The Gatekeeper's Trials: The Complete Trilogy

by Emma L. Adams

  His words carried a ring of truth, as though he spoke from experience. “Lord Daival doesn’t serve her because she’s more powerful than he is. He’s just a greedy sycophant. And I reiterate: she’s behind bars. There’s nothing she can do to stop him fleeing for the Vale. Granted, she’s the reason he was exiled in the first place, because he betrayed the Courts for her.”

  “There’s more than one kind of power one might wield over another,” he said.

  Like you and Etaina?

  The phantom touch of her magic shivered across my Gatekeeper’s mark. She’d scared the living shit out of me earlier, and the way she’d mesmerised her entire Court frankly disturbed me. Could Darrow do the same? He’d used his power exactly once, when I’d goaded him into giving it his all, and it’d damn near turned me into his willing servant for life. If she had a hold over even him, then her power must be off the charts. And he still thought she was the right person to wield the talisman?

  He turned away. “We have a criminal to find. Let’s get started.”

  It turned out wrangling lesser fae to spy on the Sidhe was a trickier job than I’d anticipated. After a frustrating afternoon giving repeated instructions to hobs and sprites about who to spy on and what information to listen out for, I returned home with the suspicion that I might have had better luck finding Lord Daival if I’d wandered around turning over every rock in the Summer Court instead.

  The sight of Mum’s half-assembled family tree in the living room did not improve my mood, but my sister did. Ilsa glanced up from the sofa and gave me a wave.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be patrolling with the necromancer guild?” I asked.

  “Got the rest of the day off.” She yawned. “Didn’t have much to do, so…”

  “So you decided to come here and research the Erlking’s concubines instead of, like, going bowling with River or something.”

  “River is training a new group of novices at the guild,” Ilsa said. “Besides, this is good research for my PhD proposal.”

  I lifted the topmost page. “Was the Erlking’s firstborn son’s codename seriously Lord of Thunderstorms?”

  “According to more than one source.” Ilsa took the page back and set it down on the pile. “He was born over nine hundred years ago, died during the battle with Winter, reinvented himself as Lord Striking Thunder, died in a battle with a bunch of sluagh, and I think he became Lord of the Meandering Path afterwards. No idea what name he goes by now.”

  I groaned. “It's like looking for a penny in a troll’s nest. I can see why some people at the Court want to just nominate their own heir and be done with it.”

  She rubbed her bloodshot eyes. “They do?”

  “Some of them do.” I sighed. “I wish I'd known the Erlking better. Then I might have an idea of who he’d choose as his successor.”

  “How was your day, anyway?” Ilsa asked. “The Vale wasn’t too heinous this time?”

  “I ran into Darrow.” I sat down and conjured up a plate of cookies and a glass of water. “He hauled me off to speak to the Aes Sidhe, the dickhead. Don’t worry, I didn’t give anything away.”

  Ilsa picked up a cookie. “What the hell was he doing in the Vale?”

  I downed half the glass of water. “Looking for a certain talisman, because the universe can’t just give me one dilemma at a time to deal with.”

  I summarised my adventures in the Vale, my unexpected trip to the lands of the Aes Sidhe, and finished with Lady Aiten’s ultimatum.

  “That's such bullshit,” said Ilsa. “It’s not your job to spy on the Sidhe, and it’s not supposed to be your responsibility to deal with Summer’s criminals either.”

  “I used to do it often enough even before I became Gatekeeper,” I reminded her. “Besides, Lady Aiten doesn’t want to spark a panic by letting the other Sidhe know that the Erlking’s sprite might have told the enemy the heir’s identity.”

  “Understandable, but that doesn’t mean she has to throw the whole burden on you.” Ilsa turned a cookie over in her hands. “If we assume the sprite will give in, though, the heir will have no idea Lord Daival is coming.”

  “Bit hard to warn the heir when we don’t know who it is,” I said. “I didn’t tell Darrow that part, so I don’t know why he’s latched onto the idea of inviting himself to help me out. Unless he thinks the talisman is in the Court. I’m lucky he didn’t follow me home.”

  “Is that why he wants to find Lord Daival, do you think?” she asked. “He thinks he has the Erlking’s talisman?”

  “Never thought of that,” I admitted. “But Darrow knows the talisman can’t be hidden in Summer without someone noticing, and if he thinks Lord Daival has it, it makes no sense for him to waste his time searching the Court.”

  “He must believe sticking with you will get him what he wants, then,” said Ilsa. “Or rather, what Etaina wants. Sounds like he's her lackey, for the most part.”

  “Yeah.” I brushed crumbs off my knees, a hollow sensation forming in my chest. “I guess he is.”

  It shouldn’t matter to me in the slightest, but the bitter sting of disappointment I’d felt when he’d hauled me into the realm of the Aes Sidhe mingled with annoyance with myself for ever believing he might be different to a typical lackey who would slit my throat if a higher authority ordered him to. Perhaps I’d thought he might be different because he had an unusual level of authority for a half-Sidhe, but most of that was his use of glamour to get his way, and he hadn’t used it when he was at home in his own Court.

  He must have a trusted position if Etaina sent him on missions, though, yet in the times I’d seen him among the Aes Sidhe, he’d never been surrounded by a throng of admirers. Then again, Etaina herself didn’t seem well-liked. Worshipped, yes, but not liked.

  “You know how lifelong vows go,” said Ilsa. The hint of sympathy in her voice made me feel even more wrong-footed. “Etaina seems like a total bitch.”

  “She is.” I took another cookie. “She dropped another bunch of cryptic hints which were supposed to tempt me into handing the talisman to her in exchange for information. She said she was surprised I'd side with the Erlking after what he did to my family.”

  “Seriously?” said Ilsa. “Sounds like a bluff to me.”

  “I’m not planning on setting foot in that place again if I can help it,” I said. “I may have mentioned your talisman again, by the way. I didn’t exactly say you’d flood the place with zombies if she tried interrogating you, but it was implied.”

  Ilsa snorted. “Did you get any more clues about where the Aes Sidhe’s realm is located?”

  “It must be near the Ley Line,” I said. “I’d have felt more strong side effects from the curse if it wasn’t.”

  “Good point.” Ilsa lifted a stack of notes. “That gives you a reference point if you get stuck there without Darrow’s sprite to help you escape.”

  There came a knock at the door. “Speak of the devil…”

  I peered out the window and glimpsed hooded faces and long cloaks. Not the Aes Sidhe, but a cult of deluded rebels who believed the Erlking was the next messiah. Just what my day needed.

  Ilsa put the notes down and pulled her talisman from her pocket. “Want me to raise a zombie to chase them off?”

  “For all we know, they’d mistake it for the Erlking and put a crown on it.” I walked out of the living room and down the hallway to the front door, yanking it open. “Can I help you fine gentlemen?”

  The sarcasm flew right over their heads. “We have come to see the Summer Gatekeeper.”

  “That's me,” I said. “If you're going to ask me if I’m prepared for the rapture, I’d be happy to introduce you to my own version.”

  When a group of them had crashed Lord Niall’s party and one of them had pretended to be the Erlking himself, the Sidhe had retaliated by using thorns to shred them from the inside out. You'd think that would have been enough of a deterrent to stop them causing trouble, but apparently not.

  “We are
here on behalf of our king,” said the hooded Sidhe at the front of the huddle of rebels.

  “He’s got you delivering messages from beyond the grave now?” I said.

  “He will rise,” said the Sidhe. “The Lord of Thorns will bring him back to us.”

  The what? “Lord of Thorns?”

  The faerie in the Vale had called Lord Daival by the exact same title. It might be a coincidence, but the Erlking’s worshippers were driven by some weird internal drive to ignore all logic and were easy targets for manipulation. I could just see them falling hook, line and sinker for the words of a new leader who promised the return of their king.

  “And where is the Lord of Thorns?” I asked.

  “We will be meeting at sunset tomorrow, at the hill west of the human village,” he said. “There will be wine and festivities to celebrate the return of our lord. He is deeply invested in the placement of the rightful monarch on the throne.”

  I bet he is, if he's secretly supporting the Seelie Queen. On the other hand, what better shot would I have to find Lord Daival without having to send sprites to hide in the Sidhe’s underwear drawers?

  “Okay,” I told them. “I’ll come.”

  Alone. After Darrow’s underhanded manoeuvre, I was far from in the mood to play nice with him, and a group of rebels should be no trouble to handle.

  Closing the door, I returned to my sister. “Guess I’d better get my best arse-kicking party gear ready.”

  “I was going to suggest putting up a sign in the window saying no door-to-door salesmen or weird faerie cultists,” she said. “What did they want?”

  “They're working for someone calling himself the Lord of Thorns, the same title someone in the Vale gave Lord Daival, and they’re holding this party tomorrow in his regard. Might be a dead end, but what the hell.”

  If it was him, it seemed Lord Daival had wasted no time in recruiting a group of new supporters, ones who were willing to believe anything that aligned with their unfailing faith that the Erlking would return from death.

  Sure wish he would come back. That would solve almost all our problems.

  I woke to the sound of high-pitched screaming from the garden. Blinking in confusion, I turned to my bedroom window and squinted at the dark lawn. No signs of movement stirred the grass, but the screaming drifted from somewhere near the house.

  I trod downstairs, my soft footsteps drowned by the clamour from outside. I crept past the living room, spotting Ilsa sprawled out on the sofa, and opened the front door.

  As I stepped outside, the screaming stopped, but the creepy silence lingering over the lawn was somehow worse. The hairs rose on the back of my neck as I crossed the garden, and magic tingled in my fingertips.

  The talisman.

  Dread took the wheel, steering me to the Inner Garden. Inside, the water’s glimmering light has dimmed, and several bodies floated face-down. Small, pointy-eared bodies. Bile rose in my throat. They were fire imps, floating dead in the water. Drowned? Or killed by my talisman’s magic?

  Shadows wrapped around the staff, creating rippling circles in the pool water and creeping along the bank like malevolent tentacles. Had the talisman ensnared the imps from a distance? They wouldn’t have wandered over there of their own accord. That is seriously fucking creepy.

  I reached for the water, and faint threads of shadowy magic brushed my hands. My heart climbed into my throat.

  “Did you lure them here?” I whispered to the staff.

  The shadowy magic crept closer, and my heart jolted in my chest. Half of me feared it'd try to claim me again, the other half feared I'd be rejected. Without the stone, I had no defence against its destructive power. Vulnerability scraped me to the bone, and I muttered a curse under my breath. Some people had talismans which healed their injuries or alerted them to danger. What did I have? A talisman that lured innocent creatures to their deaths.

  “Hazel?” Ilsa peered through the gap in the hedge. “What are you doing, sleepwalking?”

  “More like talisman walking.”

  Her eyes widened at the sight of the imps’ bloating bodies. “Shit. They weren’t there the last time I looked.”

  “I guess the staff got hungry. Or bored.” My skin shivered with revulsion, at least half of it levelled at the part of me drawn, against all rationality, to feel its magic in my hand once again.

  “It yearns to be wielded, and if nobody makes that choice, it will do so itself.” Etaina knew it well. She was prepared to handle the fury of a talisman which had endured countless years of isolation in the hands of a man who refused to use its magic.

  Okay, stop that. Don't try to work your magic on me. I'm not your pawn, and I will not bend to your will.

  I gave the magic a firm shove, and to my surprise, the shadowy threads withdrew beneath the water. Did the talisman still recognise me as its wielder even after I'd rejected it?

  Coldness frosted the surface of the water, turning it to ice. Not the talisman’s magic.

  Ilsa cursed. “There's something else in the garden.”

  My Gatekeeper’s mark reacted with a twinge of warning. I backed out of the grove, and a shadow swept across the lawn, shaped like the vague outline of a person.

  “Wraith,” said Ilsa.

  “Gatekeeper,” growled a voice.

  “Great. This one talks.” I readied myself to attack, but before my Gatekeeper’s magic could spread to my hands, the talisman’s shadowy magic lashed at the wraith, smothering it in a dark embrace.

  The wraith let out a piteous howl, flailing, but the shadows held tight. As well as draining the life from anything it touched, the talisman also fed on magic—and now I had my answer as to whether it worked on the dead. I stared, transfixed, as the wraith became more transparent and its magic unravelled, drawn to the talisman’s shadowy outline in the water.

  Ilsa pulled out her own talisman, a book with the image of a raven on the cover.

  “I banish you,” she said. “Go in peace.”

  As her magic extended soft blue threads, what was left of the wraith evaporated into fragments, and the talisman’s remaining shadowy tendrils retracted back into the pool. I released a slow breath, my heart hammering.

  “Where the hell did that thing come from?” I said. “I thought they'd left you alone for months now.”

  “They have,” said Ilsa. “I think it came after you, not me.”

  Bloody hell. Had the wraith been drawn to the talisman, too? Was it putting out some kind of signal that only faeries could hear? I hoped it was only faeries.

  “The wraith’s magic froze the pool,” I whispered. “Do you think the Erlking’s talisman is weakening its healing power?”

  Concern flickered across her face. “Maybe.”

  “We’ll have to avoid any fatal injuries, then.” My flippant tone didn't land, because if it was true, we were in a shit-ton of trouble. Despite the wealth of people on my team, I'd never felt as alone as I did when I looked back at the talisman’s shadowy form beneath the water.

  If it had only been here a few days and had already started luring in prey to feed on, how long before it started to do the same to other living things… even humans?

  7

  After a sleepless night, I headed back into Faerie for another thrilling day of wrangling hobgoblins and elves in the hope of finding the so-called Lord of Thorns’s current hiding place. I’d have preferred to nap until the party tonight, but Darrow or Lady Aiten might come sniffing around the house if I didn’t show my face in the Court.

  I must have looked rough even with the bags under my eyes glamoured, because Darrow’s first words to me upon my arrival in the ambassadors’ palace were, “Late night? You didn’t go to Lord Niall’s revel, did you?”

  “Didn’t know he had one,” I responded. “A wraith showed up on my lawn in the middle of the night. Guess it followed me from the Vale. Anyway, you couldn't pay me to go another of Lord Niall’s revels, unless he's hiding Lord Daival in his basement.”

/>   “Not according to the three hobs who were spying on the event,” he said. “Your employees are waiting with an update.”

  “They aren’t my employees.” Spotting Coral inside the entrance hall, I made my way over to her. “What’s the latest?”

  “Nothing so far,” she said. “I sent a few people to watch Lord Niall’s revel, but they didn’t see any suspicious signs.”

  “Not even those rebels?” Lord Niall had skewered a few of them with thorns last time, so even they should have enough sense not to crash another of his parties. Instead, it seemed they were organising their own revel with Lord Daival himself at the helm. I wouldn’t have minded telling Coral about tonight’s event, but not in front of Darrow.

  “Nope,” said Coral. “Didn’t stop Lord Niall from marching around in circles jabbing his talisman at anything that looked him funny. I think he’s paranoid.”

  “Not enough to stop hosting parties, evidently.” I turned to Darrow. “Any other ideas? If Lord Daival didn’t show up to cause trouble at the party, the odds of him being here in the Court are pretty low.”

  “If that’s the case, why did Lady Aiten argue against telling the other Sidhe?” he said. “Doesn’t that imply she thinks there’s a strong chance the traitor is here?”

  Nope. Just the heir, whose identity might be compromised right now. I wasn’t comfortable with leaving the Erlking’s sprite to endure torture while I waited to ambush Lord Daival at the revel tonight, but he’d doubtless be lying low until then.

  “Perhaps she thinks he’s recruiting.” Which he might well be, considering how many of the Seelie Queen’s allies had died in the Vale when I’d claimed the talisman.

  “Gatekeeper.” Lord Raivan beckoned me over to one of the tapestried rooms. His eyes were red-rimmed, while the smell of elf wine hung around him. “Come and speak with me.”

  “Lady Aiten sent you, didn’t she?” I obligingly followed him through the door. “She told you everything?”