Shadow Cursed: A Noblesse Oblige Duet Book Two Page 3

  Gritting my teeth, I reply, “Fine.”

  Fine means nothing. That word is so hollow we folk only use it when we want to lie.

  She lets herself down on one of the chairs near the fireplace, and taps the one in front of her, inviting me to sit closer.

  Maybe I’m just dreaming. Maybe I’ve gone over the edge and this is what madness looks like.

  “Come on. Tell me. Only one of us has a life. Entertain me. We used to be friends.”

  I feel like she’s slapped me, insulted me.

  “Friends?” I laugh. We were never friends.

  We’d been a great deal less, and almost more, but never friends.

  “Friends don’t disappear without saying goodbye.”

  Her gaze, set on me until then, slides to the fire.

  I don’t know what I expect. An apology? No, that isn’t her. That isn’t us. We are unseelie. What we choose, we own. When we're wrong, we own that too.

  “I couldn’t.” That’s all I get from her: two words, delivered with an indifferent shrug. Then, she smiles up at me. “But I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Now, tell me how we’re doing. Here, beyond the walls. I can’t observe everything in Whitecroft, and my parents are being unbearably tightlipped.”

  I want to shake her, scream at her, and demand more—more than this, her cavalier attitude.

  The truth of the matter is that Vlari wouldn’t understand the root of my sense of betrayal. She never saw what she meant to me. She might have glimpsed through the cracks, but my secret has remained concealed under layers of petty games and mocking smiles. To her, we were friends, or something close to it. I was a man she could flirt with when she felt like it. I was almost a stranger.

  I force a deep breath out and shake my head. “Almost every fae inside these walls has received combat training—some only at a rudimentary level. The courts haven’t forced anyone to take up arms; we need farmers, cooks, and healers, too. Those who wanted to—the majority of Whitecroft—have joined the ranks of our forces in one capacity or another. I train the youth for a year or two before sending them to their lords. The best recruits, I keep. They become my rangers, and travel out of Whitecroft when it’s necessary. As of now, we have seven thousand soldiers and thirty-two rangers.” I pause, then correct myself. “Thirty-three, counting the latest recruit. Another dozen in training. Between our magic and our agility, we assume a fae counts for ten human soldiers. In case of an all-out war, there will be terrible loss on both sides, and we can’t guarantee we’ll win with those numbers. We need another three or four thousand trained soldiers. Or a considerable amount of magic on our side. In five years or so, the younglings who’ll come of age may make up for our numbers, but humans reproduce a lot faster than we do. And let us not forget that they have the support of the immortals of Alfheimr.”

  For the first time, Vlari interjects, rather coldly. “Let us not,” she echoes.

  She gestures for me to continue.

  “I believe we need to get more of the folk outside our walls in here. There are another ten thousand of us out there in the rest of Tenebris. If they could come, we’d have a better chance. We could use air surveillance to see any weakening in the humans’ defenses, and when there’s a chance of taking a village, or even a farm, we could take it. I’ve mentioned it to Frost. He believes it isn’t worth the risk.”

  Vlari’s expressionless, taking all of that in. I doubt everything I tell her is news, but if her parents have sheltered her, she’ll still learn a thing or two.

  “Whitecroft is almost at full capacity—we’re going to need more lodging. We’ve planted the greenhouses and we hunt the grove responsibly, but even so, food will become a concern within a year or two. We ration what we can. Meanwhile, the bitch daughter of Morgana has taken residence in the Wicked Court. She’s having trouble commanding the folk—only a handful have bowed to her, and there’s no gentry lord to back up her claim to the throne. The others hide. She opened the borders to Mithgarthians, and as they’ve all but destroyed their own land, they were more than happy to come here. Tenebris has truly become a human realm. Still, she rules, thanks to her army of mortals. When the fae refuse her tribute, her soldiers descend upon the groves and take what they see as their due.”

  “Does the bitch have a name?” Vlari has fire in her eyes.

  She looks like if she could get out of this room, she’d be out for blood. She can get in line. There are thousands of us who’d love to sink our claws in the usurper’s throat.

  “According to your grandfather, she was named Violet at birth. Who knows what name she uses now?”

  Violet was a changeling, given to a human mother in exchange for a mortal girl Queen Morgana fostered.

  I never quite understood the purpose of such an exchange. In the old days, the fae gave humans a sickly, dying child and took a healthy one in its place, but of late, those who took changelings had a tendency to give away any child of theirs.

  I suppose Morgana believed she had enough heirs to secure her bloodline. How mistaken she was. Now, all of them have perished, save for Ciera and Vlari—the two members of her family she cast away.

  Humans have uses in the fae world. For one, while a fae could try for centuries before being blessed with a child, humans are a lot more fertile. Their bloodlines are so irrelevant, their spawn with fae blood have all of our strength, and almost none of their weaknesses. But for a queen from an unusually fertile line to give away a fairy child for a human daughter? I see no sense in it.

  “Violet.” Vlari rolls each syllable around her mouth softly, almost lovingly. “Of nothing,” she translates from the old tongue, before chuckling. “She was judged useless before she said her first words. No wonder she wants us all to suffer. Perhaps we should meet for tea and converse about the thousand deaths Morgana deserved.”

  I know little of the old unseelie queen, Vlari’s grandmother. I’d been aware of the fact that Vlari’s side of the family was disgraced since her mother married a common puck, against Morgana’s wishes, but I’d only started to glimpse the deep-rooted hatred between them at Samhain.

  The only Samhain that mattered in my life; the first and last time I’d escorted Vlari anywhere.

  The queen had attempted to throw Vlari at the ruthless Sea Lands Court, exchanging a granddaughter for an alliance. I’d seen nothing but callous indifference from Morgana. No, not even indifference. The high queen had seemed pleased to see Vlari panic.

  And the next day, Morgana was dead.

  It’s just as well. I imagine that if things had gone another way, I’d have ended up executed for butchering a high queen.

  I circle back to the matter at hand. “Violet’s stolen from, tortured, and murdered our kind. You do have odd taste in tea companions, princess.”

  Vlari grins wickedly. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t poison the drinks first.”

  I chuckle. It’s odd to my own ears. Unnatural. How long has it been since I laughed at all?

  I don’t need to wonder.

  Ten years.

  “Mother says you’ve been invaluable.”

  I’m surprised her mother has said anything at all about me.

  “I haven’t seen her in a long time,” I admit.

  Not since I’d seen Vlari herself, ten years ago.

  The queen doesn’t step out of her keep. The folk are invited to feast with her on the celebration days, but I’ve never bothered to go.

  “She keeps me informed about all my friends,” Vlari says, shooting another dagger straight through my heart. “But nothing else at all. She doesn’t want me to worry, but I should like to be kept informed. Thank you for the actual news. I do catch a few things here and there, but I can’t concentrate too often. It taxes me.”

  Remembering the reason for my visit, I ask, “How does it work? I heard what you did earlier, to help a girl outside the walls. You were there, Vlari. Material. Holding a weapon and all.”

  Vlari shrugs. “I wasn’t truly there. My body hasn�
��t moved in years. But yes, if I concentrate enough, my mind can go anywhere in Whitecroft. The council rooms, bonfires.” She grins. “Or I could spy on lovers, I suppose.” She sighs. “It takes up a lot of focus and energy, however. I like to watch the borders sometimes. I spotted the girl, and I wanted to help. It was instinctive. But I’ve been exhausted since. Exhausted, yet asleep. It’s quite the conundrum, isn’t it?”

  I can’t wrap my mind around any of this. What I do know, however, is that we can’t afford for her to waste her energy in any way. She can’t rescue little girls or spy on lovers, not if it costs her weeks, days, even hours.

  I remember what her mother said about the curse. If Vlari loses her strength, she won’t be able to pull herself out of eversleep.

  Since the beginning, nothing has mattered more than strengthening our ranks so that one day we can take back Tenebris. The moment we cease to need this sanctuary, Vlari could wake up. Stand before me, flesh and bones—not just some mental illusion conjured by her mind.

  Then, I’d kiss her. Or throttle her. Probably both.

  “Promise me you won’t do it again. Promise me you won’t waste any energy.”

  She laughs. “That’s not how it works, Drusk. If you want my oath, you have to pay for it.”

  Bargains again. She’s as fond of them as ever.

  There’s no price I wouldn’t pay to ensure she remains safe, so I reply, “Name your terms.”

  She makes a show of thinking it through, lifting her eyes to the ceiling and humming as she pretends to ponder. I can tell she already knows what she wants. “All right. I want your time.”

  I blink in confusion.

  “If I can’t hop outside of these walls, I’ll be bored to tears. I’ll give you my word I won’t, so long as you promise to come here and entertain me. You could read me books, or inform me of what’s going on. Do we have a bargain?”

  I could laugh. Nothing would have stopped me from coming back here every day, perhaps several times, now that I know I can get to see her. Talk to her. Touch her. Instead, I pretend I’m put out, letting my shoulders sag and sighing. “If I must. I’ll entertain you as well as I’m able, and your mind will remain right here, in this room.”

  “I vow it,” she says. She changes the subject, then. “You know, I hear my mother has a mind to make a lord out of you, for your services to the realm. She would have, already, if you weren’t avoiding her.” There’s no accusation in her tone, but however she phrases it, it’s still a question.

  A question I can’t answer.

  How do I tell her I hate Ciera, and Nero, and everyone else who allowed her to save their lives? That I would have rather died on a battlefield ten years ago than let her fade into nothingness and condemn the rest of us to a gilded cage? I’m not one to spell out my feelings, and it won’t start today.

  “I’m not adept at playing with queens and princesses,” I hedge.

  That much is true enough.

  Vlari replies, “Well, let us cut this visit short, then. My mother is on her way.”

  I don’t have another moment to say anything at all.

  The next instant, I’m back in the cold, empty room, where Vlari is still a pale, breathing corpse.

  Worth the Risk

  Drusk

  "What we were after wasn't in that book," Lord Liken tells me.

  I wish I could summon an appropriate level of disappointment, but I'm too used to hearing these words. The gentry send us to risk our skin out of the walls, and it always ends up being for nothing.

  Nothing other than fooling the folk into believing that our lords have a plan. That they're doing something.

  This status quo is no longer acceptable. I can't stomach their incompetence anymore. We need to act, now. We needed to act years ago.

  "I see. And do you care to share what it is you're looking for, exactly?” My words are sharp as a blade.

  The gentry looks at me with what I read as a certain level of curiosity. It may be the first time I’ve questioned what he tells me.

  Lord Liken, king of the Court of Stone, won his crown by blood. He and his warrior wife Ina killed the despot ruling over the land southeast of Whitecroft, and none of his predecessor's descendants dared dispute his right to sit on its throne.

  He isn't what I would have expected, when I heard of him. Instead of a dark general like Frost, or a cunning fox like the lord of Ichor, Velas Liken is a soft-spoken, lean fae almost as young as I, though he has seen his hundredth year. His long red hair denotes salamander blood, I think, though he has the appearance and aura of a gentry. I read intelligence in the depths of his coal-black eyes. Intelligence, and perhaps more than his fair share of cruelty, barely hidden under his languorous ways. There is no doubt that he belongs here on unseelie soil.

  "A way to close our borders to Alfheimr, so that the humans cannot call for reinforcements. In the old days, we were able to produce shields as strong as the one our crown princess currently powers, albeit with the help of elemental stones charged with magic. If we uncovered this knowledge again, we could first awaken Nevlaria, and use the stones to protect Whitecroft. Then, cut off Alfheimr from Tenebris. That would ensure that no immortal comes to the usurper's aid, and that they don’t get reinforcements."

  I am too stunned to retort. Not only because Liken has answered me honestly without more prompting—because this plan could work. Would work. We may lose many lives if we were to fight hundreds of thousands of humans with less than ten thousand fae, but here on our land, protected by fae magic, we would be victorious.

  And more importantly, Vlari would be free.

  How is it I never knew that was the object of our research? I would have been outdoors every day with my rangers if I'd thought that was in the cards.

  "Elemental stones?" My voice is mechanical. I'm taking in one piece of information at a time, willing myself to understand.

  "Stones infused with raw elemental magic. There is one at the heart of each court, created by the first lords. Some of us had the presence of mind to bring them with us."

  I think back to that day in the high court. How desperate Alven Oberon had been to retrieve what I dismissed as one broken piece of jewelry—a bright green stone. I remember his words. "There lies the one hope this kingdom still possesses.” Had it been one of the elemental stones?

  "The book you need. What does it look like?"

  Liken shrugs. "I don't think any of us were alive the last time it was used. At first, we thought it could be here, as Nyx might have built the shields around Whitecroft with it. But there are many other possibilities. And one…" He scratches his hairless chin. "One may be complicated. The bridge leading to the Wicked Court, with its three doorways, was most certainly created using its magic."

  "So, there's a chance that it could be in the Shadow Peaks."

  Where the usurper lives. Unfortunate as it might be, this theory makes sense. The Wicked Court, formerly the Court of Wind, carved deep in Hardrock, had been Nyx's home, her stronghold. If she was the last known fae to have that book, it makes sense that she’d have kept it near.

  "Could we attempt to create the wards without it?"

  Liken winces. "We could, but what if it doesn't work? We'd risk everything, and Alfheimr would take the opportunity to swallow us up. We either need the book, or someone who knows the spells. No one within our walls is old enough to remember the time of Nyx, except maybe the hag in the well. But she knows nothing of spells, and she cares little for our plights."

  The hag in the well.

  I almost smile.

  In my school days, there had been plenty of rumors about the well at the edge of the grove behind the fields we used for our sports. In a land with warriors of legend teaching spoiled, overindulged sons and daughters of princes and knights, where our literary instructor used to sing for gods, the hag was known as the oldest, most wicked thing. Naturally, it was the fashionable sport to tease her, try her patience.

  We were told she once ate up
a gaggle of princesses in retaliation. In my school days, she never showed. She sleeps for hundreds of years, only coming out when she's ready for a hunt.

  Beautiful one moment, old crones the next, her kind roam till they find their perfect prey: an innocent girl whose heart they can carve out and eat to feed their immortality.

  I once threw a nest of wasps down her well. As that elicited no response, I concluded she was a myth, or if she once was real, she could have left these lands for one without so many bored and indulgent kids nearby.

  "I see I've lost your interest." Liken seems amused. I suppose he talked to me, but my mind is elsewhere. "Very well. I'll gather what knowledge I can, and come back to you when we find another old library for you to raid."

  "Yes, do that," I reply.

  He touches his fingertips to his brow and bows gracefully, before turning his heels.

  I stop by the weapons room to collect the bag I bring with me to any raid outside these walls, then I draw deeper in the ranger headquarters till I reach the training area. Two novices circle each other, one with a broken nose, the other a bleeding mouth. They're overseen by the best trainer they could possibly have, me included: Neb. Though she's twice as vicious and three times more agile than any other here, she hasn't earned the title of ranger, and if I have anything to do with it, she never will. She belongs here, where she's safe.

  My sister glares at me from across the circular room. She has other ideas.

  I ignore her, catching Erdun's eye instead. I tilt my head toward the exit; he follows me out.

  "Well?"

  The rangers are always eager to hear of what the lords have to say, though their answer rarely changes.

  I realize that for once, I can give them some hope.

  I won't.

  I haven't heard of the plan to shield us, which means it isn't common knowledge, with good reason: should our enemies hear of it, they'd attempt to thwart it. They'd burn any old books they could lay their hands on, and call for reinforcements early. They may even attempt to build a portal between Alfheimr and Tenebris, risky as that may be. We can't chance it.