Shades of Darkness

by Alexandra Ivy

  Inga sat on her throne, her stupid crown digging into her scalp and the Tryshu tightly clutched in her fingers.

  Beside her, Troy was standing with negligent ease, his red hair shimmering down his back and his lean body covered in a green velvet jumpsuit with sequins at the hem. In contrast, Inga wore a tie-dye muumuu in brilliant shades of purple and pink. The shocking contrast in colors had caused Rimm to wince, but his grim expression never changed as he led in the two heavily shackled guards.

  Jord and Riza looked different from the last time she’d seen them. Both had their long hair hanging loose around their pale faces. Their tight braids had been yanked free to check for hidden weapons. And while they had on their armor, they’d both been stripped of their tridents.

  They’d also been stripped of their arrogance, although Inga suspected it lurked just beneath their pretense of confused innocence.

  “Your Majesty.” Jord took the lead. No surprise. Troy had already warned her that he was the leader of the disloyal duo. “I don’t understand what is happening.”

  “You kneel when you speak to your queen.” Rimm whipped his trident through the air, hitting the two males on the backs of their legs to send them to their knees.

  “Very tidy,” Troy drawled. “I might need one of those.”

  “Tridents are the weapon of the mer-folk, not the common fey,” Jord snapped.

  “Watch your tongue, Jord, before I cut it out.”

  With a careless grace, Troy produced a dagger with a long, wicked blade. Inga arched a brow. Where had that come from? The jumpsuit the imp was wearing was so tight she would have sworn he couldn’t have so much as a toothpick under it.

  Deciding it was best not to ask, Inga regretfully shook her head. “Not yet, Troy.” She turned her gaze back to the kneeling mermen. “Not until I have the truth from these traitors.”

  “Traitors? Never,” Jord protested in an overly loud voice, glaring at Troy. “Whatever the imp has told you is lies.”

  Troy used the tip of his dagger to clean beneath his nails. The silver blade flashed with a lethal glint in the light from the overhead chandelier.

  “So you weren’t in the dungeons together discussing your plot to release Brigette and gain control of the Tryshu?” Troy asked.

  Jord forced a humorless laugh. “How could we possibly gain control of the Tryshu? Its magic is too strong to be broken.”

  “Riven proved that there are ways to manipulate the magic if you’re without morals,” Inga reminded the fool.

  Anger darkened Jord’s blue eyes. He obviously didn’t like being reminded Riven had never been the true king, but he was smart enough to keep his prejudiced opinion to himself. Instead he lifted his hand and pressed it against his chest.

  “I swear I have no means to manipulate the Tryshu,” he said, grimacing at the loud rattle from the chains that were attached to his wrists. “Besides, you saw me in this throne room when the prisoner burst in. How could I possibly have been involved? The imp is trying to turn you against your own people with his impossible stories of betrayal.”

  The doors to the throne room opened and a mermaid entered. She was wearing the armor of the royal guards with her golden hair pulled into a tight braid. Her pale eyes sought out Troy, a silent message passing between them before she halted next to Rimm.

  “Your Majesty, this is Koral, one of the guards who was on duty the same time the prisoner escaped,” the captain introduced the female.

  Inga frowned. “I thought the two outer guards were knocked unconscious?”

  “We were, Your Majesty, but Troy asked me to investigate the hidden tunnel he witnessed Jord using to enter the dungeons,” she explained.

  Inga sent the imp a questioning glance. He shrugged, his expression unreadable.

  “Hidden tunnels? That’s absurd,” Jord protested. “I know nothing about hidden tunnels.”

  Inga ignored the idiot. “Did you investigate?”

  Koral nodded. “Yes, I followed it to a rarely used corridor.”

  Inga leaned forward, sensing the tension that vibrated around the female. “Is there more?”

  “Yes. It was just a short distance from the passage used by the Were to enter this throne room.”

  “You see, it couldn’t have been me,” Jord burst out in triumphant tones. “I was already here when she entered.”

  Koral surprisingly sent her fellow guard a glare of pure disgust as she lifted her hand to reveal a thin piece of metal that she held in her fingers.

  “I also found this.”

  Rimm gasped. Confused by his reaction, Inga studied the metal, belatedly noticing the faint shimmer of the scale-shaped object.

  “It’s from the armor of a royal guard,” she muttered.

  “It could belong to anyone,” Jord insisted. “It’s probably been there for decades. Maybe centuries.”

  He had a point, but before Inga could demand to inspect it more closely, Troy gave a wave of his hand.

  Instantly Koral moved until she stood directly behind the kneeling Riza. Then, with a solemn expression, she leaned down to place the scale on an empty place in the male’s armor.

  A shocked silence filled the throne room. Obviously Riza hadn’t realized that he’d lost a scale during his travels through the hidden tunnels. But Troy had noticed. And he’d sent the mermaid in search of it.

  Very clever, Inga silently acknowledged.

  If either Troy or Inga had found the scale, the guards would have simply accused them of planting it to pin the crimes on them. No one could doubt Koral’s loyalty to the mer-folk.

  “A perfect fit,” Inga said in cold tones. “How do you explain that, Riza?”

  The younger male paled to a strange shade of gray. “It wasn’t me. I was in the dungeon on guard duty.” He turned his head, sending Koral a pleading glance. “You saw me.”

  She folded her arms over her chest. “I saw you before we were knocked out, but when we woke up you were gone.”

  “Because I was looking for the prisoner,” Riza said, his voice raising several octaves as he tried to convince them of his innocence.

  Rimm shook his head. “I’ve interviewed over a hundred mer-folk who were in the hallways at the time of the prisoner’s escape,” he told his guard. “Not one of them saw the Were, or you.”

  Riza’s face turned a grayer shade of gray. The weird color emphasized the fear in his eyes.

  “It’s a mistake. I…” He stammered to a halt, glancing to the side in desperation. “Jord. Tell them it’s a mistake.”

  The leader of the dunce squad refused to glance at his partner in crime. Instead, a cunning expression settled on his narrow face.

  “I don’t know what he’s talking about,” he assured Inga. “He told me he was unconscious in the dungeons when the prisoner escaped. If he lied, it has nothing to do with me.”

  “You bastard.” With a choked curse, Riza surged upright, pointing toward Jord. “It was him. It was all his idea to release the prisoner.”

  At Inga’s side, Troy flipped the dagger end over end, chuckling as the two guards exchanged malevolent glares.

  “What did I tell you?” he murmured. “No honor among thieves. Or traitors.”

  * * * *

  While Basq battled her aunt, Chaaya had stayed in the background, waiting for her opportunity to strike. She didn’t know how to hurt Greta, but she suspected the magic of the spear would wound her. First, however, she needed to get close enough to sink the thing into her back.

  Cautiously circling, she watched as Basq used his fangs to slice open Greta’s throat. She assumed that was her opening. But even as she rushed forward, her aunt moved with that shocking speed. Worse, her wound knitted together as if it was nothing more than a scratch.

  What the hell was she?

  And how did they kill her?

 
She hesitated a second too long and a dark form surged past her. Basq. She started to race after him, but Greta waved her arm and suddenly the vampire was floating off the ground heading directly for the fire.

  “You will take me home, Chaaya. Or I drop the vampire,” Greta warned.

  Terror blasted through her. Basq had always seemed invincible. Like a mountain. Solid and utterly indestructible. Now the stark realization that he was a breath from being destroyed ripped through her with a jagged fear.

  “Basq.”

  Chaaya started forward only to be snapped to a halt as the same bonds that held Basq wrapped around her. A frustrated scream ripped from her throat as she glared at her aunt.

  Wait.

  She frowned as she realized that Greta wasn’t moving. It wasn’t like she was simply concentrating on holding Basq with her magic. Or smirking at her ability to hold Chaaya captive.

  No. It was like she’d been frozen in place. Along with Basq. Even the flames were static.

  What fresh hell was this? Chaaya furiously struggled to break free, but it was impossible. She was stuck.

  “Easy, Chaaya,” a soft female voice pleaded.

  “Who…” Chaaya tumbled forward as the bonds around her suddenly loosened. Swiftly regaining her balance, she spun around, her spear in her hand as she studied the intruder who was stepping out of one of the huts. Shock jolted through her as she caught sight of the features that were eerily similar to her own. For a crazed second she thought Greta had somehow managed to duplicate herself, like a doppelganger. Then she noticed the narrow golden crown on top of the woman’s long, glossy black hair and the simple white gown that fell to her bare feet. “Mother?”

  The woman nodded, moving forward. “Yes.”

  Shaken to her very soul, Chaaya backed away. “No. This is just another trick.”

  “Not this time,” her mother assured her, her eyes dark with a wistful yearning.

  Chaaya stubbornly shook her head. “You’re not here.”

  Keyrah spread her arms. “Only in spirit. My body was returned to the earth centuries ago.”

  Chaaya paused, forcing herself to study the woman. Her memories were vague, but the intruder looked like her mother. More importantly, she smelled like her mother.

  The faint hints of rosemary and ginger laced the air, bringing unexpected tears to Chaaya’s eyes.

  “What’s going on?” Her words came out as a soft plea.

  Her mother cautiously stepped toward Chaaya, her features twisted into a haunted expression.

  “Oh, daughter, how my heart has longed to see you again.”

  Chaaya squared her shoulders, shaking off her weird sense of unreality. If this truly was Keyrah, then she’d deliberately allowed the witches to take Chaaya from her bed, haul her to the burrow, and slit her throat. Not the sort of thing that created a warm and fuzzy mother/daughter reunion.

  “Yeah, right,” she muttered.

  The woman faltered, her hand pressing against the center of her chest. “It’s true, although I know it must be hard for you to believe me.”

  “Try impossible.”

  Keyrah glanced away, but not before Chaaya caught the immense sadness in her eyes.

  “I’m afraid my time here is limited, so I can’t convince you of my sincerity,” she said, her voice not entirely steady. “I can only reveal why I made the decisions that caused us both such pain.”

  Chaaya snorted. “Both?”

  She held up a slender hand. “Please, just listen, Chaaya. You are in great danger.”

  Chaaya wanted to argue. Hell, she wanted to throw herself on the ground and pound her fists like a child having a temper tantrum. Instead, she forced herself to glance over her shoulder to where Basq hung over the frozen flames.

  This wasn’t the time to try and punish her mother for the decisions she’d made centuries ago. She had to find out what was happening. And more importantly, find out how she could free Basq and get the hell out of there.

  “Fine. I’m listening.”

  Keyrah waited until Chaaya glanced back at her before she began to speak.

  “I was very young when our high priestess became ill. Barely eighteen. At the time it was expected Greta would take her place.”

  Chaaya squashed her flare of impatience. After endless decades of pretending not to care why her mother would choose to offer her as the sacrifice, she had the opportunity to discover the truth.

  She had to know.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Adryn called me to her hut,” her mother said, presumably referring to the previous leader. “I thought she needed me to help with her dinner. Or perhaps read to her as she rested. Instead she told me…”

  “Told you what?”

  Keyrah grimaced. “That she suspected she’d been poisoned.”

  “Couldn’t she heal herself?” Chaaya asked in confusion. “I thought druid priestesses were impervious to poisons?”

  “She should have been able to,” Keyrah agreed. “The fact she couldn’t meant that the poison had been laced with magic that made it lethal to a druid.”

  “A demon?”

  Keyrah’s gaze drifted toward the firepit where Greta stood as still as a statue, presumably wrapped in Keyrah’s magic.

  “She told me that she suspected Greta.”

  Chaaya wasn’t surprised. Her aunt seemed like the sort of woman who would happily poison people for fun, but she assumed her aunt had a specific reason.

  “Why would Greta murder the head priestess?”

  “To take her place.” Keyrah deliberately turned so she could no longer see her sister. “Greta was the obvious successor. Instead Adryn placed the crown on my head.”

  “I doubt that made Greta happy,” Chaaya said dryly.

  “She was furious.”

  Chaaya smiled wryly. When Greta had been telling her tragic tale of fleeing her home, she’d left out the detail that she happened to be a murderous bitch.

  “Is that when you forced her out of the village?”

  “No. I didn’t want to believe my own sister could have such evil in her heart.” There was no missing the self-disgust in Keyrah’s voice. “I allowed her to remain, although I’ll confess I wasn’t unhappy when she chose to isolate herself from the rest of us. Her…unhappiness was a blight on the village.”

  “She said she took care of me.”

  “Never.” The older woman shook her head in horror. “I allowed her to remain, but my trust had been shattered. You were too precious for me to risk.”

  Precious? Chaaya released a sharp laugh. “Is that a joke?”

  Chapter 23

  Keyrah flinched, as if Chaaya had reached out to slap her across the face. Then, sucking in a deep breath, the woman pressed her hands together. To keep them from shaking?

  “Do you know what happens when one becomes head priestess?” she asked Chaaya.

  Chaaya shrugged, trying to ignore her faint pang of guilt. What the hell did she have to feel guilty about? She wasn’t the one who went around sacrificing daughters.

  “You get a crown and people start bowing to you?” she asked in flippant tones.

  “There is that, but during the passing of the crown, the priestess is given a vision,” Keyrah told her.

  “What sort of vision?”

  “It’s different for each priestess,” she admitted. “Some are warned of natural disasters or of plagues that are destined to spread through the land.”

  Bleak. If Chaaya had a vision, she’d want it to be filled with upcoming lotto numbers. Or Keanu Reeves in the shower.

  “What was yours?” she asked.

  “Utter destruction.”

  “Of the village?”

  “Of the world.”

  “Bummer,” she muttered.

  “It was
…overwhelming.” Keyrah wrapped her arms around her waist as if there was a sudden chill in the air. “I could see the evil spreading through the land. I could even smell the death and destruction.”

  “Was it the beast?”

  “Yes.”

  Chaaya considered her mother’s revelations. It hadn’t occurred to her that there’d been an early warning system to send out alarms about the incoming tide of evil.

  “Was the destruction connected to the druids?”

  “No, it was a threat to the entire world.” Her mother shivered. “Humans, demons, witches, and druids. We would all have been devoured by the deluge of evil.”

  A similar shiver raced through Chaaya. She didn’t have to have visions or try to imagine what it would be like to be exposed to the beast’s evil. She’d actually been trapped in the hell dimension with the creature.

  She shook away the memory, concentrating on her mother. “You were eighteen when you had the vision?”

  “I was.”

  Chaaya grimaced. She didn’t want to feel sorry for this woman. Still, it couldn’t be fun to be a teenager with visions of Armageddon dancing in your head.

  “Did the vision show you how to halt the beast?”

  “I was shown you. My daughter. And then…” Her words died on her lips as she stared at Chaaya in helpless regret.

  Chaaya lifted her hand to draw her finger across her throat. “This?”

  Tears shimmered her Keyrah’s dark eyes. “I wanted to scrub the image from my mind. How could any mother sacrifice her own daughter?”

  “But you did.”

  Keyrah lifted her hands, almost as if she intended to reach out and touch Chaaya. Then, seeing Chaaya flinch back, she let them drop to her sides.

  “The vision was seared into my soul,” she said, a stark horror in each word. “I dreamed of it each night. I knew I would condemn the world to destruction if I didn’t fulfill my destiny.”

  Chaaya turned away, staring at the empty huts. She could almost see the images of white-robed women moving through the village, the sound of their light laughter echoing through the air.

  The women who depended on her mother for their protection.

  “So you went to town and got yourself pregnant?” She tried to make the words teasing. Instead they came out like a croak.