The king and queen.
Even at a distance, their power crashes over me. I have to stifle the urge to kneel.
I shake it off and slow my approach.
Only the king sits on the Throne, a massive chair forged of summersteel, a golden metal made of sunlight solidified, and fashioned like a cascade of bright roses tipped in flamelike thorns. It crests up, a wave of sunlight making a corona around his head.
By his side stands the queen. Both are motionless, their eyes open. Their Glamoury is so thick I can’t make out their features.
Only brightness, light and life.
Awe shivers through me.
The only movement is the breeze ruffling the king’s red-blonde hair, the queen’s dark curls, his tunic and leather breeches, her golden gown. His skin is alabaster, hers obsidian, his eyes pale as hers are dark.
Even though they’re not looking directly at me, I feel the weight of their stares.
Good. I can finally get some answers.
As I climb the stairs toward them, I expect some kind of fanfare—in every fantasy movie ever, there’s always a ton of colorful side characters—but the rest of the castle’s deserted. There are no people anywhere.
They’re all still slumbering in the magical stasis of Summer’s Rest.
I see it now, shimmering around the king and queen, a shield of golden glitter that keeps them alive so they can fuel the hearthstone with their light.
“Syl, come to us. Come to me.”
More memories flash in my mind: Dad helping me with homework, showing me how to perfect my softball pitch, buying me cleats—
Hope stirs in my heart even as dread taints it. Please don’t be my dad. Please be some totally unrelated dying king-person.
The whole “king dying” problem aside, I’m not sure if I’m ready to see my dad again. I haven’t forgotten that he left me and Mom. If he’s really here and this isn’t just some trick of Fae magic, I’ve got some tough questions for him.
But for now, I put my personal feelings aside. I’m going to find out what the king and queen know about the hearthstone and why I was dragged here.
Determined, I bound up toward the royals. They’re the brightest things in the entire castle, heat rising and rippling from them. But the closer I get, the more my Fae-sight peels back the layers of their Glamoury.
I realize—their light is fading.
My heart seizes, and the hearthstone gives a sad little pulse in response.
Tapping into the Summer inside me, I windwarp up the rest of the stairs and end up right in front of them.
My Fae-sight pierces another level of their Glamoury. I see the truth.
Their light isn’t just fading. It’s bleeding away.
The king’s skin is yellow, the queen’s grey, their eyes dull, their clothing rotting as wisps of golden light waft from their skin and plume out of their mouths and noses. Strain lines their faces, tensing the muscles of their necks and shoulders.
My heart goes out to them.
Trapped in Summer’s Rest, they fight hard to keep the magic of the realm alive. Even now, the queen clutches the hearthstone to her chest with both hands, the fist-sized white gem like a radiant heart. Inside it, only one tiny breath of sunfire remains, one tiny flicker, desperate and fading.
Aldebaran was telling the truth. The king and queen are dying.
We only have until Midsummer to replace them, or their deaths will shatter the hearthstone.
Fifty-one days, then Fair Faerie will die in an explosion of sun and Summer-fire.
Panic shooting through me, I take a step closer. “Your Majesties?”
“Syl.” A rumble, deep from the bones of OverHill reverberates in my chest. “Syl.”
The king stirs on his throne, fingers twitching.
“I’m here. I want to help.” I step closer, reaching to touch the hearthstone. The tiny lick of sunfire flares up to meet my fingers. It’s warm and bright, flickering, playing beneath my touch.
The king’s lips don’t move, but I feel him calling out to me with all the dying power of OverHill. “Syl.”
“Roue and I have a plan to save you,” I tell him, but when no answer comes, I demand. “Talk to me!”
A deep, rolling rumble shakes the earth, the castle, the very foundations of Fair Faerie. Suddenly, the hearthstone flares, light shooting over its gemlike surface. I see my reflection in the bright facets, and suddenly that sinking pull grips my guts stronger than ever before.
Uh-oh. The truth slams into me. OverHill might have issued the call, but what really brought me here—and dragged Roue to UnderHollow—are our hearthstones.
“Syl. Come to me.” And then, flash!
Just like that, I’m sucked in.
Into the hearthstone.
4
ROUEN
Torn, my soul-bound princess
I am torn without you
Torn with you
“Soul-Bound,” Euphoria
* * *
I am the dark Fae princess, daughter of King Reinghûl, savior of the Winter Court on whom all the hopes of UnderHollow depend.
And I’m late for school.
At least, that’s what the alarm on my phone is telling me. Time works differently in Dark Faerie than it does in the mortal realm. I’m also cut off from my soul-bond with Syl, so I have no idea what’s happening with her.
Worse, there are seven razor-sharp glaives pointed right at my throat.
I heave a heavy sigh. This again. Every time I show up here, someone’s trying to kill me.
Casually, I silence my phone and straighten up. “Hi, boys.”
My father’s seven Ebon Knights surround me, aggression tensing each muscle beneath their black adamant armor. Everything around us is cold and white and wintry. Gusts of freezing wind tangle my hair, coating the ends in tiny icicles and tossing it into a black halo around my face.
Good thing I’m immune to all things Winter.
Razor-sharp glaives? Not so much.
It’s also not the greatest that I can’t feel Syl. My heart races, telling me I’ve got to help her, but I remind myself: my girl’s resourceful and smart. She’ll be okay. Besides, we’ve got a plan, and even though it’s gone sideways (Syl not being here means no healing the hearthstone), I’m determined to salvage whatever I can, right here and now.
I’m the one who severed my father from the hearthstone.
It’s my fault he’s dying and taking all of Dark Faerie with him.
Guilt gnaws at my insides.
“Drop your weapons,” one of the Knights barks, and before I can even answer, he steps in to pat me down while the others hold their blades to my throat.
“I have no weapons.” It’s true. I lost my grip on my violin when I was dragged here, and the black-handled knives I keep under my cot were far out of reach.
This time, though, I haven’t come to fight.
Looking past the crossed glaives, I see Knockma Castle lies in the distance. That’s where I’ll find my father. Dread constricts in my chest, but I’m keeping my hope alive.
He can be saved. I know it. And I have no choice.
Dark Faerie needs him. If there’s one thing our last foray into UnderHollow taught me it’s that I’m not ready to rule. I could barely manage a group of dark Fae children, never mind govern an entire realm.
Syl and I almost died because I wasn’t strong enough.
Besides, the man is my father. Our complicated past aside, I owe it to him to try.
When I move an inch, the Knights aggressively, and somewhat nervously, shove their pikes in my face. They remember the last time we met, when me and a bunch of dark Fae kids cleaned their clocks, kicked their butts, ate their lunches.
Pick your metaphor. We beat them, and bad.
I still owe those kiddos a trip to Chuck E. Cheese.
“Aw, it’s like you guys hold a grudge,” I taunt them, but can you blame me? These jerks are the sons of our most powerful elders, the arch-E
ld, but they stood by while my father held their young siblings hostage in the dark Oubliettes so no one could stop him from draining the hearthstone.
I’m blaming that on his dark self, too. This time, I’ll free him from it for real.
The Ebon Knights’ leader, Stavrin, steps in. He’s six feet of sexism wrapped up in a dreamy package and armed to the teeth. Now that he knows I’m weaponless, he’s overconfident and smug.
“Back so soon, princess?” His voice is edged in a smirk, and he gives my PJs—a cami and capri sweats—a snotty once-over. “We sensed you the moment you crossed over into the Snickleways. Have you come to surrender to the king?”
Let’s see…do I need to get to the castle? Yes. Do I want to go in chains? Hells no.
I might not be ready to be queen, but I’m still a princess. I’ll confront my father on my terms.
I stare him down. “Nope. Sure haven’t.”
Stavrin’s face goes redcap-red.
Whatever. I’ve got business to take care of. Namely, getting to the castle, taking stock of my father’s mental health, and if it’s bad, finding the Winter Council to help me wrangle him into dark-self rehab.
Before their reports stopped coming, the last I’d heard was that he was doing as expected—terrible. That was before he was dying, though. Now there’s added incentive to come back from the dark side.
I’ll just have to remind him.
As for Stavrin… “Look, buddy-boy.” I poke Mr Pushy right in the center of his armored breastplate. “You can either get out of my way, or we can have a repeat of what happened the last time we met.” Namely, I threw a baby liannan sidhe at him. She charmed his face off. Almost literally.
It was glorious.
“That”—his dark eyes glitter with hatred—“won’t be necessary.”
“We’ll see.” Normally, I’d goad him a little more, but right now, I don’t have time to deal with these goons. I need to find my father and get him on board with our plan to heal the hearthstone, him, and save my half of Faerie.
All in a day’s work for a dark Fae princess.
But when I take a step, all the Knights jump a mile. “Relax, Mr Pushy.” I put my hand on Stavrin’s glaive and shove it away. “And point your blade elsewhere. You don’t get to threaten me, you troglodyte. I’m heading to the castle on my own.”
“You…I…” Stavrin blusters, red-faced beneath his tawny complexion. “You…” Either he’s not used to women giving him orders or he’s trying to figure out if troglodyte is a compliment.
It’s not.
“Great comeback.” I pat his shoulder. Now that there aren’t seven glaives in my face, I brush past ol’ Stavs, bare feet crunching on snow.
As I start toward the castle, I take in my homeland.
What I see shocks me to my core.
The frigid landscape has turned bitter with rotting ice and dead trees. Even Castle Knockma sags grotesquely beneath the weight of its jagged towers, flying buttresses, and allures. Dark energy bleeds away, wafting from the ice, from the trees and brackish ponds, from the very stones of the castle.
Dread sinks deep into my bones, echoed by a familiar faint pulse.
I suspected this. The hearthstone is dying again. And this time, it’s so far gone, it’s sucking in all the energies around it.
Once it’s drained all the power of Dark Faerie, it’ll explode.
A surge of fear takes my breath away. This is all your fault, my dark self whispers. You severed him from the hearthstone.
But I don’t need any more reminders. I need to get to my father. I take in a breath to windwarp, but the Ebon Knights whoosh in and block my path with crossed glaives.
Shing! Cling, clank! The sound of metal on metal rings in the cold twilight air.
I could windwarp away again, but they’d just chase me. I am so done playing these reindeer games. So done. And I’m not walking into the castle under guard.
I know my father. He’ll see it as weakness, and then I’ll get nowhere with him.
“We can’t let you go alone.” Stavrin puffs out his chest like he’s saving the world.
Annoyance blackens my mood. My father. He can really pick ‘em. Not.
I’m two seconds from summoning my violet lightning and showing them the true power of a dark Fae princess, but instead, I do what Syl always says, Breathe, breathe…relax. “Look. I’m standing here in my PJs, watching my realm slowly amping up for armageddon, and you jerks keep getting in my way. Someone’s going to get hurt.”
I take a threatening step. “Spoiler alert: it’s going to be you.”
Stubborn troll that he is, Stavrin stands his ground, his handsome face twisting into something mulish. “Your father, the king, commanded us to bring you to him if you returned. There is still the matter of your betrothal.”
“Right. That.” Along with a dutiful daughter, Father wants a dark Fae wedding. Me to a male. Any dark Fae male. He’s hell-bent on securing our dynasty with powerful offspring, and every time I refuse, he accuses me of not caring for our people.
I do care. Almost too much.
Right now, though, I’m officially at the end of my patience.
“I’m not marrying anyone. And I’m done talking with you.” My voice is a low growl. With a single sung note, violet lightning crackles around my fists. “You have five seconds to get out of my way.”
“Princess Rouen—”
“Five…”
“You really need to come with us.”
“Four…”
“But—”
“Is there a problem?”a musical voice puts in from behind them.
As one, the Ebon Knights whirl to see Liriel of the Twilight Sword, elite dark Fae warrioress and member of the royal Adamant Guard, hand on her hilt. Her armor shines like ice, and there’s a steely look in her silver eyes.
There’s definitely no love lost between the Knights and the Guard. It’s another piece of fallout from my father’s dark self—he dismissed the Adamant Guard as his personal protectors and named the Knights to that post.
A thousand years of tradition thrown down the toilet, and why?
Because the Adamant Guard declared their loyalty to me.
My chest warms with fondness. What can I say? Syl’s getting to me. Liriel and the Guard are some of the most badass warriors in Dark Faerie—some of the only Fae I trust.
I’m glad she’s here.
Stavrin’s smirk widens into something I’d like to punch off his face. I’ll get my chance, too, because he and his merry band of bullies can’t take me and Liriel both.
“Two…one,” I conclude calmly.
“You missed three.” Liriel deadpans. Her voice sounds strangely hollow, mechanical and synthesized, like…
Gooseflesh ripples across my body. Like a Circuit Fae.
“Liriel?” I curse myself for being slow to realize—my ally is really my enemy.
Liriel turns fully toward me, her eyes igniting like fiery embers, and now I see it—crimson circuitry glowing hot beneath her flesh, running up her neck in horrid veins.
Panic shreds my cool confidence. The circuits from my nightmare are real.
Worse, they’ve infected Liriel. Now my father’s puppet, she moves to stand with the Ebon Knights. “You will come with us to the castle, like the prisoner you are.”
My heart’s not in it, but I won’t be imprisoned again. I need to show strength if I’m to save my people. I drop into a battle stance. “I don’t want to fight you.”
Fwoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! The other Adamant Guard windwarp in—Morudain the Whisper, glaive shining sharp; Vao Virago, her shield and sword black as night; Harkariel, every inch of him glittering dangerously in his crystal armor; the twins, Alystin and Aimshir, beautiful, cold, and deadly; and Digitalis the Winter’s Bite, twin daggers pluming frost.
Glowing red circuits fill my field of vision.
All of them, infected by the freakish crimson circuitry. All of them my father’s slaves.
&
nbsp; Fourteen to one. Even I can’t beat those odds.
At Stavrin’s command, they hem me in with their blades. There’s nowhere to run and no way to fight.
My father’s dark self has changed the rules on me.
And I’ve fallen right into his trap. Again.
5
SYL
The sleeper-princess of the fair Fae
One day to be queen
- Glamma’s Grimm
* * *
Sluuuuurp! With a single touch, I’m sucked into the hearthstone like soda through a straw. My stomach drops, my ears pop, wind’s blowing my red curls everywhere. Whoaaaaaa! Facet after facet of the hearthstone flies by, sunlit panels flashing and refracting around me as I fall—or am I flying?—into the very center of it.
My brain struggles to keep up. Did I just get super-small, or did the hearthstone get big? How am I inside it?
I might be an expert at Earth physics, but the physics of Faerie?
Not so much.
All I know is, I’m on a Faerie thrill-ride, and at the end, I’ll find the answers I need. Even if it kills me.
It just might, my inner killjoy grumps.
But you know what? Determination fills me. I’ll take that chance to save my realm.
As everything flashes by, I angle my body like a sky-diver, aiming for the very heart of the hearthstone. Whoosh! I speed up, wind blasting me as I dive deeper, speeding toward my target.
That one lick of sunfire in the center flares. Heat envelops me, cocooning me like a butterfly. As I race toward it, it opens up, a seam splitting wide, pouring out sunlight.
No, not a seam. A doorway.
Here we go. I shield my face with my forearms as I rush toward it, heat on my face. I’m expecting to smash through it, and then…
Fwump!
I’m spat out into a sunny grove circled with golden birches. Wow… Wonder blooms inside me as I take in my surroundings. Above, the sun is a perfect buttery yellow, the sky fathomless blue. Sunflowers and white tulips perfume the air, and jade-green grass tickles my bare feet. A gentle breeze rustles the birches, leaves whispering, branches knocking together in a secret language.
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