Master of Shadows

by E. A. Copen

  Finn didn’t know many high ranking fae in any of the courts. Politics wasn’t really his thing. But he did know of Sir Ethan Foxglove, who was undefeated in single combat, who had commanded the armies of Summer and led them to victory over the invading Shadow forces, who worked for Death himself. If Braes had two brain cells to rub together, he’d quickly realize challenging Foxglove to a duel was suicide.

  Braes sneered and stepped aside. “I’ll be taking this up with their majesties. You can bet they won’t look favorably on your beloved queen or your king. Don’t think just because you’ve got royal blood anyone will stick their necks out for you in the High Court, traitor.” He spat on the floor between them. “I’ll have your head before this is all over.”

  “You’ll have to find your courage first, Sir Braes. You seem to have misplaced it.” Foxglove gestured to his men who rushed up the stairs to grab Finn. Then he bent over, tugging a handkerchief from his pocket, and gingerly wrapped it around the topaz. “This seems to be in one piece,” he said, offering it to Braes.

  Braes snarled and grabbed it away from Foxglove.

  Finn’s heart sank. Now he would never get the bloody thing.

  The Summer fae wrapped a braided rope around Finn’s wrists. It must’ve had iron in it because the moment it touched his skin, a blinding wave of nausea washed over him, and he almost lost his footing. His skin sizzled against the rope and though he could feel his magic was still there, it was suddenly out of reach. There’d be no jumping through shadows for him so long as that rope was around his wrists.

  Braes glared at him, seething, as the Summer fae led him down from the platform. “This isn’t over, thief. We’ll get you eventually, and when we do, I’ll tie the iron noose around your neck personally.”

  Finn winced. So long as they stayed in Faerie, fae couldn’t die unless specific conditions were met. Iron could kill them, but only if they were stabbed with it as Oonagh had been. Strangulation by iron noose was a barbaric punishment. It wouldn’t kill him. Instead, he’d hang in a state of constant suffocation and agony until they decided to cut him down. Most fae sentenced to hang by iron noose pleaded for exile to Earth or death instead. It’d been outlawed in every kingdom—except for among the high fae. Just his luck that’s who he’d decided to rob.

  Foxglove grabbed him by the shoulder as soon as he was within reach.

  “Thanks for the rescue.” Finn grinned at him.

  “Rescue?” Foxglove snorted. “You may change your mind. What Queen Remy has in mind for you may be far worse than the iron noose.”

  Finn gulped and glanced back at Sir Braes. Nothing was worse than the iron noose, was it?

  Chapter Two

  “We’ve captured him,” Cian announced.

  Queen Remy let her fingertips rest on the cool stone of the Summer Palace overlooking the garden below where a child of six chased a blue-winged butterfly. Surrounded by bright petals and lush greenery, the child barely noticed the walls that held her prisoner. Armed guards lined the perimeter, keeping her under watch. The chances such a small fae would be dangerous were slim to none, but it wasn’t a risk she was willing to take, not with one of the Shadow fae.

  “Your Majesty?” Cian’s oversized jowls loomed at the edge of her vision.

  “I heard you.” Her words came out more irritated than she meant, betraying her worry. She sighed and smoothed her hands over her blue gown. “Was there any trouble?”

  Cian straightened and folded one arm against his chest, making a fist. “Sir Foxglove refused to give me his report. Said he would speak only to you, as he was acting on your orders. He’s completely out of line, especially since he no longer serves this court. Your Majesty, if I may—”

  Remy turned away from the garden wall to face her advisor of foreign affairs. “You may not, Cian. I am aware of your opinions concerning Sir Foxglove.”

  “Not just my opinion, Majesty. The entire council is concerned. The favoritism you’ve shown Foxglove, King Lazarus, and the entire Court of Miracles is... unseemly.”

  “The rest of the council can speak for itself.” Her new visitor was a head shorter than Cian and considerably thinner, which wasn’t difficult. His hair had long ago turned white, despite his fae blood, and the scruffy beard that covered the lower half of his face had more silver than black these days.

  “Sir Malcom!” Remy smiled and extended her hands to her military advisor. “You made it back safely. How long have you been back?”

  Sir Malcom returned the warm smile and squeezed her hand. “We returned only just now, and not a moment too soon, it seems.”

  Cian bristled and frowned at the exchange of warmth. “Sir Malcom. We didn’t expect you back for another three days at least. How did your expedition into Shadow fare?”

  The knight’s warm expression sobered, prompting Remy’s heart to drop. He shook his head. “We were unable to progress, even with fire. The darkness is too thick, and the land teaming with the black infectious material. The first night we made camp, two of my men disappeared and the others swore they could hear their comrades calling to them in the darkness. I took to tying some of the most insistent men to the wagon to prevent them from wandering off.”

  Remy muttered a mild curse and turned her back to her advisors, focusing again on the child in the garden below. They had lost more than a dozen troops on Sir Malcom’s expeditions into Shadow. There was no stopping the blight creeping into Summer from Shadow, not with fire, not with magic, and not with swords. In a few short days, the blight had spread from the southern fields and choked the life out of the Great Forest. Now, it threatened the heart of Summer’s farmlands. If left unchecked, it would find its way into the palace by the end of next month. They had to find the source of the blight and destroy it or all of Summer would be doomed. And they would have to do it quickly.

  “There’s been no news out of Shadow either,” Cian continued. “And with the High Court threatening to close their borders, it seems unlikely that we will get any news from them. Winter is an uneasy ally at best. The Court of Miracles has promised us aid, but we have yet to see that promise manifest into anything substantial. It would seem we are on our own in this endeavor against the darkness, My Queen.”

  Movement in the courtyard caught her attention. Sir Foxglove rode through the gates on his white horse followed by the four fae he had taken with him, plus one more.

  Remy smiled and gathered the hem of her dress. “Not entirely.” She spun around. “Cian, have Sir Foxglove and his captive brought to me here.”

  Cian’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “Here? To your personal chambers? I hardly think that’s proper.”

  Sir Malcom folded his hands behind his back and eyed the larger man. “The last time I checked, you were the queen’s foreign advisor, not her guardian. We serve at Her Majesty’s pleasure, Advisor Cian. But perhaps it’s too taxing a task for a man of your...grandeur.” He smiled. “Shall I fetch Sir Foxglove, Majesty? These old bones could use the exercise.”

  Cian’s cheeks turned red. “Now see here! The queen gave the order to me, and I shall see it through. I was only expressing my concern for how such an action might be perceived.”

  Remy smiled. “It will only be perceived by those present, Cian. Unless someone intends to send word to the other monarchs behind my back, of course. But that would be treason, and I would be forced to execute the offender. I’m certain all my advisors are trustworthy, aren’t you, Cian?”

  “Absolutely, Your Majesty!” Cian dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief, made a sweeping bow, and rushed from the balcony.

  Malcom eyed his hasty retreat. “I don’t trust him, My Queen. That fat fool is up to something.”

  “If he is, then it’s better to keep him close until we have proof, wouldn’t you say?” She turned her back to the knight and spread her fingers over the stone again.

  The girl below had given up her chase of the butterfly and found a patch of pink daisies. She was too busy crafting a da
isy chain to notice all the commotion outside the garden, for which Remy was thankful. If the girl spotted her brother, she might attempt a rescue. Remy’s spies claimed Auryn O’Leary didn’t share her brother’s Spellweaving abilities, but one could never be too careful when dealing with the Shadow fae.

  Sir Malcom joined her at the edge of the balcony, watching Finn make his way toward the tower under guard. “Do you think he’ll do it?”

  “We have his sister.”

  “And you think he cares what happens to her?”

  She couldn’t expect Malcom or any other fae to understand. In Faerie, familial bonds were considered weak. Parent-child and sibling relationships were transitory and lasted a relatively short period of time for the long-lived fae, while marriages and alliances could extend for centuries. The average fae brother wouldn’t consider his younger sibling any sort of collateral. After all, he might have hundreds of brothers and sisters born over the years. Losing one meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.

  Finn and his sister had been living on Earth, and their bond more closely resembled the other human bonds she’d witnessed. Remy might not have had any siblings, but she did have a human father, and her father would’ve brought her the moon if it kept her safe. Finn would do the same for Auryn.

  But just in case, she had arranged to sweeten the pot.

  “If the sister isn’t enough,” she said, leaning forward, “then we will appeal to his greed. He stole the Truth Stone from the Winter court, and rumor has it he was apprehended attempting to make off with the Royal Stone. Only one Speaking Stone remains.”

  Malcom frowned. “Rumors concerning the whereabouts of the Mastery Stone are unsubstantiated. We don’t know for certain where it is.”

  “Yes, but he doesn’t know that.”

  “And what happens if he makes it all the way there only to find out we’ve tricked him? Do not underestimate this man, My Queen. He is a Spellweaver and a Shadow fae. He could hurt you in ways no one else can.”

  She smiled at Malcom. “That’s why I keep men like you and Foxglove around, Sir Malcom. To protect me.”

  The knight hesitantly returned her smile and nodded his agreement, but even Remy knew that if Finn truly wanted to hurt her, not even the best knight could stop him.

  Chapter Three

  Officially, Finn had never been inside the Summer Palace before. The last time he’d had any dealings with Summer, he was Winter’s prisoner. The Winter Queen was a basket case. She’d once been the knight and overthrown her own queen, something that she should never have been able to do. Then again, when fae royalty went mad, they were capable of all sorts of things. Finn knew that better than anyone.

  Finn shuddered as Foxglove led him through the narrow stone corridor toward the tower stairs. Memories of the torture Queen Noelle had put him through had kept him awake at night for weeks. Though his body had recovered quickly, he still sometimes thought he was back there, in the Winter Queen’s icy dungeons, being repeatedly impaled with icicles. Maybe there were worse things than the iron noose after all.

  The stone stairs curved and seemed to go on forever. He’d never known a throne room to be at the top of the tower, which meant Queen Remy was likely receiving him in her private chambers. Foxglove had brought him in through the rear entrance too. There could be only one reason for that: she didn’t want everyone on the palace grounds to know he was there.

  Might be too late for that, he mused and picked up the pace. A crowd of angry people had gathered at the rear gate, which meant there was probably an even larger crowd at the main gate. They’d tried to force their way into the palace behind Foxglove’s men. If the queen wasn’t careful, she’d have a peasant revolt on her hands. He wondered if it was because she was only half-fae, or because she’d burned their homes that they wanted to kill her. Either way, he didn’t expect she’d be in power much longer. It seemed the crowns were always changing hands.

  A small hallway waited at the top of the stairs with only three doors. Foxglove escorted him to the one furthest from the stairs where two sentries stood guard. They waited for Foxglove to unbuckle his sword belt and hand over his weapons before opening the door.

  Finn gave Foxglove a long look. “The Summer Queen must be getting paranoid if she doesn’t allow you to carry weapons in her presence.”

  “Get in.” Foxglove scowled and pushed him through the door.

  The room waiting beyond was the very definition of extravagant. Velvet reclining couches sat atop an ornate, hand-woven rug with golden tassels. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, each one with several layers of unlit candles. Lace dripped from the windows and pooled elegantly on the floor next to ivory columns with tasteful ivy. Priceless art hung on the walls. Well, perhaps priceless to most fae, but Finn was certain he could get a few million dollars off the closest painting alone.

  Foxglove marched for the mezzanine where a blonde-haired man waited. This second fae still held onto his sword. The Summer Knight maybe? No, that couldn’t be. He’d heard a rumor that the Summer Queen was refusing to name a knight for some reason. If not him, then who was he? And how did a queen function without a knight anyway?

  The blonde stepped away from the mezzanine railing to intercept them. “Sir Foxglove.” There was a hint of something in his voice, tension between the two of them that made the blonde unsure of his footing.

  Foxglove inclined his head. “Sir Malcom. How did your expedition go?”

  Malcom sighed. “Not well, I’m afraid. How is it outside?”

  “You mean the mob at the gate?” Finn shifted in the iron handcuffs, wishing he could get one hand free to scratch an itch.

  Foxglove frowned. “I’d hardly call it a mob. Mobs are usually armed.”

  “Didn’t know that was a requirement.” Finn shrugged. “Whatever the case, they’re pissed off. It’s a powder keg out there. One spark and...” He mimicked an explosion with his hands.

  “Should’ve brought a gag,” said Foxglove.

  Malcom didn’t seem amused either. “Her Majesty is in a particular mood. Cian was just with her.”

  Foxglove tugged on his jacket. “That’d put anyone in a bad mood. I keep waiting to catch him alone on one of his famed midnight walks on the walls. It’d be quite a fall from one of them. Wouldn’t kill him, of course, but a temporary dislocation of his jaw wouldn’t be such a terrible thing with as many council meetings as she’s called of late.”

  “About that...” Malcom’s eyes flicked to Finn and back to Foxglove.

  So, Finn thought, we’ve finally come to the uncomfortable topic Malcom doesn’t want to discuss with Foxglove. This should be good.

  Foxglove raised a hand. “I know what you want to say. It isn’t my place to attend those meetings, a fact I am fully aware of. As the servant of a foreign power, I realize it’s highly unusual. But I have been named Summer’s ambassador to Earth, and traditionally such ambassadors have had a seat on the council.”

  “Traditionally, such ambassadors have not been knights for a fledgling court.” Malcom placed a hand on Foxglove’s shoulder and lowered his voice. “She won’t listen to me, and I know you don’t want to hurt her, but for her own good Remy must name a knight. Please urge her to do so, Foxglove. I fear you’re the only one she’ll listen to.”

  “I will speak to her about it,” Foxglove promised. “For now, I’d like to deal with my prisoner.”

  Finn shrugged. “Oh, don’t mind me. You guys are actually about to bore me to sleep with all your court politics.”

  Sir Malcom opened the door. “Yes, the sooner he’s dealt with, the better for all of us.”

  Foxglove and Malcom led Finn out onto a veranda with more columns and ivory. Someone had thought to bring up a large chair and placed it next to a small table where tea had been laid out.

  Queen Remy sat in the chair like a throne. The last time Finn had seen her, she’d received him in a forest wearing a gown that seemed tailor made for battle. The look she’d chosen for this meet
ing was much milder: a dress the color of the clear sky made of fabric so thin it was barely there. She wore her long, dark hair in heavy curls that fell around her breasts, allowing her the illusion of modesty. Her crown was a delicate weave of silver leaves and polished emeralds.

  Foxglove’s step hesitated at the sight of her. Finn would’ve missed a step too if he had room to take another. She’d been beautiful the last time, but this new visage of the Summer Queen was gorgeous, if a little revealing. The queens had always been a bit scandalous though.

  Finn let out a long, low whistle. “Damn, would you look at that view?”

  Sir Malcom struck him in the back of the head.

  “Ow, what was that for?” Finn turned on him only to find the knight smiling.

  “Thought I saw a fly on your head, son. My mistake.”

  “My Queen.” Foxglove went down to one knee. “I’ve brought the Spellweaver as you commanded.”

  “Spellweaver?” Finn frowned at the queen. So that’s what this was all about.

  “You are a Spellweaver, yes?” Queen Remy pushed herself up from the throne, rising slowly, every movement decisive and meant to draw attention. Not that Finn could manage not to look. Looking was still free.

  Finn glanced at Foxglove and Malcom. “I might be. Not sure why it matters to you though. Shadow and Summer have been enemies for years. Even if I was, I’m under obligation not to assist my court’s mortal enemies.”

  “As if you have anything resembling honor and loyalty,” Foxglove growled. “My Queen, when we arrived, the High Court was in the process of apprehending him. He had attempted to steal the Royal Stone. It was safely returned to Queen Oonagh’s sarcophagus, but Sir Braes resisted handing the prisoner over.”

  Remy turned and picked up the teapot, pouring herself a steaming cup of tea. “Did it come to swords?”

  “It did not,” Foxglove continued. “But the High Court may be hostile for some time. It may be wise to make a gesture of goodwill.”