by Bec McMaster
That’s how it always begins with the Old Ones. And now I know what she wants. Freedom. Well, she’s not getting it. Thiago taught me the truth of that. But if she thinks I was born to deliver her back into the world, then that’s a starting point.
Silence echoes, like the moment after a bell is struck.
“A bargain.” The faintest of smiles crosses her face. “Go on, leanabh an dàn .”
“You first,” I tell her.
“Very well.” She taps her fingers on her throne with a smile like a purring cat. “Perhaps I can tell you the truth of your begetting?” A faint pause. “But no, that’s not what you want. Not yet, anyway.
“Or perhaps I can offer you power. You crave it,” she whispers. “Magic. You yearn for magic. I can give you your magic….” I gasp as it floods through me, burning like a supernova. The Mother clicks her fingers, and the sensation vanishes, leaving me empty and void. “Or I can take it away.”
I’m hollow and empty and on my knees.
But for one precious second, I was more. I was everything I’ve ever wanted to be.
“Power,” she whispers. “Enough power to face your mother on your own terms. Enough power to take what is rightfully yours. You could claim her throne. You could rule your kingdom. You could rule the entire Alliance with what I could give you.”
I think of Thiago, who sacrificed everything, year after year, just for me.
With the power the Mother gives me, I wouldn’t have to beg her to break the curse. I could shatter it myself and ruin my mother. We could rule both Asturia and Evernight together.
The other kingdoms would not allow that, some part of me whispers.
There would still be war, only we would be fighting it on at least three fronts.
And what would Thiago say in the face of such power?
He’d demand to know where it came from.
“Does he have to know?” the Mother whispers, as if she can read my every thought. “The curse steals your memories of him. Why not twist it? Why not take a single memory from him? He never has to know you were not born with this power.”
I could have it all.
Magic. A throne. Thiago.
I came here, knowing I would lose him, but with this offer, I wouldn’t have to.
It’s so incredibly tempting.
The Old Ones like to whisper empty promises. Beware their gifts, for they all have a sting.
“No.” Slowly, I push to my feet. “All I want is for you to undo the curse. The rest I can manage on my own.”
Large, unblinking eyes lock upon me. “He will never forgive you for this.”
I know.
But I could never let him love me knowing I had stolen a piece of him, the same way my mother had stolen from me.
“If I steal his memories, then I am no better than my mother. That isn’t love. It’s fear. And I won’t live its lie. I just want the curse broken.”
She tilts her head as if examining me anew. And then she smiles.
“So, we are agreed,” she says, “upon the gift. Now, we must come to terms with the price.”
I swallow hard. “Name it.”
I tilt my chin up, knowing she’s going to demand her freedom and prepared to fight her on it. There is little I can offer—that I will offer. Nothing that hurts my people, or the people of Evernight. The price must only affect me. I’m even willing to grant her my soul upon my death, if need be, but she surprises me.
“I want your firstborn child.”
I see a glimpse of a child’s face, her eyes dark and blinking. I’ve never dared put the idea into words, but there’s a little piece of me that yearns to hold that baby in my arms. “No.” It’s a mother’s instinct—even if I’m not yet one—that burns through me, fierce and protective. “That is not an option. I will not give you my future child.”
“Come now,” she says. “If such a child does not yet exist, how does the loss affect you?”
“Find. Another. Option.”
“My freedom,” she whispers, leaning forward in a predatory manner.
“No.”
The Mother smiles. “So, you come here, into my realm, with nothing to offer me. You will not grant me my freedom, and you will not gift me the fate of your firstborn. What do you have to offer?”
It’s here. I tremble. “My soul upon my death.”
At least I won’t die immediately.
The Mother stills as if incredibly tempted, but then she shakes her head. “A powerful gift, but no, I think not.”
What?
I gape at her. The gift of a soul will grant her immeasurable power, especially if my father was an Old One. Why would she not want it?
Because I won’t give her the freedom she craves? Or because she seeks to push my back against the wall?
“Then name a price I’ll be willing to pay,” I tell her.
The Mother falls still. “The Crown of Shadows.”
I vaguely recall Thiago saying something about several relics that were conduits for the Old Ones’ powers. One was the Sword of Mourning that Blaedwyn wielded against the Erlking; another was the Crown of Shadows, missing all these years…. I swear there was some other mention of it, perhaps in Kyrian’s grimoire, but I cannot bring it to mind.
“It’s lost to the world.”
“No,” she says. “Only lost to mortal memory. It still exists. I can feel it pulsing with power, calling to me. Bring me the Crown of Shadows within the year, and I shall be satisfied. If you do not, then I shall take your firstborn as payment. And do not deny me again. I am done bargaining with you.”
It’s not a good bargain.
The crown could be anywhere, and if it’s lost to mortal memory, then how in Maia’s name am I going to find it? Unless…. She specifically said ‘mortal memory’, but there are those in the world who are immortal. The Morai, for one, though I’ve used my chance with them.
And there’s time to find it, whereas time is running out for Thiago and me.
Three days, and I must return to my mother. Three days and she will finally have the excuse she needs to destroy my husband.
Versus one year to free myself of this meddlesome bargain.
And if I don’t find the crown, well, I started bleeding last night. There is no child for her to take. And maybe there never will be, if Thiago cannot forgive me for this.
“Agreed,” I whisper.
43
I don’t want to go back to my mother, but I have no choice.
If I stay, then I condemn my people and the people of Evernight to war. Thousands will die, and it’s likely the other three kingdoms will be drawn into the battle too.
There are those among my mother’s court who crave her power and position, but I’ve never seen it as anything other than a burden. To rule is to serve your kingdom. And while the crown may pass to Andraste, its burdens haven’t escaped me.
Adaia might relish a war—perhaps that’s the excuse she’s wanted all along—but I will not give her reason to start it.
We pause at the Hallow as Thiago prepares to say his goodbyes. I’m still bleeding, but our last encounter remains printed on my skin, and even if my mother steals my memories, I’m sure I’ll still feel his touch. Perhaps I’ll look at those bruises and wonder who loved me hard enough to leave such marks on my skin.
“This is it,” I whisper, not wanting to let his hands go.
My mother’s riders wait for me outside the Hallow, grim-faced and tense. I count heads and realize with a sinking heart that neither my mother nor my sister is among them.
They sent the fucking guards.
They couldn’t even be bothered to escort me in person.
“I believe in you, Vi,” he whispers, brushing his fingers against my cheek. “Maia gave me the promise of you. I have to have faith in that. I have to have faith in us.”
Squeezing Thiago’s fingers, I give him the only gift I can. “I love you. I always will. And no matter how many times she steals my memories, she
cannot take that away from us. I’ll always come back to you. I’ll always fall for you. ’Til the stars burn into nothingness and the sun no longer rises, you are mine, and I am yours. Remember that: I would do anything for you.”
Even make this terrible bargain.
I only hope he can forgive me one day.
“Forever, Vi,” he promises, capturing my face between his hands and bequeathing me one last blistering kiss. “I’ll be waiting for you.”
Waiting for me to return to the Queensmoot in three more days and finally make my choice.
I just hope this succeeds.
It’s like seeing everything through new eyes.
Mother’s gleaming, watchful eyes as she resides on her throne like a bloated spider watching us approach. My stepbrother, Edain, reclining at her feet with a look of boredom on his face, despite his hot, hungry eyes that take in everything. Andraste, stoic and emotionless at the foot of the dais, her hand on the hilt of her sword and a golden circlet on her brow, as if she’s already been proclaimed princess-heir. Why did I never notice any of it? The rot in Hawthorne Castle stretches deep.
“Daughter.”
How dare she call me that?
Rage burns, like a heated coal deep inside me. It’s banked now, by necessity, not choice, but I know it will flare to life if given the slightest chance.
“Mother.”
What sort of mother would do to their child what she’s done to me?
She looks me up and down, taking in the glittering black gown I wear. “I have had a bath prepared. You look like you’ve rolled in filth.”
In her eyes, no doubt I have.
“I enjoyed every moment of it, Mother.”
Her eyes glitter. It’s hate I see there. For a second I waver, the little girl in my heart still wishing for impossible things.
But then I shake my head.
I am not unloved.
I have friends in the Evernight court. I have Thiago, and he loves me enough to fill the empty hole my mother has left. I will beat her, and I will take the happiness that is owed to me, no matter what I must do.
“Leave my sight,” she hisses. “You disgust me.”
“Not yet. Aren’t you going to welcome me home, Mother?” Mounting the dais, I take her hands in mine and lean closer, seemingly to brush a kiss to her cheek. “I will never forgive you,” I whisper in her ear.
“Forgive me?” She goes to jerk her hands away, but I have hold of them, my nails biting into her palms.
“Yes.” I draw back, just enough to meet her eyes. “I promise you this, and I swear it thrice. I will be the end of you and your reign. I will not rest until you have nothing but ashes in your life. I will take back everything you stole from me, and I will repay the debt threefold.”
I let her go, a smile pasted on my face as I step back. “Let’s end this mockery. I think I will take that bath, after all.”
Fury mottles her skin, but she’s never one to show it. I see the nobles in her court leaning forward hungrily, as if to catch a hint of what we whisper, but I’m already walking away.
“Let us celebrate the safe return of my daughter,” my mother calls behind me, clapping for musicians.
The court becomes a sweeping whirl of light and laughter that sounds like nails on slate to me.
All I have is hope that I haven’t merely bargained with a devil for no reason.
This time, the curse must break.
I won’t accept any other outcome.
I hate my mother’s balls. I loathe them with a passion. It’s one thing to be on display like a prized pet, quite another to walk alone through a room full of people who watch and whisper every time you turn around.
But appearances must be kept.
Andraste finds me amidst the revelry I’m trying to ignore.
“Drink,” she insists, pushing the goblet of wine into my hand.
It’s instantly suspect.
“Thank you.” I take the goblet but don’t so much as sniff it. “I’ve missed the taste of betrayal.”
Andraste looks away. “Not here.”
“If not here, then where?” I ask coolly. “Or will I even get the chance? How does she do it, I wonder. I’ve been here twelve times. I know what she does. I must have been on the alert each and every time, yet she still slips beneath my guard. I keep wondering how that happens.”
“Curse you, Vi.” There’s a pleasant smile on her face as she surveys the ballroom. “There are too many eyes watching us.”
“Tell me one thing,” I say, not taking my eyes off our mother. “What was the cost of the coronet on your brow? Was it my happiness? My memories? My husband?” I can’t help hesitating. “Us?”
“It’s not like that,” she insists.
“No?” The rage stretches its wings inside me. “Do you remember when we were little girls and you would creep into my bed because you were terrified the boggart was going to whisk you away in the night?”
Our old tutor had used such a creature to terrorize us into obeying him, and Andraste had slept in my bed for months before mother found out.
“Do you remember the times I would slip you bread and water when Mother had you locked away in the oubliette?”
She looks away from me. “Yes.”
“And when we planned an elaborate escape for the demi-fey that mother’s cousin, Matisse, kept locked in a cage?” I could list a thousand such incidents when we were children. “When did we lose that?”
I know the answer now, of course.
I lost her the night I met him.
I lost her the minute I gave my heart to the enemy.
But she’s the one who turned her back on me.
Andraste turns on me with a hiss. “You betrayed her, Vi. How do you think you kept your head over such a move? You want to know the truth? The curse was my idea. She was going to give you to the goblins as their pet, and I talked her into this. Yes, you lost your memories. Yes, you lost him. But you were still alive. You still had a chance.”
It stuns me. “I lost everything.”
“Not everything,” she returns, her eyes glittering furiously. “Do you think I gained anything when Mother gifted me with her favor? You had his love. I was there the night they made the pact. He would have torn the world apart for you, and I? I lost my sister. I lost my heart.” Her voice softens. “My soul. Do you know what she’s had me do over the course of the years? The blood these hands have worn? I let her turn me into what I am so you could keep your head on your shoulders. I did it for you. No crown is a gift to its wearer, and hers shall be even heavier than most.”
“I hope it weighs you down.”
“Drink,” she tells me again, her eyes glittering fiercely. “It won’t hurt for much longer. All you have to do is forget.”
It’s my sister who brings me such sweet poison.
I refuse to let the tears in my eyes fall. “She’s going to kill him if I cannot remember him.”
“He made his choice,” Andraste says softly.
I look her in the eye. “And so did you. Remember that. For I will never forgive you. Perhaps I’ll forget this moment, but I know you never will. Remember it forever. That’s my curse upon you. We will never be sisters again.”
Andraste looks as if I struck her, and I wonder how many times I’ve said those words. “So be it,” she finally whispers. “Hate me if you must, but at least you’ll be alive to do so.”
And then I lift the cup to my lips and drink.
44
My eyes blink open.
Sunlight pours through my bedroom window in Hawthorne Castle. My head aches like I drank far too much elderberry wine, and while I have barely any recollection of the night before, I do recall one thing.
Andraste giving me a glass of wine.
Strange. She must have put aside her enmity of me for one precious night. I know we’ve been at odds of late, though perhaps we can make amends. It feels like a peace offering, and a part of me longs for it. I’m tired of fig
hting with her. I’m tired of feeling like an axe hovers over my head.
Servants flutter through the doors, looking hesitantly in my direction.
“The queen insists you dress, Your Highness,” one of them says. “Today is a day for… celebration.”
“Judging by the ache in my temples, I think I celebrated too hard last night,” I drawl, flinging aside the covers and slipping from my bed.
They exchange looks.
“It’s… been three days,” one whispers. “Since the ball.”
Three days? Good grief. I must have been ill.
“Did she say what we’re celebrating?”
Instantly, the nearest maid goes pale. “N-no, Your Highness.”
No doubt she’s terrified of my mother.
Aren’t we all?
As a child, my nurses tried to scare me with tales of the boggart who would steal me away at night, but those stories never frightened me. Why would they, when I’d faced Adaia’s wrath time and time again?
I feared the darkness of the oubliette, with only the company of its bats to keep me sane.
I feared to love a single servant, for fear she’d send them away or remove their heads.
I feared her wrath when I failed, time and time again, to make use of my recalcitrant magic.
But myths and books were my companions. I loved to read of the Old Ones, despite the warnings against them. I loved to dream of the dangerous Unseelie courts, filled with riotous hobgoblins and Sorrows. I even wished—just once—that Old Mother Hibbert would steal me away and place a changeling in my bed.
Alas, there’s no escape from my mother.
“What should I wear?” I ask with a friendly, placating smile.
Both servants nearly fall over themselves trying to dress me.
The queen insists I dress in red and gold, which are Asturian colors, but my fingers linger on a gown of midnight silk instead. Someone’s shoved it in the very back of the wardrobe, and the glitter of tiny chips of diamonds woven in the skirts catch my eye.
“This one,” I say.
“But the queen—”