Grave Destiny

by Kalayna Price

  “I—wait—what?” Repair the nightmare realm?

  The queen cocked her head to the side. Then she laughed. “You didn’t know?” Then she turned to Dugan. “You didn’t tell her?”

  She continued laughing, as if it was all too funny. I moved my frown from her to Dugan, lifting an eyebrow in question. At my side, I could feel Falin staring at Dugan as well.

  Dugan didn’t turn, didn’t meet either of our eyes. He just stood there, expressionless, watching the queen. It was as good as an admission.

  “You, and possibly whatever offspring you create with this one”—she waved a hand to Dugan—“are intended to fix the damage to shadow and reweave the nightmare realm to the court. I’m shocked no one has told you of shadow’s desires.” She didn’t sound shocked. She sounded smug.

  I thought about what my father had said about the high king having the realm of dreams severed before the Magical Awakening. The shadow court expected me to fix it? “To restore the balance . . .” I said, thinking out loud more than to anyone.

  The queen sat forward, slamming her palms down on the arms of her throne. “I don’t care about the balance. Shadow cannot exist without light, but light needs no shadows.” The glow around her blazed as she spoke, and I winced, looking away.

  Right. I glanced at Falin. It was time for us to go. The look he gave me seemed to agree.

  “My queen sends her regards, as well as her regrets over the body we had to deliver to your court,” Falin said, bowing to the Light Queen. “We should return to her now.”

  “You may leave, knight of my sister.” She made a dismissive gesture and we all turned. “I said the knight. Planeweaver, I still have business with you.”

  The glance I shot Falin was no doubt all deer-in-the-headlights, but I managed to get my face under control before I turned back toward the Queen of Light.

  “Your Majesty?”

  She glanced over the top of my head and nodded to someone behind me. Ryese stalked up to the throne, his golden cloak rustling as he swept past me.

  My pulse quickened with each of his limping steps. This was not going to be good. I knew it wasn’t.

  “My son says you are responsible for his current condition,” she said, gesturing from me to Ryese.

  “I—What?” Was that the second or third time I’d responded to the queen exactly that way? At this rate she was going to think I was incapable of full sentences. But I didn’t have any other response. In what way could it be construed that I was responsible for Ryese’s condition? I’d revealed him, and physically pushed the Winter Queen out of the way of the iron dart, but nothing else.

  Falin stepped in front of me. “I am the one who introduced the iron to his flesh. I acted in my capacity of knight in protecting my queen.”

  The queen dismissed his words, her gaze fixing on me. “Only due to the machinations of this one.”

  My head was still spinning from her abrupt change from inviting me into her court to accusing me of mangling her son.

  “Machinations? He poisoned me and then tried to kill the queen,” I said, and then snapped my teeth shut as a beautifully cruel smile spread over the queen’s face.

  Why do I feel like I just stumbled headfirst into a trap?

  “Outrageous,” Ryese roared from under his hood. “She now intends to cripple me again with an unbearable defilement of my character.” He pressed his gray hand against the front of his cloak, as if physically wounded by my words.

  I glared at him. He hadn’t accused me of lying—he couldn’t because everything I’d said was true. If mention of his past crimes tarnished his reputation, tough shit.

  The queen clearly didn’t agree.

  “Yes, that is a rather reprehensible thing to say about a member of my court, let alone blood of my blood.”

  Crap. I cringed. This was not good.

  I fell into a deep curtsy. “I meant no offense.”

  “But you gave great offense. I cannot let such a slight pass, unless, dear son, you can?” She turned to Ryese.

  He stood very still, as if considering whether to forgive me. I glanced at Falin; he studied Ryese, his eyes tight with worry. Dugan had stepped to the side, watching.

  Ryese cleared his throat. “It is a challenge to my name I cannot let stand. I accept your challenge, planeweaver.”

  “I didn’t—” I started, but the queen wasn’t listening.

  She spoke over me. “Then as the one challenged, you set the terms.”

  His golden hood bobbed in a nod. “The duel will be to the death.”

  Chapter 21

  The gathered fae all began chattering at once. Some voices were obviously excited to see a deadly duel. Others spoke in low worried whispers.

  I moved closer to Falin. “How do I get out of this? I did not challenge him to a duel.”

  He shook his head. “It does not matter. She’s twisted it until you have no choice but to engage. If you try to run, it will be judged as a loss. As it is to the death, you’ll be executed.”

  Great. Well, on the plus side of a duel to the death, Ryese was not exactly in his top form.

  “I name a champion,” Ryese called from his spot before the throne. “Teaghan will fight to remove this blemish from my name.”

  A woman with dark hair in two braids that ran down her back strolled forward. She wore silks in burnt orange and golden yellow, but they didn’t suit her nor the variety of blades strapped to her body. Blood stained her hands, so the blades were not only for show but were deadly accessories she’d used before. She didn’t have the glow common to the court, and shadows slipped around her as she walked, so I assumed she was a recent addition to the court of light. The stunned look on Dugan’s face as he watched her approach the throne seemed to confirm that theory.

  “It would be my honor to fight for you,” she said, bowing to Ryese in a movement that spoke of both strength and grace.

  The blood drained from my face. “He gets to name a champion?”

  “And you do not because they twisted it to where he was the one challenged,” Falin said, staring at Teaghan with obvious concern in his face. He might not want to say it, but we both knew I didn’t stand a chance in this duel.

  “You do get to name what you are fighting for. He cannot deny you a prize if you win.” He glanced at my hands, and I took his meaning.

  Standing up straighter, I raised my voice and announced, “I did not intend to initiate this challenge, but if I must fight, I’m fighting for the cure for basmoarte. Multiple doses.”

  I slipped my gloves off as I spoke, letting them drop to the ground. Then I held up my hands, revealing my purple-stained fingers. I couldn’t see Ryese’s reaction under the hood, so I watched the queen instead. For a moment she looked confused, and then her eyes grew wide in shock. Her eyes tore from my hands to look down at her own arms. A purplish bruise the size of a thumb had sprouted on her arm, corresponding to where I’d touched her magic to slap away her compulsion.

  Her pretty features twisted in alarm, disgust twisting her lips as she lifted one delicate hand to cover the blemish of poisoned magic. Then the moment passed, the panic washing from her face, her features softening as if the fear had never been there. Her gaze cut toward the hooded figure at her side before returning to the scene in front of her, unconcerned.

  Not worried about a deadly infection?

  Yeah, there was a cure. And she knew her son had it. She probably knew about the rest too. Maybe not all of it. Maybe just enough to claim plausible deniability. But she was involved.

  “Then the terms are set,” the queen said, smiling benevolently at her people. “Duelers, prepare yourselves.”

  I swallowed, the movement feeling tight as if my fear had gotten lodged in my throat. I looked at Falin, my eyes surely giving away my panic. I didn’t know anything about duels. I wasn’t a fighter. “Do
we fight at dawn? Are we going to stand back to back and take twenty paces?” No, that was for a Wild West showdown. Not a Faerie duel. “What are the rules?”

  “Deep breath, Alex,” Falin whispered. “You can use any weapon or magic that is yours to use. No one may help you or lend you anything. This fight is to the death, so . . .”

  “I have to kill her to win,” I finished for him, a cold sweat breaking out over my entire body.

  “Mind your shadow,” Dugan said, stepping up beside me.

  I glanced up at him. “What?”

  “She is recently of my court, so her magic will still be that of shadow.”

  Right.

  “Any other tips?”

  He seemed to hesitate, his eyes moving to where Teaghan still conversed with Ryese. Then he said, “She is a formidable fighter, skilled in both magic and blades. Many of her weapons are enchanted, so be wary.” His frown deepened. “The blade found with Kordon’s body? It was a courtship present from her many centuries ago.”

  I blinked in surprise, more pieces of this puzzle falling into place. We’d known Dugan’s dagger had been planted at the scene, and I’d assumed it had been done to further implicate shadow. But if Teaghan was our shadow connection—and she almost certainly was—the choice of stealing her own courtship gift, one Dugan still kept in his private rooms, seemed very personal.

  Also, I was about to duel to the death one of my ally’s former lovers. This wouldn’t end well. Even if I somehow survived.

  “Clear the space,” the queen yelled, and Dugan stepped back.

  Falin hesitated a moment longer. Then he leaned down and kissed me. Magic fluttered from his lips into mine. I jerked back in surprise, both by the kiss and the magic, but he held me close, pressing the spell into me. “It’s a truth spell,” he whispered directly into my lips. “It won’t last long, and you have to be touching her to make it work, but she will be compelled to answer any question you ask. If you can, try to get her to confess. But be careful, you will be compelled to answer any question asked as well.” Then he kissed me again, and this time there was no transfer of spells, just concern, affection, and desire. “Survive this,” he said as he pulled back.

  Then hands locked on his upper arms, drawing him back, away from the makeshift dueling ring, and I was left alone in the opening void of space. Well, almost alone. My deadly-looking opponent studied me, her hands hovering over weapons strapped to her sides.

  I licked my lips, still feeling the heat of the kiss, but also the small tingle of the spell. I was familiar with this particular magic—Falin had used it on me when we’d first met, and it definitely cut both ways. I’d have to be careful. I stared at the arsenal of blades strapped to Teaghan. Oh yeah, get close enough to touch her and ask questions—no problem. This sucked. But I’d try. If I won, she’d be dead and I doubted the queen would allow me to question her shade. If I was going to find answers, it would have to be during the fight.

  “Prepare yourselves.” The queen sounded far too cheery considering two fae were about to try to kill each other in front of her.

  I wiped my damp palms on my pants and pulled my dagger from my boot holster. My sweat immediately slicked the hilt. This was ridiculous. Barbaric.

  “Go!”

  Teaghan sprang forward, rushing across the throne room toward me, her sword arm crossed over her chest, elbow out, ready to slash. The dagger I held jerked upward, guiding my hand. I let it. The bloodthirsty enchanted blade knew more about fighting than I did.

  My dagger caught the longer sword by the blade before it could slash through me. The enchanted blade sank into the sword as if the other metal was made of nothing more substantial than warmed butter. I reached up with my other hand and grabbed Teaghan’s bare wrist, letting the spell Falin had given me flow into her.

  “Were you involved with the deaths of Kordon of shadow and Stiofan of winter?”

  Teaghan’s eyes flew wide. “Yes,” she barked out, unable to help but answer. A gasp sounded around the throne room at her confession.

  “What are you doing?” she hissed.

  “Investigating.” The answer sprang from my lips before I could stop it, the spell compelling me as well.

  Her lips curled in rage and she ripped her arm from my grasp. “Well, you should probably focus on fighting instead.” She jumped back as the top half of her sword clattered on the floor.

  I half expected the queen to stop the duel at her courtier’s confession. Wishful thinking. It might have been a surprise to her court, but it was no surprise to the queen.

  Teaghan studied me from a distance. “Enchanted dagger, huh?” She glanced at the broken sword in her hand. She tossed the hilt to the side and pulled two daggers, one in each hand. “I have some of those as well.”

  She didn’t mention the spell, or the confession. Her goal was to kill me. Nothing else.

  She circled me. I turned, keeping her in sight. She lunged forward, and I jumped to the side. She missed by over a foot, but pain seared across my upper arm.

  Blood soaked my sweater. My blood.

  What the hell?

  She lunged again. Missed. But a cut opened on the back of my dagger hand, and another on my forearm.

  Fuck. What was the enchantment on her daggers? What was a safe distance?

  In a distant part of my brain, I noticed the buzz of cheering from the audience. Not all, but I didn’t have time to see who was rooting for her despite her confession, and who was just hoping to watch some bloodshed.

  She lunged again, driving me back. From the corner of my eye I saw the shadow of her dagger nick my shadow. A deep gash opened on my shoulder.

  Mind your shadow. That was what Dugan had told me. Now I knew why. She didn’t have to hit me. Just my shadow. I’d slowly bleed to death.

  And I’d never get close enough to use the truth spell again.

  I scrambled away from her, searching for an angle where my shadow wouldn’t hang out in front of me. But the light in the court came from everywhere. Faint shadows stretched out from me in all directions.

  How could I change my shadow? By changing the light. If I could summon a little ball of glowing glamour directly above me it would chase away the shadows. But that was outside my ability. I couldn’t control glamour. Hell, I needed a charm just to stop from glowing all the time—

  Oh.

  I reached up and pulled the chameleon charm from my neck. Its concealing effect shattered and my natural Sleagh Maith glow broke free. I became my own light source.

  My shadow vanished.

  “Aw, you’re no fun,” the other fae said, giving me a mock pout as she straightened. Then she switched the grip of her dagger and hurled it at me.

  I jumped aside. The blade sliced off a curl beside my ear. Teaghan held up her hand, and the damn dagger stopped. Turned. Then it shot back toward me again.

  Fuck.

  I hit the ground, panting. The blade whizzed over me.

  She threw it again. I dodged the first pass, but the second one caught my shoulder. The cut was only a grazing blow, but I was now bleeding from at least four spots.

  This was not going to work.

  My own dagger jerked in my hand. I followed it. My blade caught the guard of her dagger just as her blade sliced through my biceps. This wound was deeper. But as my dagger impacted hers, slicing into the hilt, the flying dagger made a sizzling sound. Then it dropped like a lead weight, its enchantment fried.

  Teaghan snarled again. I’d ruined two of her weapons, but while I was bleeding from numerous wounds, I hadn’t even scratched her yet.

  “I’m getting bored now,” Teaghan said. “Let’s finish this.” She pulled a short sword from a sheath on her back and stalked toward me.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Ryese produce something from beneath his cloak. A yellow stone the size of his fist glittered in
his hand.

  No.

  It was the stone from the revelry. The one that had almost certainly triggered my basmoarte to spread at an unprecedented rate. If he triggered it now, and I passed out, I was dead.

  He was cheating, interfering with the duel—not that I expected anything else from him.

  I opened my mouth to call him on it, but the queen’s hand closed over his wrist. I thought, for a heartbeat, that she was stopping him from cheating. Then her wide eyes darted from the stone to her own purple wound.

  She didn’t want him to trigger my basmoarte and possibly be caught herself. He had the cure, but I bet it wouldn’t reverse the damage. No way would she want her perfect flesh tainted.

  I smiled to myself, but the momentary distraction cost me. Teaghan closed in fast, and I had to throw myself back to avoid her blade. I rolled as I hit the ground.

  I had no offensive magics. No real defensive ones either. So I did the only thing I could. I opened my shields and released my magic. It had only been a dozen hours since the Mender’s lessons, and my magic followed the new routes he’d drilled into me when he’d insisted I merge the planes over and over again. The locket burst open as I rolled out the planes locked inside. I hoped to stun Teaghan with the touch of death, maybe buy me a moment.

  Faerie shivered as the land of the dead unfurled in a circle around me. Faerie didn’t like the planes I’d forced into it, but it didn’t fight me. I gasped. I could feel the magic in the air. Feel the glamour. Feel the layers of reality like I never had before.

  “Nice light show,” Teaghan said as she stepped into the radius of my merged planes. I could feel the magic in her weapons. Feel her magic. Feel . . . her.

  “You’ve died before,” I said, my voice sounding hollow, distant in the sudden wind whipping around me. I could feel the death clinging to her. She’d been revived, and while she wasn’t exactly a corpse, the land of the dead was drawn to her, as if it knew it had been denied its prize. My grave magic lifted unbidden.