Night's End

by Yasmine Galenorn

  I looked around. “Are we in a secondary Barrow?”

  Grieve nodded. “Yes, though this is still technically part of the Eldburry Barrow system.”

  The chamber resembled a cave more than anything else, with walls that glistened like frosted glass. I ran my hand over them only to find they were ice. The illumination from within the walls cast a dim light through the chamber, silhouetting our shadows against the walls as we crept along in silence.

  The room was large, with benches carved from the ice floes and frozen tables, and everywhere there was the feeling of stasis—as if time stood still here, even more so than out in the regular Barrow. I looked around to see if there was anyone in sight, but there were only shadows against the walls. And then I realized the shades were moving on their own.

  Grieve motioned for me to join him at a circular table in the center of the chamber. Fearless and Check followed, taking their posts by our side. I kept my mouth shut. I had no clue what to do, and I’d discovered it was generally best to remain silent until I knew what I was dealing with.

  As we sat there, the temperature dropped even further, and though I was wearing my cloak, a shiver of fear ran through me when the shadows stepped off the walls. They began to take form, the inky blackness falling away like grains of sand as a man—short and dark, with long hair caught back in a cascade of braids adorned with beads and feathers—stepped into sight. He was wearing leather pants with a fur cloak and bare chest. But the cold didn’t seem to faze him, and he strode to the chair between Grieve and me, and sat down.

  I remained silent. There was a palpable energy in the room that threatened. Do-Not-Fuck-With-This. By his shimmering blue eyes and the crackle of his aura, I realized that this man was one of the shamans.

  Grieve inclined his head. I followed suit.

  Check and Fearless bowed, looking anything but sure of themselves. I began to realize just how much power the shamans wielded in the Barrow. I may be Queen, but they were in control when it came to the inner workings of the magic that sustained this place.

  “Thorn, at your command.” The shaman turned to me. “I am the Speaker for our council. I am also the Elder. Instruct me.”

  I stared at him, unsure of what to say. First, he understood me and I understood him. I wasn’t used to that with the majority of my people. Second, I realized that he hadn’t spoken aloud. I’d heard him like I heard Ulean, in my core.

  Stammering, I tried to figure out what to say—and how to say it. Should I speak aloud? Should I try to project my thoughts to him, or speak into the slipstream? But as I struggled, once again a whisper-light touch ran through my thoughts. It was nothing like when Kaylin had intruded into my mind, which had felt very much like an invasion. This . . . This was cautious. A gentle hello, very respectful.

  A moment later, Thorn spoke aloud. “I know what you fear. I know what we must do. We will begin with the King and your guards.” He stood and motioned for us to follow him.

  Hesitantly, I obeyed. Grieve swung in stride next to me, with Check and Fearless behind us. I wondered if they could guess what was happening—and if they could, how they would feel. Would they hate me for what was about to happen to them? Or accept it as their duty? The shadows on the walls were standing at attention now, watching as we passed. Ulean followed at the rear.

  I whispered to Grieve. “What would happen if Check or Fearless tried to run?”

  Thorn turned and, without missing a beat, said, “The Watchers would come off the walls and rip them to pieces. As they would your King if he tried to avoid our summons.”

  Grieve leaned close. “He searched your mind and saw your need. We must all be tested in order to assure your safety. Once the Queen—you—gave the order, the shamans are bound to destroy those who try to avoid your ruling.”

  “They took my thoughts as an order?” I blinked.

  “The Fae Queen’s will is law, whether it be in word or action. Or thought. They heard your need and are responding. They live to serve you . . . and will die in your service.” He reached out and gently stroked my cheek as we followed the shaman. “As do I. And as I will.”

  His touch was like fire, sparking off a flush of desire that raced through my body, setting off a deep, gnawing hunger. I pushed back my need. This wasn’t the place, but when we were done, I needed to fuck him, to press skin against skin and feel him thrust deep, drive himself into me. While I’d always been sensual by nature, ever since I’d returned home, my sex drive had taken an exponential leap. Every step I took, every movement, every touch, seemed to trigger me off.

  We veered into a side passage that forked to the right, and Thorn stopped in front of a door. He whispered something under his breath, and as the door opened, he ushered us through into a softly lit chamber. Here, a circle of chairs surrounded a raised bed. Well, it wasn’t exactly a bed, but instead was a raised, padded bench covered with a fur cloak, reminding me of the place in which my heartstone had been created. Another row of chairs lined one wall.

  He motioned for us to sit in the chairs against the wall as a group of men and women filed through a door on the opposite wall. They circled the bench and took their seats. Thorn motioned to Grieve.

  While I had never seen this rite performed—for there was no doubt this was a full-fledged ritual—Grieve obviously had, for he silently stood and walked over to the bench, where he lay down. One of the women sitting in the circle rose to cover him with the fur blanket then took her seat again.

  The shamans reached out and joined hands, creating a ring around Grieve. One of them began to hum, his voice low and resonant. The rest joined in, one by one, until they were weaving a rhythmic, sonorous tone that threatened to draw me deep, drag me under the waves. As I began to follow the thread of music, I found myself in a long tunnel. In the light that blinded me from up ahead, I could see the shamans standing, only they were once again the dark shadows they had been on the walls. They surrounded a brilliant indigo form, and I knew it was Grieve hiding beneath that glowing light.

  The music began to swell into a tide, a wave that rolled far out in the ocean like the beginnings of a tsunami, biding its time before its inevitable march toward the land. It loomed over Grieve, rising up like a great shadow—roiling waves ready to crash down on him and drag him under. I could feel his fear. The wolf on my stomach whimpered, cowering down, as it watched the wraithlike ocean descend. And then, as our link tied us together, I began to feel his pain as the storm broke, ripping into his mind, tearing it to shreds with a whirlwind of questions, a flurry bombarding him as the shamans sought their answers.

  He let out a long scream as they rammed into him, penetrating deeply, tossing aside every block, searching every hidden nook and cranny of his mind. They stripped away the covering to every recess protecting those private shadows we all have. I tried to break free, not wanting to intrude, not wanting to see something that I might never be able to forget.

  But then, as I jockeyed for my footing, I found myself roughly shoved to one side. As our link was severed, I went reeling back into my body, slamming into myself so hard that I fell off my chair. Dazed, I allowed Check and Fearless to lift me up and help me back to my seat.

  Grieve was convulsing. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he was foaming at the mouth. I struggled to go to him, but the guards held me down. He was in pain, in horrible, terrible pain, and I realized this was the most intimate of intrusions, forcing into his very essence. The shamans were raping his mind, ravaging him to shed light into every corner, uncover every secret nook.

  Crying, I watched, helpless to stop them.

  Check leaned over. “Your Highness, do not weep. Show no emotion. This must be done in order to ensure the safety of the Court. To ensure your safety. His Lordship understands this, and volunteered to do it because he cares for you. Do not fear. Do not cry. Don’t make his sacrifice meaningless.”

  Bleakly,
I looked up at him. “You and Fearless will have to undergo the same ritual. Do you understand this now? There’s a spy in our midst, and we have to find out who it is.” Perhaps I shouldn’t have blurted it out, but I couldn’t face watching anyone else get roughed up who might be innocent.

  Check nodded. “And so will all who come into contact with you in any capacity. And, my Lady, while it hurts, we understand the nature and necessity for this pain. The good of the Court and the good of the realm come before our personal comfort. For your sake, and the safety of all, we willingly submit, so that we might avoid having to submit to a far more dangerous force.”

  Fearless nodded, and then did something that surprised the hell out of me. He reached out and patted my hand. As if realizing he’d just made a gaffe, he pulled back, but his eyes still crinkled with kindness, and the feel of his cool skin on mine managed to calm me down.

  I turned back to watch Grieve. He was shaking now, though the convulsions had calmed down. Even from the outskirts, I could still feel the racking pain that raced through his mind. Helpless, knowing this was one of those horrendous duties that I would have to face again and again, I forced myself to watch. As I did so, Ulean fluttered around me.

  This is your life. This is your destiny. You must wrap up your feelings and fears and tuck them away in a box. During times like this, you must learn to observe and let be what must be. Grieve will survive. Your King will be all right. Will he remember the pain? Yes, as will everyone who undergoes this rite. But it will not harm them, unless they have dangerous secrets to hide. And then . . .

  And then . . . and then if he had something to hide, a terrible choice loomed before me. If Grieve was my betrayer, he would die, and I would be forced to make the decree. The thought of having to condemn him to death sent me into a cold sweat. Even if he was the spy plotting against me, how could I offer him up for execution? How can you order the death of someone you love, even if they deserve it?

  You will do what you must, because you are the Queen of Snow and Ice. This is what wearing the crown means, Cicely. You face terrible possibilities, and you must learn to stand in your decision without flinching. You will do what you need to, because you must. It is as simple as that.

  Simple? No. But true? Yes.

  I caught my breath, struggling to inhale. As the shamans continued to rip their way through Grieve’s mind, I waited. Counting the seconds. Counting the hours. Time was mutable, and I lost track of how long the session went on. My emotions had become numb, and the tears stopped as time rolled past. But, just when it seemed it would never end, the energy spiraled up, away from Grieve, and vanished in a wisp of smoke.

  Thorn turned to me. “He is loyal, heart and soul. He is not your spy and has not betrayed you. Nor is he likely to.”

  And with that the sun rose again in my life, and the terrible night came to an end. And yet, even as two of the others helped Grieve over to the chair next to me, where he slumped, exhausted, I knew that the long night had barely begun.

  Check and Fearless were next. Check volunteered to go first, and once again, I forced myself to stand witness. If they were being put through hell for my sake, the least I could do was stand in silent watch.

  It was a little easier with them—I didn’t have the connection I had with Grieve, but still, watching them writhe and twist, watching the shamans bear down on them, fierce lights burning in their eyes, I began to realize just how ruthless was this realm over which I now ruled. Ruthless and terrifying and harsh. My people were rugged, and they expected me to be the Queen of Ice, cold and stern and able to stomach far more than I’d ever had to face.

  Slowly, as I watched, I tried to accept my place. There was no other option—if I didn’t adapt, I’d fuck up and run the place into the ground.

  Check was released, and Fearless took his place in their midst. As the process began again, Check and Grieve whispered together, before turning to me.

  “When Fearless makes it through the ordeal, he and I will escort Strict and Silverweb here, and they shall be put to the test.” Check stretched his legs, wincing. “We will simply instruct them you have ordered their attendance.”

  Strict was my chief advisor, Silverweb my treasurer. It stood to reason they should be next, though I dreaded seeing Silverweb undergo the ritual. Somehow, in a double-standard sort of way, it seemed wrong to order another woman into the arms of the shamans.

  But you must, Cicely. There can be no weakness based on gender. The best way to exploit a vulnerability is to play up to one’s fears. And whoever your spy is, they will know this.

  Ulean made sense. For a brief moment, I feared that maybe Ulean had turned on me, traded sides. My feelings must have seeped through to her because she embraced me with her gentle breeze.

  Cicely . . . the shamans would not allow me in here if they thought that possible. I was bound to you when you were six years old. There is no spell, no magic strong enough to break that bond, save for death. And I do not die. The only way for you to be rid of me is to give me to another—like Lainule did when she ordered Grieve to bind me to you.

  I nodded, knowing she was right. I was jumping at shadows, fearing they might be hiding Myst’s hunters. I started to apologize, then stopped. Ulean knew what stress I was under. She could read my energy, hear my whispers into the slipstream.

  And so we waited, silent, as Fearless underwent the long dark rites of his soul, deep into the night. And when they were done with him, the shamans bade Grieve and me to rest, while Fearless and Check went back to the Barrow.

  Grieve and I retired to the chamber they provided and shut the door behind us, closing away the world. It would be some time before Check and Fearless returned with Strict and Silverweb, and we were both exhausted.

  But as I turned to my love, the pain in his eyes overwhelmed me, and I fell into his arms, sobbing quietly. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m responsible for what you went through.”

  He held me, his arms wrapping around my waist, and buried his nose into my hair. “Cicely, my love. It’s all right. Please, believe me. This is the way of our people. I have undergone this ritual before—in Lainule’s Court. And Myst put me through it, for her pleasure. But for you, I would endure so much more. I needed you to know I was true to you. I need you to know that in your heart.”

  He leaned down, pressing his lips to mine. As his hands slid over my ass and along my back, the heat within me rose, and I yanked off my crown. The only time I was allowed to take it off was when we were alone in our chamber, or when I was sleeping. It had become an anchor around my neck, and I welcomed the times when I could remove it, even though the weight of responsibility was there regardless.

  Grieve pushed me back, staring into my eyes, and I lost myself in his gaze. His eyes had been cornflower blue once, blue as the morning sky, but when Myst had turned him, they had shifted to inky black, with a sparkling of stars through them. The Vampiric Fae all had eyes like the night sky.

  He reached out, touched the busks on my corset, and I let him undo them. Grieve preferred to undress me, and I liked it when he did. He undid the steel fasteners one by one, easing the pressure on my midriff, and then my boobs bounced free. I had large breasts. I was five-four and a sturdy one hundred and forty pounds of muscle. As he ran one finger up my side to slide over my breasts and then pinched my nipple, hard, I inhaled sharply, gasping at the pain before the fire hit. And then, in a haze of hunger, I unzipped my jeans and kicked my way out of them.

  Grieve, like all full-blooded Fae, could shed his clothes with a single thought, and did, now standing naked in front of me. He was glorious, my Faerie King, and his hair grazed his shoulder blades, pale and shimmering as the cool winter sun. Exotic and dangerous, he bared his teeth—they were razor sharp from the turning. I gasped, oh so hungry.

  “Fuck me. Fuck me, please.” I needed him. I wanted his hands on me, roughing me up, pushing me down, str
oking against my thighs, my breasts, over the tattoo on my stomach.

  He could feel my need—my wolf growled in response to his rising hunger—and he stepped toward me, gaze still fastened on me. I danced back a step, teasing him, daring him to join the chase.

  “You want it that way, then?” His voice was soft, running smooth over the words, but it set me off, the sparks racing through me at a rate I could barely stand. “You want it rough? You want it dark and dangerous and deadly?”

  I could only nod. “I need you to be the strong one. I need you to take control.” As I said it, I knew it was true—I couldn’t handle making another decision; I couldn’t handle another choice in the day.

  I wanted to forget, to be set free from the constant demands put on me. And the only way that I could lose myself and get out of my head was for Grieve to be strong enough to overpower my thoughts, to overpower my choices, to take me into that dark deep place where I could feel through pain that turned to pleasure. I needed to bleed onto the ground, the pain of the wounds making me know I was still alive, that I wasn’t just a figurehead, a symbol, an icon.

  I stretched out my arms, and Grieve slowly moved around behind me, taking my arm in his hand, stroking the skin, stroking the flesh up to my elbow. He turned my wrist upward, his lips lingering over it, and then with those razor-sharp teeth, ran them along the flesh, scoring it as he went, a thin red line welling up. The sight of the blood, the sting of his teeth sent me into a frenzy, and I cried out, my head dropping back.

  Grieve moved up to stand in back of me, and he encircled my waist, stroking my stomach with his fingers as his teeth found my neck, nipping me sharply, drawing more blood. The venom in his saliva could no longer entrance me, but it sent me reeling, as strong as any aphrodisiac. I moaned as he sucked lightly, drawing drops of blood, and then he leaned around and licked my face, trailing my life force across my cheek, kissing me deeply, his tongue probing my mouth as he began to grind against me.