“Yes. I’m to take you there tonight. He waits for you, as does an envoy to the Cast.”
“I have heard stories of him,” I say, my nerves turning raw as I think about what I’ve been told about the son of the dark goddess. “Have you met him? Are the tales true?”
“They are,” Alias answers carefully. “And I am proud to serve him in the House of Morrígan.”
I study the tall alfar.
“He is the most powerful being among us,” he adds.
“You fear him,” I say. And I see the truth of my words in his eyes.
“Everyone does, My Queen.”
“I cannot.” A small spark of my old spirit rises, pushing back at the realization. “I will never fear him.”
Alias frowns at me. “Be cautious. He is not someone to be trifled with or to betray.”
“I will do what I must,” I say, unable to accept the idea of being lorded over by any creature. I may be a broken soul, but I’m no slave. Not to anyone or anything, be them demigod or beast.
He searches my face, as if seeing me again for the first time, then concedes, “Very well, My Queen,” as if he isn’t sure what to make of me.
ELEVEN
The King
Athan collected the bones of the human prince, whispering a prayer to his mother. The fire queen had just been spirited away by his hunter, Alias, but the king couldn’t wait any longer. Too much time had already passed. He placed the bones one by one into the mirror pool in a purposeful way, lastly setting the skull at the center of the configuration. Then he began to call the goddess forward.
Death always tempted the shadow goddess’s presence through the veil, the necrosis of the thousands of bones in this holy place would pull at threads of her power as well, allowing for him to harness it. For what Athan was about to ask for, he needed a good portion of power.
He’d fed as much as he could stomach before entering these trees, three shade had given their life so that he could please his mother. His energy was at its peak, his core was strong. He could only hope it was enough.
The ashen bones peeked through the dark surface of the shallow pool here and there. They were horribly charred, the blood and meat completely gone. The fire queen’s feeding had devoured everything. Not a bit of flesh in sight. Luckily, he didn’t need any for this casting.
What he needed was the spirit.
Athan could only hope there was at least a sliver of the human prince’s essence lingering among the sacred stones. The deep magic in this place should have held the human energy, trapping it here.
Athan didn’t sense it, but he hadn’t yet attempted to root anything out.
First, he needed to create an accord with the goddess.
He lowered to a knee before the mirror pool, staring into the vacant eyes of the prince’s blackened skull as it stared up at him. “Mother, oh Great Morrígan, I seek your spirit.”
A dark thread of shadow uncurled from the bones within a single heartbeat, beginning as a thin wisp and thickening into a plume, shifting into black mist. The energy hovered over the flickering pool of night. It smelled of ice and blood. It seemed to crawl under Athan’s skin, scratching at him like the talons of his raven.
The dark goddess never hesitated to rise when he beckoned her.
A lesser being might say she loved her son. But the mother of Death had no love within her.
My son, hissed a quiet voice from the black mist. Why have you called me to you?
“I would ask you for a gift, Mother.”
A mercy. You would ask for a mercy.
She always seemed to know his words before he spoke them. “Yes.”
For her, she whispered, her disapproval lifting into the air. The goddess knew of his fascination with the daughter of her rival and had never approved. But he was her only son for now. Her most powerful creation. She would give him room for his own will every now and again. As long as she could use it to create the end she desired.
“Yes. I seek mercy for the young queen,” he said, bowing his head, playing at piety.
You watch her. Always peeking at her with your raven.
“As did you, through your goblins and your spirit bird.”
She is powerful.
“Yes.”
And now she is ours.
The idea of his mother’s shadow playing its will out through the lovely fire queen sent a sharp ache into is gut. If there was something he could do to shield her, he wished to do it. “I would ask for a Bond between Brighid’s daughter and myself, and that it would be true. That we would become one in spirit.”
The dark mist shifted, unfurling and reaching out. As you wish. I will make sure of it.
He knew she would readily agree to this part of the deal. She would only allow for such a permanent Bond of spirit because she believed Athan would hand over the control he’d gained over the queen once she wished to use it. When that time came, she’d be sorely disappointed.
Now for the true reason he’d come to the ancient stones: “I would also ask for you to give me these bones that brought you,” he said, motioning to the configuration of bones the dark energy swirled through. “And I seek ownership of the spirit that held them in place.”
Silence settled among the trees for a heartbeat. The black mist stirred over the surface of the dark mirror, sliding over the bones possessively. You wish to steal this human’s fate from me? Just as I have found my retribution for his ancestor’s betrayal?
“No, I ask for his fate as a gift. Only his, not the rest of his kin. I have a use for him.”
Your little queen loved him, you know, the goddess hissed, displeased at the notion. Though it made my victory sweeter when her love led to his destruction, I hoped that it would also show you how her heart wavered, how weak she was, giving herself to such a powerless boy. Pitiful.
“Yes, pitiful,” Athan agreed, considering what would be the most expedient way to sway the goddess. “And so, I would make use of him.”
He sensed her dark elation take shape at the hint of a possible manipulation. I see. You’d wish to play a game with your young queen?
“Of a sort.” What he wished was to offer her back the life of her prince as a Bonding gift, once he was sure of her loyalty. He longed to see her face when the human was found alive once more, to watch the cloud of death that had settled over her lift from her shoulders. Athan cared little if she shared her body.
Her soul would belong only to him.
Very well, the goddess whispered, giving in. But there must also be a promise . . .
He hesitated. “What promise?”
I will allow you the bones of this prince, she whispered. The shadows shifted within the stones, growing longer as if reaching for Athan. And I will gift you his human spirit. But . . . his flesh will remain in my grip as long as the moon holds sway. And you will not try to break this spell.
The scent of her power drifted past him, growing stronger as it began to weave the new bargain she hoped to create.
“What does this mean?” he asked.
Only on the darkest night of the moon will this human take the proper shape and be whole again.
Athan glowered, listening to her riddle. Even now, with this new agreement, she was going to toy with him.
“Why, mother? Why not simply gift the human to me?”
Because your heart is hers. It will always be. And I wouldn’t want to see you do anything foolish.
Anger stirred in Athan’s skin, prickling his power through his chest, down his arms and out his fingertips. Silver mist slid across the ground where he knelt. But there was nothing he could do. He knew this was all she would allow him. It would have to be enough until he could find a way to complete the rebirth. “Very well.”
You are mine, son, the goddess hissed. A warning. Never forget.
“Never,” he said, a hallow ache forming in his chest.
The human spirit is yours, then. And from a nearby patch of moss rose a silver mist, drifting close
r, hovering over the mirror pool, mingling with the darker energy of the goddess.
The prince.
Athan rose to his feet, watching as the night threads of the goddess shifted one last time, wrapping around spirit and carrion, black tendrils of shadow slipping across the mirror’s surface, around the collection of bones, gripping them, moving them, reforming them. Round and round the obsidian energy coiled over the remnants, drawing the human carcass back together. Over and under the energy wove, forming vessel and tendon, reworking skin, an arm appearing, a leg, a foot. The charred skull growing lips, cheeks, becoming the face of a man.
The silver mist thickened, strengthened, finding its hold on earth once more. Before it settled, soaking into the vessel of flesh and bone.
And the prince opened his eyes. Heaved in a breath.
He blinked up at Athan from the mirror pool, gasping air into his newborn lungs, a lost look filling his shadowed features.
A strange stillness settled in the stones around the two men as they stared at each other.
Until pain contorted the human’s lips, agony creasing his brow.
A scream sliced through the air.
Athan stepped back as the prince’s body arched oddly, bones snapped, limbs writhed, jaw separating, teeth elongating into fangs, fingers gnarling into claws, then reshaping, elongating. Until a new form was born in the dark mist.
A beast. It floated in the pool, its dappled fir soaked in the oily water.
A pet, his mother whispered, a wicked glee lifting into the air of the glade. A toy for my son. I hope it pleases you.
“A wolf?”
To do with as you wish.
Athan watched the over-large canine drift in the mirror pool, frustrated. This would do him no good.
Some day you will be grateful that I watch over you.
“Thank you, Mother,” he said, dryly.
This is a life that belongs to you, she said, her voice shifting, hardening. A weak spirit, a weak mind. The consequences will be yours. The air turned cold, ice forming along the edge of the water, frost tingling on Athan’s skin. It will take human form when the moon is dark, readying to be reborn. Only then. And you will see what your young queen is made of. What she will do to love you.
Athan’s heart stuttered at her words, sensing the threat within them.
The goddess’s energy slunk closer, pooling at his feet. She will never be true to you, my son. You must take hold of the demi, control her, or the little fire queen will be the death of you in the end. And the goddess slithered away, returning to the water, becoming a part of the mirror once more.
Leaving her son and the wolf to decide their own fate.
*
Athan caught her scent as she entered the walls of his icy shield house, his new queen. Alias, his hunter, was close behind, guarding the king’s newest treasure. The formidable aromas of her power, myrrh spice and red wine, trailed through the chilled air of the courtyard and curled around him, both intoxicating and soothing all at once. A most dangerous and impressive spirit. And finally, she was to be his.
He’d spent the last cycle of the moon as it waxed and waned settling with himself what was to come, this Bond, how he would draw his queen in. And many sleepless nights passed as well, as he considered what game his mother might attempt to play next with this new alliance they’d made.
He looked over to the wolf. It rested beside the great hearth, warming itself by the fire. The beast had become his shadow since its rebirth. It aided him in his hunts, making for a loyal companion. But when the moon went dark and the wolf shifted for the first time from beast to prince, the human that emerged seemed wholly unaware of his origin. Truly, he had seemed more beast than man, and had spent the whole of the night fascinated by a tapestry in the main hall.
Athan couldn’t decide what his mother was playing at. Bet he would find out, he was sure.
All he knew for certain was that it was far too soon to give this gift to his new queen.
His queen . . .
It felt as if he’d waited for her to come to him for so long. Only three years of patience, but it had seemed an eternity. From the day she reemerged from the Otherworld and was given over to the sisters in the abbey he’d watched with raven-eyes. He’d entered her dreams, learning to understand her spirit. Biding his time.
There was a strange innocence about her, something he’d not felt in his world for centuries. It drew him to her in a way he couldn’t deny. He’d never considered any other soul his equal.
Until now.
“The queen has been escorted into the gallery, my lord.” His man, Eric, walked into the room. “She awaits your introduction.”
“I will allow her to wait. Just for a little while.” He needed to find her a more appropriate gift, something to show her what her new home was to be like.
“Should I escort her to her rooms?” Eric asked.
“No, I’ll only be a moment,” he said, a thought coming to him. “I’m going to find her a pure white, winter fox. Such a beast would make her a beautiful mantel with her autumn hair.”
The sharp scent of Eric’s disapproval filled the air.
Athan turned, glowering at the Viking shade. “Well, spit it out, man. What is it?”
“Perhaps . . .” Eric looked away from his master to the stone floor. “Perhaps as a gift, something alive would be preferred?”
“Alive?”
“As opposed to dead, sire.”
“I see.” While Eric had a point, there were things the king needed to make his new queen understand before they were Bonded.
“I’ve been told she has a fondness for birds,” Eric said, a note of hopeful suggestion in his voice. “Perhaps a wren or an owl?”
“No. Not this first gift.” Athan walked past his wolf, to the window, and stared out at the stormy sky. He’d realized since the arrangement with his mother, he needed to send his new queen a message. A warning. “This first gift cannot be lavish or lovely.”
“Why, my lord?”
Athan reached through the window, catching several snowflakes in his palm. They rested there for a moment before floating away once more, caught up by the wind. “She must understand what I am, what she’s become a part of, if I am to keep her truly safe.”
“What’re you saying, sire? Surely you don’t mean to feed—”
“No, fool!” A shiver ran through the king, thinking of the queen’s innocent, golden gaze watching him while he was in such a state. If it was his choice, she’d never see him feed. What would she think if she saw him tear a beast—or a man—to shreds? What would she see if she watched him yank a spirit free, rending flesh with each pull. “She’s a pure spirit. It isn’t for her to know me in that way. Not now. Not ever.”
Eric was silent, his usual scent of disapproval still floating around him.
“I will catch her the rare winter fox,” Athan said again. He sensed the appropriate nature of the gift, anticipating how it would affect the queen, how it would disturb her when he showed her its limp and lifeless body. Red blood soaking the white fur.
A twinge of regret filled his chest. But it couldn’t be helped. He had one goal, and that was to hold her to him, to protect her from his mother.
“I will take its bent and broken body and I will toss it at her feet,” he continued. “Then she’ll know, beyond a doubt, that I’m a destroyer of purity, of beauty. As is this new world she’s found herself in. She will see that I am Death, that I am lord here. She will see my hands soaked in blood.” He added quietly, more to himself, “This will hopefully be enough to warn her.”
He walked back over to the wolf and knelt beside its large form. The beast was as big as the hearth when stretched out in such a way. When it stood on four legs, its height nearly reached his waist. It was, truly, a beautiful creature. It was easy to forget the beast had once been a man.
He ran his fingers through its speckled grey pelt as it looked up at him with sleepy, dark brown eyes. Its mouth opened i
n a toothy pant, pink tongue lulling.
“There is only darkness in my mother’s House, Eric,” Athan said. “We must let our new queen know this and do everything we can to keep it from attaching itself to her too fully.” With that, he stood, motioning for his wolf to follow him as he went to prepare for a quick hunt. Then he would meet his new queen.
Face to face.
At last.
The wolf padded after its master. Already keen for the race. Keen for the taste of blood, the feel of flesh in its teeth. It could scent the insatiable need, the scratching of power at the master’s skin—the hunger never left the king. It buzzed through the wolf too. And the wolf longed to please its master.
It longed to run.
Soon the moon would rise. Night would settle over the icy landscape, weaving through the shadowed, misty trees.
And the path would wind out before them, godson and beast. The chase would begin.
The wolf was eager.
It was always ravenous for the hunt.
WHERE THE TALE WAS BORN…
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SNOW AND EMBER
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Spark and Sorrow Page 14