream as they drive toward me, casting the magic wide—

  Fire blooms within me, the light around me suddenly imploding.

  A single thought and the world blurs, stretching me out thin and then slamming me back into my physical body.

  I fall to my hands and knees in the shallows, a good forty feet from where I’d been. A glance back reveals that glowing patch of light where I’d been, the light winking out as though dozens of fireflies were snuffed out by the second. A swarm of shadows thrash and churn the water, drinking down the light until it finally winks out.

  I don’t want to be here when they realize where I’ve gone.

  Sloshing out of the lake, I collapse on the shore and pant. For the love of the Light, that had been close. And the magic— I lift shaking hands, surprised to see tiny flecks of light swimming through my veins, visible even through my skin.

  It’s the first time I’ve felt that kind of power. My magic is erratic and unpredictable and weak. I want more.

  “Well, well, well.” A laugh echoes hollowly behind me. “Look what fell into my pool. A little fish, drowning in the deeps.”

  Scrambling to my feet, I reach for my knife as I spin around.

  There’s nothing there.

  Neither the knife, nor the owner of the voice.

  Only a rocky shore piled with broken limestone pillars that look like they’ve been snapped off halfway down. Hints of ancient glyphs beckon along the stone, the same ones that adorned the circle stones of Mistmere.

  Yarbra. Accult. Sylas. And more, hidden beneath a coating of moss.

  Power words meant to contain something within their circle.

  “What’s wrong, little dove?” mocks the voice. It comes from the top of the rise. “Can’t you see me? But then, you’re looking with the wrong eyes….”

  “If there’s one thing I hate, it’s smug, creepy ownerless voices,” I call.

  Silence.

  “Then come and find me.”

  I don’t think I’m imagining the hint of a snarl.

  “Who are you?” I demand, striding up the rocky slope.

  “Has the mortal world forgotten me already?”

  A figure emerges from the darkness, and I take a step back.

  I expected to confront a horror, but the creature that emerges from the cowl is the most beautiful being I’ve ever imagined. The Mother’s skin gleams like moonlight on polished alabaster, and her eyes are as black and velvety as the night sky. Raven dark hair falls in a spill around her shoulders, though little horns peek through at her temples.

  There’s an ancient sense of knowing in those eyes, as if the Mother has seen stars rise and fall over the eons.

  As if she can see right through me.

  Every thought, every hidden desire, every envious little shred of my soul.

  “Ah, Daughter of Darkness. How apt that you should be the one who found me.” A hollow, guttural laugh echoes in the creature’s throat.

  Daughter of Darkness? “Why would you call me that?” I ask suspiciously.

  It’s one thing to suspect there’s the old blood in my veins, but….

  “Do you not know who your father is?” the Mother whispers as she seats herself on the throne.

  Every part of me stills. Only the quickening beat of my heart betrays me.

  “Connall of Saltmist.”

  A visiting noble from the Far Isles, one who was never seen again. Children are rare among the long-lived fae, but it only took one chance encounter for my mother to begin to bloom with me.

  Or so she said.

  The Mother sinks onto her throne, and this time I’m not imagining the smirk in her voice. “Is that what she told you?”

  I still.

  It can’t be a lie. My mother would not lie about that. She wouldn’t.

  But I can’t help thinking of all the other lies, and her disappointment in me. “You were born to power,” the queen always whispered. “You disappoint me, daughter. You can barely light a candle.”

  And I’d tried, curse her.

  I’d tried so hard.

  “Can you not sense it?” the Mother of Night whispers seductively. “You can feel the power here calling to you, can’t you? The power of the ley lines, the earth beneath your feet. The power that made this world. You can sense it on the breeze, luring you toward your destiny. No mere fae gave you that gift. No puling lordling spilled life into your mother’s womb. You were born with the moon in your eyes and the breath of the gods firing through your veins. You were born to rule the stars and consume the world. You’re so close to quickening that even the earth can feel it. Have you not felt it calling to you? Have you not felt it trembling beneath your boots?”

  As if her words stir the power, I feel it pulling at me as though my boots are magnets. It’s a horrifying, breathless moment, and I refuse it. I refuse it.

  “No.”

  “Yes. I’ve spent years whispering in the sha
dows and bending the Unseelie queens to my will. All to bring you here to me in this moment.” The Mother leans forward on her throne. “You are the key to my redemption. You were born to set us free.”

  “No.” I back away.

  “You cannot escape your destiny.”

  Watch me.

  “You’re lying.” I hear Thiago’s words all over again: We need to find this child of the Old Ones. And we need to end it. “I barely have any magic. My father was Connall of Saltmist.”

  “Connall of Saltmist never existed,” she says with a sneer. “Your sire was one of ours, freed from his prison for one night only. You know the rules: Never lie with a man on the night the Hallows open. Never walk in the dark on Samhain. Never leave a light burning in the windows. Your mother spat in the face of tradition and thought to host a masked ball on Samhain. She practically sent us an invitation. And one of us took it, to plant a babe in her belly.”

  She settles on her throne with a satisfied smile. “And now here you are, kneeling before me as supplicant.”

  Never. “I came to offer you a bargain. Nothing more.”

  “You came to set us free. Nothing less.”

  This was a mistake.

  Thiago warned me: Never bargain with the Old Ones. Never trust them. Never court their attention.

  And I was so foolish. I saw this as the answer to all my fears.

  The Mother of Night can set us free, but what will she demand as repayment?

  And how do I escape, now I’m here?

  “Ah,” she says. “You finally see the truth. You cannot escape me. Not without giving me what I want. Deny me and you will stay here with me. Forever.”

  They’re trapped here.

  Their powers are bound.

  She can’t force me to free them; all she can do is try and coerce me.

  “Fine. If I can’t escape, then here I stay,” I tell her. Perhaps it’s for the best, anyway? I can’t make a choice, if I’m not there to make it. My mother can’t steal my memories again. And Thiago….

  Thiago lives.

  Her eyes narrow. “I can make you regret that decision.”

  My nails curl into my fingers. Breathe. Just breathe. “I’m sure you can. But I came to offer you a bargain. Aren’t you interested in playing?”