Shadow Cursed: A Noblesse Oblige Duet Book Two Page 12

  "An arranged marriage? I thought you didn't believe in them. I thought you said I was too weak for the sea."

  He tilted his head. "I may have been mistaken, when it comes to you. But a child raised in the sea will be one of us. And you aren’t arranging a thing. Give me the child. The rest is up to me."

  My ears are boiling.

  I'm bargaining my unborn children? I feel sick.

  But truth is, without his help, I may not have any child at all. I could die with the rest of Tenebris, fading with the light at the next sunset.

  “Why the third?” I may never have three children. Plenty of fae aren’t blessed with even one, in all their years.

  He grins, and shrugs. "I'm leaving you with an heir and a spare, landling. As I said, I'm not entirely heartless."

  I would laugh if I could. "Not entirely. Just mostly."

  The prince of the sea offers his hand.

  I have no choice but to take it.

  The Price

  Vlari

  My limbs are lighter and stronger on the way back, and the water that worked against me pushes me forward. When I forget to emerge for a longer time than should have been possible, I finally notice that I don't need to. I don't need to breathe.

  “You and I shall be allies,” Lind had said, and he'd meant it.

  I just have to hope it'll be worth it, despite the price I have to pay.

  When I finally reach Whitecroft harbor, I freeze in shock.

  Every single one of the seven halls built to house the courts has been destroyed. Whitecroft Hall stands alone and is entirely surrounded.

  No. No, no, no, no. Mother, Father, Mera, Drusk.

  Panic threatens to overwhelm my senses, cripple me. I swallow it, forcing myself to focus. I need to get into Whitecroft. Tired as I am, I don't want to risk attempting to force my way through—I can't hope to use magic against thousands and thousands of humans without someone managing to plant a dagger or an arrow in my chest.

  My wings are tired; I can't count on their speed either.

  I assess the rest of my abilities, and come up short. I don't think I can sass them into letting me get through.

  But there's something else…

  I've only been able to access it once, instinctively, without meaning to. Ten years ago, when Drusk was under duress at Hardrock, I did manage to blend into his Myst and appear close to him.

  I'd be hard-pressed to tell exactly how. I was running, a sense of dread in the pit of my stomach telling me I needed to be elsewhere, or something terrible was going to happen. I entirely gave into that feeling, letting it consume me.

  Right now, I'm managing my fear. Back then, I wasn't. I let it claim me.

  I've changed in ten years. I may not have moved a single muscle, but my mind has grown, evolved, mostly because of my ability to think through things before I act. To talk myself out of irrational fear or panic.

  For a moment, I need to revert to the old Vlari. The one who'd be crying, in pieces. The one who doesn't control anything at all.

  My mother might be dead.

  My father might be dead.

  The few friends I have? Gone.

  Drusk, my mate? Destroyed before he was even truly mine.

  I let in fear and darkness, till I find it hard to breathe.

  They need me. They need me. They need me now.

  I feel the Myst caress my skin, wrap around me, and the next instant, I'm standing in the middle of the assembly hall Ciera converted into a throne room, my wet clothes soaking the white stone floor.

  There's chaos all around me. The hall is packed. Mothers cry, hugging fae children, lords scream to the queen standing next to the throne, begging her to do something, anything. Attack, retreat, call for negotiations. At the windows, our archers launch volley after volley of arrows, and though each hits the mark, they barely make a dent in the pack of mortals attacking us.

  Ciera stares in the distance, her green eyes cold. She's lost, powerless, and unable to deal with the pressure on her shoulders.

  I barely pay her any attention, my eyes on one of the men next to her. Drusk. He's here. He's fine. So are my father and grandfather, but I don't even see them at first.

  His eyes directly find me, and remain on me, as he gasps.

  I cut through the thick pack, doing my damnedest to make my way to them.

  Gradually, the shouting and crying fade, and in their place, I hear whispers.

  My name. They're calling my name.

  The crowd parts to let me through, and Drusk descends from the dais. I practically fall in his arms. He wraps them around me, tight enough to hurt, but I welcome it. Too soon, he lets me go. I rush to my mother's side. She opens her arms, too, but that's one embrace I can do without.

  I get the leather pouch at my belt, making the stones inside jiggle. "I have the water stones. Do you have fire?"

  Eyes wide, she nods and strides toward the back room, waving at us to follow.

  "How did you get in?" Drusk asks, as he walks—and I trot—after her.

  Where should I even start? "Long story. Did the salamander get the fire stone?"

  He winces in response. "That's also a long story, but one you need to hear. Ash deserted. They made a deal to get their court back, and left us to die."

  I have no words. After all I've done to get the water stone, it was for nothing?

  "We have one salamander. He was wounded, but managed one stone. He's resting now."

  I squint, immediately suspicious. Drusk reads my expression. "I felt the same way, but he swore fealty to the crown. He's with us. Now, we have to hope the hag's spell was accurate."

  We've reached my mother's quarters. Her study is similar to the one she had in our home, the Court of Mist—filled with books and art.

  Meda is standing in front of a table. At first, sensing an approach, she pulls a dagger and moves into a protective stance, but she recognizes us and lowers her weapon before stepping aside.

  There are four stones on the table: an earth, fire, and air stone, next to the heart of Tenebris. I pluck a water stone out of my pouch and hand it to her.

  "How did you get that many, girl? I sense a considerable amount of power in these, too," Meda says, visibly impressed.

  I can't remember a day when she ever was impressed with me.

  "Lind," I reply, leaving it at that.

  Drusk stiffens next to me. "What did he want for it?"

  I'm not going into that now. "Nothing I wasn't willing to give." Reluctantly. "What was the exact spell, again?"

  "Tears of enemies, blood of friends, and a sacrifice of one the caster loves needs to be done and buried along with four elemental stones—water, earth, fire, and air. The caster needs to hold a power stone, and think about the territory they wish to shield. It has to be a territory that belongs to her—as high queen, Ciera can cast it over all of Tenebris. Right?" Alven checks with Drusk, who nods.

  Silence falls around us. We have every element now. The implication is no less daunting.

  Because my mother needs to choose who she will bury along with the stones.

  "Drusk, do you think you could get me one of the humans from outside? I don't suppose it'll be too difficult to make them cry."

  He hesitates, glancing down to me.

  Ciera catches his look. "You may take my daughter, if you wish. She won't need to be part of this conversation."

  In short, she isn't picking me.

  Which means that she is going to have to kill one of the others. My father. Her father. My father's mother. The three people she loves most.

  "I'll stay," I tell Drusk.

  I need to be here for my mother.

  He holds my gaze, but ends up nodding, before disappearing in a cloud of Myst.

  "I believe," Alven says evenly, stepping forward, "that how you should proceed is quite clear, daughter."

  Meda nods. "Yes, it is. I'm the least useful among us. It should be me."

  She holds her head up proudly.
<
br />   I question my impulse to remain in this room. There isn't enough air. I can't breathe. I can't think.

  "I betrayed Tenebris. Without me, we'd never be in this situation."

  "I'm not from Tenebris at all. I'm one pixie. A hundred of us would make a difference in a war, but me?" Meda shrugs. "I'm useless."

  The woman who showed me how to defend myself, useless? The man who had my back, protecting me against his wife's whims since the day of my birth, a traitor?

  Neither of them represented themselves how I see them. They are my heroes. They are my family.

  I never knew I loved them—not until I’m faced with this terrible choice.

  My mother will never pick my father, the bondmate for whom she'd given up everything.

  It's between Alven and Meda. One of them will die.

  "I could try to bring you back? After you're gone." My voice is breaking.

  Alven shakes his head. "That isn't how magic works. You can recall a soul that's not been claimed. Ours will be trapped, binding the spell. If you were to undo it, it'd destroy the shield."

  I close my eyes.

  "To Morgana, I was a tool. A pretty tool she could use. I never had a mother," Ciera said. "Not until you."

  She's talking to Meda—probably holding her hand or hugging her. I can't look.

  "I always had a father. When I was banished, cast out, and cursed, you risked everything to stand against the high queen and give me a home. I love you both. I'm not strong enough for this."

  No one is. No one should be.

  "Maybe it doesn't have to be them. Maybe it can be anyone at all?" Nero asks.

  "Who, then? Should the queen of Tenebris walk into the hall and choose a random pluck to slaughter? Who would follow me?" Ciera spits bitterly. "Besides, to be a sacrifice it has to be someone I love."

  My heart breaks for her. For all of us.

  She cannot choose. I know it.

  Which means I must.

  It will break me, but I must do it all the same.

  "I need Meda." Somehow, my voice doesn't break.

  Just three words.

  Three words, that condemn part of my family.

  I clear my throat. "If we live to see another day, I want to go north, to the border between our lands. I intend to get elemental stones from the Old Keep, but it isn't just that. I need Meda because we have to talk to the seelie courts. We have to make them understand that we stand together—our kind against mortals. No matter our differences in the past, if we're to survive when billions of humans come to our doors, it will be together." I lift my chin. "I gave my third-born child to the sea. I'll give anything the seelie demand to seal an alliance between us. Not for today, or tomorrow. So that our kind may live in a thousand years. I don't know anything about the seelie kingdoms. I think they’d shoot me on sight. Meda's from the north. They'll listen to her."

  I need Alven to understand—I need them all to understand that this isn't a whim, I'm not picking a preference. I'm trying to keep a broken realm from shattering under our feet.

  I haven't opened my eyes at all through the entire speech. When I feel a hand on my shoulder, I do.

  My mother stands in front of me, tears in her beautiful eyes falling freely. She's so much taller than me. I've always felt like a child next to her.

  Now I don't. She's the child, the one who needs protection.

  "You need Meda," she repeats. Her voice has lost its heat. All I hear now is determination. "And you need Alven. My father is a king. He can guide you, advise you, and protect the crown. There was always only one disposable link in this family. I'm sorry I'm not strong enough."

  I open my mouth to speak, but then she removes the intricate circlet of gold on top of her head and places it on top of mine.

  Though dainty and small, I've never worn anything heavier than her crown.

  "My daughter, my heart, Nevlaria of the house of Nyx, I crown you high queen of Tenebris."

  I should have expected this. Ciera Oberon Bane was always honest about who she is. Honest, and cruel.

  I nod, and lift both of my hands to her chin, gently.

  "I forgive you," I tell her through my tears.

  Then I suck the life out of her, bit by bit, absorbing her essence, ignoring the shouts and screams of my father, held back by his mother. I keep taking, and taking and taking every exquisite ounce of her power inside me, until she falls at my feet.

  Empty. Cold. Dead. Sacrificed.

  We bury her in the inner garden. Drusk digs a deep grave, after he comes back with a sniveling human. I suck him too, till he cries, begging for mercy.

  Then, I break his neck, and step over him.

  The four stones are dropped at the bottom of the well. I start to shovel. My father doesn’t say a word. I don’t say a word. I know I’ve lost him.

  What I’ve gained in exchange is time.

  The spell works. I feel the shields surround us—I’ve had them erupt right where they used to be, simply because I’m familiar with that setup.

  The humans right next to the gates are still inside, but the rest of the army is cut off.

  We make short work of them, now that we don’t have to fear thousands of mortals replacing those we destroy. Besides, I’m in great form now. Matricide must be healthy.

  There are no celebrations for the reclamation of Whitecroft. The only songs I allow are the odes of a soft queen, too gentle for times of war. Some of the ballads are quite good. I expect they’ll outlive us.

  There are no celebrations for my coronation. I’ve earned this crown because the folk need a monster to lead them. No one is dumb enough to think that’s a good thing.

  I sit on the throne, alone on the dais, and the room is silent. We’ve given the lower kings and queens a summary of my mother’s decisions, and they watch me warily. As they should.

  Ina is the first to speak. “What now, Your Grace?”

  I let my eyes drag to her. “We go north as planned. You, I, whoever else has the guts to follow. We don’t have the element of surprise on our side anymore. The usurper has been warned. We will go nonetheless. We’ll take the shy folk. Today has proved how valuable archers are.” I say nothing about my intention to venture toward Old Crest. “And when I am back, I expect each court to be prepared for an attack. We’ve been on the defensive for too long. I’ll build shields around our kingdom, and we will take it back. But first, I will have you kneel.”

  I look into each of their faces.

  “The Court of Ash betrayed us. Hundreds of fae died today because my mother was too soft to keep the salamanders in line. You can kneel and swear to me, or you can get out.”

  Empty, cold, and dead. Just like my mother is right now. Just like she should have been all along.

  I stand, letting the silence wrap around me.

  I’ve given them a true choice. They can turn their backs on me, leave and kneel to Violet. If they don’t, they’ll have to swear to me in a binding oath.

  They all kneel.

  I leave, returning to my empty room.

  Only then do I allow myself to cry.

  Lost in Stars

  Vlari

  I don’t know how that wyrfox gets in. All I know is that sometimes, before the light of day reaches its apex, it crawls on my lap. I let it.

  It’s almost midday when my door opens without a knock. I don’t move. I don’t need to turn to sense him. Besides, no one would dare enter my room like this, not with the crown still on my head.

  Drusk circles the chair I’ve claimed next to the fireplace. The wyrfox, reluctant to be close to anyone except me, is quick to dart off my lap, slinking away. From the corner of my eye, I see him leap out of the window. I suppose he must have come in from there—though my room is on the third floor.

  I don’t bother to pay attention to the wyrfox, or Drusk for that matter. I look straight ahead at the ashes in the hearth. I haven’t bothered to stoke the fire back to life. If it’s cold, I can’t feel it.

&nbs
p; “This room desperately needs furniture.” He removes the belt of weapons at his waist, placing it atop the white stone fireplace.

  “I’d request some, but it seems rather pointless,” I reply. I’m relieved to recognize my voice. It isn’t dark, or broken. I sound lively as ever. That hasn’t changed, though everything else has.

  We will head north at sundown. We’ll succeed in taking back Tenebris, or we’ll be buried along with my mother. Either way, I won’t use this room for much longer.

  “You need to get some sleep.”

  I would laugh if I could. Sleep? How does one sleep after killing their mother and taking her crown?

  “Well, I need to rest, and I’d sleep considerably better if you joined me.” Drusk removes his clothing, layer after layer—leather, velvet, and finally linen, till he stands in nothing but his breeches. His chest, sculpted by decades of rigorous training, does manage to distract me from the turmoil in my mind, and if I’m to trust his smug smirk, he knows it.

  I don’t want to give in. Not yet. I don’t deserve to enjoy him today. I don’t deserve anything at all.

  I close my eyes. “I’m not tired.” With Ciera’s life force pulsing through my veins, I’ve seldom been more awake.

  “Nor I. I suppose we could tire each other out.”

  My jaw ticks. “My mother just died. I killed her.”

  “Your mother killed herself,” he amends. “She took the easy way out. That was probably the best decision, all things considered, but either way, it’s not on you. It’s on the usurper, on Alven, on Morgana. On her. On anyone you’d like, except you.”

  A soft thumb brushes over my lips, and finally, my eyes flutter open. Drusk’s hand travels down to my chin, caressing my skin.

  “And because I haven’t caused my mother’s death, I should be just fine?” I counter. There’s no bite to my words. I’ve never sounded more neutral. I’m not arguing, I’m grasping for his words. Each soothes the ache inside me.

  “You don’t have to be fine, Vlari.” Drusk tilts my chin upward so I look straight into his hungry midnight eyes. “Not today. Not even tomorrow. But I can’t let you numb everything.”