These Hollow Vows

by Lexi Ryan

  I lift my arms. “Okay. Where is it?” I’m so over this. My heart is breaking as I imagine Sebastian back at the Golden Palace with his dying mother—or perhaps she’s already dead. How quickly would stealing that book kill the queen? I’ve never killed someone. Am I a murderer now?

  I don’t want to think about any of it anymore. I just want to be done.

  The king’s eyes sparkle. “Where else would you carry a crown but on your head?”

  I laugh harder, and it rolls out of me in a snort. “Well, in that case”—I mime taking the invisible crown from my head and handing it over—“here you go.”

  “If only it were that simple.” He snaps his fingers, and my laughter clogs in my throat when the throne room goes dark. “Look at yourself in the Mirror of Discovery.”

  “In the dark?” He doesn’t answer, but I oblige, retrieving the mirror and expecting to see a pitch-black room. But when I look at my dark reflection, chills race down my arms at what I see. There, on my head, is a string of starlight that weaves through my hair to form a glowing . . . a glowing crown.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  THE CROWN SITS ATOP MY HEAD, twinkling in shades of purple and blue and everything in between.

  I lift a shaking hand to touch the top of my head—to try to grasp the crown I see in the mirror—but I can’t. I watch my reflection as I try to push the crown from its spot, but it stays.

  “It’s a magical crown,” King Mordeus says. “This kingdom is dying so long as it’s worn by a human. Only one with Unseelie blood can rule here.”

  “I . . .” I stare, transfixed by what I see in the mirror. The crown isn’t just beautiful. It’s mesmerizing. “How?”

  “My brother, Oberon, loved your mother.”

  I nearly drop the mirror. “What?” It’s so dark I struggle to make out Mordeus’s expression, but this has to be some sort of joke. All of it.

  Mordeus snaps his fingers, and the candles in the wall sconces flicker to life, leaving the room cast in long shadows and changing my reflection. I see no crown now. “He was once trapped in the mortal realm and fell in love with your mother,” he says. “But when he was finally able to return to Faerie, she refused to go with him. While he tried to reclaim his throne from me, she remained in the mortal realm, met your father, and fell in love. By the time Oberon had fortified the portals and could safely return to her, your mother was already married and had two little girls—you and your sister.”

  Once upon a time the king of the shadow fae was trapped in the mortal world, and a woman fell deeply in love with him . . .

  My mother wasn’t just telling us bedtime stories. She was telling us her story.

  “Oberon gave her a wind chime,” Mordeus continues. “He told her that if she ever needed him, all she had to do was hang it in the midnight breeze and the music would call him to her. She never forgot Oberon, but she was happy with her life in the mortal realm, with her husband and her daughters. Then one night while you all slept, your house was consumed by a terrible fire.”

  I close my eyes, remembering. The heat. The crackle of the wood burning in the walls. The way my lungs burned as I tried to get enough air. The feel of Jasalyn in my arms. My father died in that fire, and we nearly did too.

  “You girls were badly burned in the fire, but you had endured the worst of the injuries while protecting your sister, and you were barely hanging on. Your mother hung the chime and begged her old lover to help. It was Oberon who healed your sister and left her without a single scar. But your wounds were so profound that it was too late for even the greatest healer. My brother was blind with love for your mother.” Mordeus’s voice is filled with disgust. “He didn’t want her to suffer the heartbreak of losing her child, so he saved you with the only option available to him.”

  I stare at the spot where Sebastian’s glamour still covers the scar on my wrist. It was the only mark from a fire I’ve always known should have killed me. “How did he do it?” I ask.

  “The moment of your death, he surrendered his own life to save yours.”

  I remember the sound of my mother pleading with the healer with the deep voice. Please save her.

  How desperate she was, how heartbroken when she seemed to understand the price. I do this for you.

  All these years, I’ve hated the fae, never knowing that their magic is the only reason I’m alive.

  “What does that have to do with his crown?”

  “When a Faerie king dies, he chooses which of his offspring will take his throne. When he makes that choice, his power passes to the heir, and it is only with that power that the land truly recognizes the new king or queen. But Oberon didn’t pass his power to a son or daughter. He gave it to you—it was the only way to save you, to heal you, and to protect your mother’s mortal heart.”

  I brush my fingertips across my scalp, and this time I can feel it—not a physical object, but a hum of power, the vibration of the crown itself. It’s too much to take in. I can’t wrap my mind around the reality of it or the idea that a faerie—a male I would have assumed selfish and cruel—loved my mother so much that he died to save me.

  But with the awe of the truth comes the pain of what he’s not saying. Mordeus is here telling me he needs the crown. Asking me for it. Which means that all this time when Finn pretended to help me, pretended to be my friend, his true purpose was to get closer to his crown.

  “If you all want this crown so badly, why has no one taken it before now?” I’ve stayed at Finn’s—been injured and unconscious, even drugged. He’s had plenty of opportunity. “Why not just kill me for it?”

  “The ancient kings who forged the Crown of Starlight had it spelled so that their offspring couldn’t kill them for their power. It can only be given, never taken, as my brother gave it to you.

  “I cannot kill you for it, or the crown will refuse me. But you can choose to give it to me—your crown, your power. Understand me when I say that you will never know peace if you keep wearing the crown. But if you give it to me through a bonding ceremony, the crown will shift to me, and you will save your sister in the process.”

  “Just . . . bond with you and it’s over?” A lifelong bond with the darkest, ugliest soul I’ve ever encountered. Never.

  “Yes, my dear.”

  The bonding ceremony—Sebastian warned me about it just last night when trying to convince me that Finn wanted to bind himself to me. A simple bonding ceremony, and he could take you away from me forever. He knew. He knew that Finn was really after the crown. No wonder he insisted that Finn wasn’t my friend.

  But Sebastian wasn’t the only one who warned me against bonding with a member of the Unseelie Court. Finn warned me against bonding with Mordeus. Remember that the only way anyone can have it is if you allow it. If you value your mortal life, you won’t do that—ever.

  It wasn’t a threat but a warning. A warning that neither prince could speak of directly because of the curse. But Finn also warned me not to bond with Sebastian. Because that would ruin Finn’s chances of bonding with me . . . or because Sebastian could steal the crown? But no, Mordeus said that only someone with Unseelie blood can rule here.

  “Summon your goblin,” I tell the king.

  His eyes narrow. “Why?”

  “You want this crown? You want to me to consider bonding with you? Summon. Your. Goblin.”

  Mordeus snaps his fingers, and his goblin appears before me, sniffing delicately. “You reek of my kin,” he mutters.

  “Do humans die when they bond with faeries?” I ask the creature.

  The goblin looks to his master, whose jaw is tight.

  “Answer the girl’s question,” Mordeus says.

  “Not always,” the goblin says, stroking its patchy white hair. “But sometimes.”

  Not always, because not all faeries are cursed. “When a human bonds with the Seelie, do they die?”

  The goblin glares at me. “No.”

  “And when a human bonds with Unseelie fae?”


  The goblin looks to Mordeus again, but I don’t need him to answer. Now I understand the truth. That is the pure evil of the curse. To prevent Oberon from bonding with his human love, the queen cursed the Unseelie so that bonding with a human would kill the human.

  I spin on Mordeus. “You say I must bond with you, but you really mean I must die.”

  The goblin cackles softly, and Mordeus scowls at him until he disappears in a flash of light.

  “Oberon’s crown saved your life,” Mordeus says. “It gave you life when yours was gone. So, no, you cannot continue this mortal life without the crown. Through the bond, you would shift the crown to me the same way humans have shifted their life force to the Unseelie for the last twenty years.”

  That’s what Finn wanted from me—what Sebastian was warning me about, why he said Finn could take me away from him forever if I bonded with him. Because a bond with Finn would mean my death. I shake my head, and the room spins. “Even if I was willing to die to fulfill my side of the bargain, how would I know you freed my sister?”

  King Mordeus smiles. “I swore that promise on my magic, so you can be sure it isn’t one I will break.”

  I stare at my feet. I need to think, but between the pain in my shoulder and the countless implications of this new information, my mind is fuzzy.

  “Since you’re so clever,” Mordeus says slowly, “I could offer you an alternative. A gift.”

  I lift my head. I fear my desperation for another solution is all too clear in my face.

  “If it’s death that bothers you, but you’re planning to make good on your promise to return the crown . . . What if you didn’t have to end your existence, only your human life?”

  “What?”

  “Surrender your life to me, and with it the crown, and I will revive you with the Potion of Life.” He steps down from the dais and takes my hand. I’m so stunned by all this information that I let him. “This doesn’t have to be the end for you. This could be the beginning.” A pile of rune-marked stones appear in his open palm. “All you have to do is bond yourself to me.”

  My head spins, the room blurring around me. Mordeus smiles, and I sway toward him.

  “Choose the stone that will represent our bond and accept your fate, my girl.”

  It’s so simple. Choose a stone. Accept my fate.

  I reach for the pile of runes in his hand and feel like I’m floating. So familiar, this feeling. I’ve felt this before . . .

  At the Golden Palace. When I was drugged.

  “I need the restroom,” I blurt.

  Irritation flashes in the king’s eyes, but he smooths it away quickly. “Of course. My servant will assist you.”

  I nod, careful not to let on that I know I’ve been drugged.

  A young human servant with a scarred face appears and leads me out of the throne room under the watchful eye of a dozen of Mordeus’s sentinels. She keeps her head bowed as she opens the door and steps in behind me.

  “Could I be alone, please?” I ask.

  The girl darts a glance over her shoulder, hesitating. “I shouldn’t . . . I mean, the king wouldn’t like it if . . .”

  “I will only be a moment,” I promise, fighting to stay steady on my feet.

  “Okay.” With a bowed head, the girl backs away.

  When the door swings shut, I pull Finn’s elixir from my darkness. With a quick look at the door, I drink. I drink, and then I sink to the floor and try to figure out how to fix this mess I’ve gotten myself into.

  I can’t give Mordeus the crown. I can’t do that to Finn or to Sebastian. If the two are united in anything, it’s the belief that Mordeus will bring nothing but destruction to Faerie. But I can’t abandon Jas either. Even if . . . even if she has been safe thus far. Maybe she could wait a little longer. If I just had more time, I could figure out a solution that doesn’t end with this crown on Mordeus’s head. After all, the conditions I’ve seen in the mirror showed Jas—

  The mirror.

  I’ve spent all this time believing that my sister is safe and happy in his care, but I’ve believed that because of what I’ve seen in the mirror. But once, for just a flash, I saw Jas in that dungeon. But then the image shifted to what I desperately wanted to believe. And then, when I wished so desperately to not be going through this alone, the mirror showed me my mother—not because she was there, but because I wanted her to be.

  Didn’t Finn tell me not to trust the mirror? He said it was dangerous for someone who had so much hope in her heart, and I disregarded the warning. But hasn’t it shown me what I hoped to see more than anything else?

  I believed it when it showed me that Jas was safe and happy—because I wanted to believe. But for a beat tonight, the image it showed of my sister was dire, not joyful.

  I’d thought that Finn didn’t know me at all to think I had hope, but he was right. For my sister, even for my mother, I did have hope. But now it’s gone.

  Before, I needed to see that my sister was safe, and the mirror gave me just that. With shaking hands, I lift the mirror, stare at my reflection, clear my mind of expectations, and focus on my desire for the truth. “Show me Jasalyn.”

  There’s no lavish room with lush bedding. No laughing handmaidens. There are no trays of food and picture windows that overlook beautiful vistas. All I see now is Jas, chained in a dungeon, a pallet of hay on the ground and a bucket in the corner. She’s thin, pale, and sipping at a cup of water with chapped lips.

  I clamp my hand over my mouth before my gasp escapes. Sinking to the floor, I stroke my fingers across the image until it floats away. I’ve been eating like a queen and making friends. I’ve been dancing and laughing and falling in love. And all the while my sister . . .

  Mordeus knew I’d want to believe she was in better conditions. He knew the mirror would show me what I hoped to see.

  Another sob rips from my chest.

  “I’m so sorry, Jasalyn. I’m so, so sorry.”

  The mirror helped me find Sebastian once when it was inconsequential. It showed me Sebastian at his desk and later showed me the book. But I didn’t know enough about the book or even about Sebastian’s life to have any hope for those things—unlike my hopes for my family. Even my mother, who I believed abandoned me, I hoped even for her.

  “Show me my mother,” I whisper. When I’m shown the tomb with a corpse inside, I’m not sure what I feel crumbling in my chest, but I fear . . . I fear it’s what little hope I have left.

  I take slow, measured breaths and wait for the elixir to set in, but my mind won’t stop spinning. I wear the crown.

  I pull myself off the floor and square my shoulders. I didn’t need the Banshee to visit me last night. I didn’t need Lark visiting my dream and telling me her call was inescapable. I knew how this would end when I entered the portal. Part of me . . . part of me knew I wouldn’t be going home.

  The woman who escorted me to the restroom sags in relief when I return to the hall. I want to ask her why she works for the king. I want to ask her if she counts the days until she becomes his next tribute and if whatever she sold herself for was worth it.

  How ridiculous that I once believed I’d live long enough to save women like her. How ridiculous that when Lark talked about me being a queen, I thought it might mean I’d have a chance to make a difference.

  I’m numb as I follow the girl back to the throne room, but it’s not from his poisoned wine. No. I must have taken the elixir in time because I no longer feel the effects of the drug. This numbness is something else.

  Resignation.

  Disappointment.

  A hopeless heart.

  The king’s eyes are cautious as he watches me approach his throne. Does he see the sobriety in my movements? In my face?

  I sway a little on my feet, unwilling to let him know he doesn’t have the advantage. “If I do what I must to fulfill my part of our bargain, you will be true to yours?” I ask.

  His eyes glow so brightly the silver looks almost white. Gree
dy. “Yes.”

  My eyes flick to the throne he never sits in. The throne that denies him its power as long as he doesn’t wear the crown.

  “This can all be over by sunrise,” he promises me. “The ceremony is simple. We choose a rune, we say a few words, and I have the Potion of Life waiting.”

  In my dream, Lark told me to remember our bargain. She said that Mordeus would be true to it. What were the words of our bargain, precisely? Return the artifacts to him and . . . no. Not to him. I’d specifically twisted his original offer on some hunch that his court was more worthy than he was.

  Once the three artifacts are returned to my court where they belong, I will send your sister back to a location of your choice in the human realm.

  Where they belong.

  I take a step toward the dais and then another. “The Grimoricon has been returned to its rightful place in the Unseelie Court,” I say.

  Mordeus’s greedy eyes dilate with excitement. “Yes.”

  I offer him the mirror. “And this? Where does it belong?”

  He snaps his fingers, and it floats from my hand through the air to a glass case behind the throne.

  “Now all that needs to be returned to the court is Oberon’s crown,” I say, my heart racing. “But I am not going to die today.”

  He opens his palm, offering me that pile of runes again. “You will make a beautiful faerie, but we must complete the bonding ceremony first. Otherwise, the potion won’t work.”

  I lift my skirts and climb the three steps of the dais.

  Mordeus beams at me. “Good girl.”

  Drawing in a breath, I offer a prayer to the gods above and below that I am right about this. Then I make a quarter turn away from the false king and take a seat on the Throne of Shadows.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  THE POWER OF THE THRONE and the crown and the court pumps through me.

  The crown has been returned to its rightful place in the Court of the Moon.

  Mordeus’s eyes go wide. He steps back and stumbles down the stairs. “What have you done?”