Shadow Cursed: A Noblesse Oblige Duet Book Two Page 4

  "No luck with that book. I've had an idea, though. I'll need backup."

  "I can call Iola, or Nebula—" Catching my look, he's quick to backtrack. "I think Winse is available, too."

  I shake my head. "You'll do. We aren't going out."

  He's intrigued, but he follows me silently through the old field, now converted into a dark, handsome stone building housing the members of the Court of Ash, which is half composed of salamanders.

  Black and red eyes follow us as we head to the glade.

  The well, circled by stone, waits for us in a shadow of a willow. I approach it, and look down to the black pit. I can't see—more concerningly, I can't feel what's at the bottom. This is a place of shadows—it should feel like my dominion.

  It really doesn't.

  I undo the leather bag at my back, then retrieve a thin spider-silk rope, handing one end to Erdun.

  "You're going down there?" He looks and shivers. "That doesn't look good, boss."

  "That'd be why you're here." I hook the other end of the rope to my belt and tie four knots, to be safe. "If you hear me call, if I tug three times, or if an hour has passed, pull me up."

  Erdun has backed me up a dozen times outside the walls, but now he swallows hard. "What are you going to do down there?"

  I hop at the top of the circular stones. "Get answers, one would hope."

  "Or lose your head," he mutters.

  "Or that. A call, one hour, or three tugs," I remind him, before jumping down into the void.

  Deep Down the Hole

  Drusk

  I fall, and fall, and fall, for so long I have to wonder whether I'll ever stop falling. There's a spell at work; until the master of this hole wishes otherwise, I'll keep falling.

  Eventually, my feet hit the ground.

  I've never been scared of the dark. When my eyes can't adjust to it, I still feel what's lurking around me. Darkness is shadow's friend. But now, I feel nothing, see nothing. My hair bristles at the nape of my neck, alerting me of danger close by.

  "Who, say, come see old Traffatel," a frail, weak, high-pitched voice calls. From where, I can't tell.

  I itch to pull the sword at my side, but I know it's of little use today.

  "They call me Drusk."

  "Do they now?" The voice changes, now stronger and more seductive. "We've heard of a Drusk, have we not? For years and years, we heard whispers. The girls talk. He sends their pretty hearts aflutter."

  I lift a brow. "You've heard of me charming girls? I need to work on my reputation."

  "Well said. I am in danger of being quite charmed, too."

  A light appears right in front of me, held in the hand of a beautiful lady in a dress that seems to have once been white, though its lace is marred with dust and blood.

  Her white hair is so long it surrounds us, covering most of the floor, but there's no other sign of age on her smooth, spotless skin, except perhaps the shadow of her pale eyes. Her ruby-red lips stink of blood.

  "You flatter me, ma'am."

  "I suppose I must. Now, tell me, little Drusk, what is your name?"

  My heart rate increases, catching her meaning. I pretend I don't quite understand her. "Rystan, after my grandfather."

  She smiles, her lips parting to reveal a mouthful of sharp, stained fangs. "Now, now, let us not play games. You know what I ask."

  She wants my true name.

  "And you know I'll die before I place myself in your power."

  She tilts her head. "Yes, I believe you may. But will you treat your pretty, pretty princess's life as callously as your own, I wonder?" The hag changes, her skin graying, her spine hunching, and her hands wrinkling. "You come here, into my domain, knowing that I’ve outlived the first of your line, knowing that I may devour you, because you're desperate. Because you're powerless. Because you're weak."

  I can't naysay her, so I offer her nothing but silence.

  "I heard you boys talking upstairs just now.” Her eyes trail up to the ceiling of her cave. “I hear everything. I know of the spell you so desire. I know of all the ancient curses. I know every word that has ever been spoken in this land, since the days of your olden queen. And I will give you the enchantment. I will let you go free, whole, and in one piece. All I ask in return, weak, charming boy, is your true name."

  Entering into a bargain with one such as this creature is madness. I should tell her to be gone, tug on my lifeline and get the hell out of here.

  I can't force the word out.

  Every fae is born knowing their true name, and knowing that it is a secret that must never be spoken. Fae children do not cry, for fear of ever speaking it. It is our one treasure. With it, we can be commanded to do anything—throw ourselves from a tower, into a pit full of poisonous snakes, kill our lovers and mothers, aid our worst enemy.

  It cannot be worth it.

  It cannot.

  "Give me your name, boy. I will speak it but once. When you're alone and no one can hear. And in exchange, I'll give you the tools to save your kingdom."

  I think I hate her.

  "I'll give you a favor, then, without the name."

  The creature cackles, and the sound surrounds me, coming from all angles, even underneath my feet.

  "Oh, I think not, dear boy. I wish to hear you speak it. Humor an old crone."

  I've been tortured before. In training, while in the army, and once by seelie lords who caught me north of their borders. I let them slice my wrists and throat, providing a diversion while my men infiltrated their camp to free unseelie folk they'd poached on our land.

  Yet never have I suffered like this. My entire body protests against what I'm about to do. I'm fighting every part of me, including the power of Myst, rising within my chest, burning me from the inside.

  "Shadow King."

  I will have to kill her one day. Pour lava down this well and seal it shut.

  "My name is Shadow King."

  The first time I knew true fear was when my men started to call me Shadow. That they may have guessed even part of my name was a terrifying prospect. I chose to embrace it, if only to show that it meant nothing. But I am Shadow—though King is a bit of a stretch.

  "It has a nice ring to it."

  I don't know how I stay on my feet.

  I'm empty. I'm powerless. I'm weak.

  Hell if I’ll let her see it.

  "The book your leaders seek is buried with Nyx, in the valley between seelie and unseelie land, deep in the Murkwoods. It is of little use, for I can tell you each detail for that spell. Only the true owner of a land, a castle, or, say, a kingdom, may cast it over the entire territory.”

  “So if it’s to cover the whole of Tenebris—”

  He hag’s stained fangs flash. “The high queen has to be the one casting it, holding the very heart of Tenebris in her hands. Tears of an enemy, blood of a friend, and a sacrifice of one the caster loves need to be buried along with four elemental stones—water, earth, fire, and air."

  "Sacrifice?" That’s an ancient word, from an ancient time, when we used to slaughter beasts, men, and folk in the name of power. No spell we rely on these days requires sacrifices.

  But I’m not asking about modern magic.

  The hag grins wickedly. "No one cares to recall how Queen Nyx's mother was killed, now do they?”

  I know I hate Traffatel. She's enjoying this far too much.

  But she's answered my question, so I thank her, before feeling my belt for the rope I need to tug on.

  I don't need to look down to realize it's been cut when my hand can't find it.

  "You said you'd let me go."

  She clicks her tongue. "I never said when."

  This time, I do reach for my sword, gripping it, though I don't draw it.

  She laughs again. "That's unnecessary, pretty boy. I don't like your kind. Too rough. I much prefer the hearts of maidens. Soft and sweet and filled with hope. I am quite the scholar, you know. Why else settle here, of all places? I do love teaching
children lessons. Yours is that you're far too easily trusting." She reaches upward, and my rope appears in her hand. "On your way, Shadow King."

  I take the rope, and tug on it. On the surface, Erdun starts to pull me up. I climb along the walls, my hands finding cracks in the mold-infested, spider-filled, bone-littered well.

  Only when I can see the sky do I realize the hag has used my name, wasting her one chance at commanding me.

  Though I know better than to think it wasn't intentional.

  Fire and Water

  Drusk

  Still reeling from my encounter with the hag, I should have taken a moment to calm down, collect my thoughts, ruminate over the ramifications, and most of all, think of the price I paid. I said my name out loud. Though it may not cross Traffatel's lips again, she knows it. She knows me.

  I realize that's the least important thing today.

  I have the spell Liken wants. I have a tool we may use to end this invasion, and free our kingdom.

  "I was scared for a moment," Erdun tells me. "The rope felt so light I thought I lost you."

  I don't tell him he did.

  "I'm here. You did a great job. I have another one for you. Recall all available rangers back to base."

  Curious though he may be, he doesn't ask me why, nodding before drifting back to town.

  For my part, I do the only thing I possibly can do. I head to Whitecroft Hall.

  The two guards posted, a troll and a salamander knight dressed in the finery of the Court of Ash, aren't the same as those I encountered yesterday, but they also wave me through without question.

  I turn to the knight. "Where might I find one of the high queen's representatives? I need to speak to the crown, in private."

  I may be familiar with the old building, but I have no clue how they've organized it now. The only room I know is the one they set up Vlari in.

  The knight turns to his companion. "Can you handle the door for a moment? I'll send someone to take my place."

  The troll grunts his acknowledgement.

  "If you'll follow me." The salamander is all courtesy, though I imagine I see some animosity in his amber eyes.

  He's covered in silver and gold, heavy armor encasing him from the tip of his helm to the pointed toes of his boots. One of the reasons I never wished to be a knight is the outfit. Plain soldiers fare much better, donning supple leather and the occasional breastplate.

  I suppose it must be difficult for him to appear anything but antagonistic in this metal casket.

  We head toward the old assembly room on the ground floor, behind the grand staircase leading up to the higher floor. The knight could have just told me where to go, but I don't point it out.

  When we arrive at closed doors, he tells a guard posted next to them, "Take my place at the gate for a few, would you?"

  The guard, another salamander, pretends to sigh, though I can tell she seems excited at the prospect. There must be more to see at the gates than in a random corridor.

  She rushes to the entrance, and we walk inside the assembly room, which is filled with at least a hundred folk. Ash folk, stone folk, star folk. Folk of meadows and castles. Gentries with great names and little sprites. They all wait in line to see the queen.

  I wince. I told the knight I wanted to speak to a representative to avoid just that.

  Before I can protest, the guard tells me, "This way."

  We pass through the mob. I notice the crowd eyeing me with anything ranging from curiosity to hatred to awe.

  We take a small unadorned door away from the great entryway leading to the queen's hall.

  "We've met before, you know," the knight tells me.

  I shrug. "I've met many a folk."

  The polite thing might have been to ask for his name, but I've had enough introductions to last me a lifetime.

  "And there's no cause for you to remember me," the knight guesses. "But I wouldn't forget you in a hurry. You were accompanying the Frosts to the Ash Court, years ago, during our tournament."

  I laugh.

  Then I'm not surprised he remembers me.

  The general let me enter the tournament. I wiped the floor with a knight or two and brought a fat prize home. The thousand coins fed the whole village for a winter month or two.

  While I don't make a habit of giving away everything I earned, I have always been painfully aware that it wasn't possible for my entire family to earn in a month what I make in a week. My mother was a servant in a white lady’s house. My father's forge was one of the best in our court, but what he earned was nothing compared to my potential. My family only allowed me to bring food, occasionally, and some treats for my sister whenever I felt like it. As I had nothing and no one to spend money on, my earnings have piled up for decades. The few times when I earned a prize, rather than a salary, I was permitted to share it.

  Hence the reason why I never refused to enter a tournament. And why I never lost.

  "Did I wound your pride?" I asked as we cross another doorway.

  That would certainly explain the layer of disdain I thought I could read from him.

  "Only my wallet. I had a wager placed on one of your opponents. I learned to make wiser choices, after. This way, if you please."

  I've never been to this part of the keep. The carved and sculpted walls seem out of place, far grander than any other room. When we pass black marble columns under a painted archway, I still. "These are the queen's quarters."

  No one else could claim chambers so fine. Plush velvet throws and low chaises make the area look comfortable and relaxing, but in no way less regal.

  "Indeed. You wished to speak to her, did you not?"

  I frown. Everyone wants to see the high queen. It doesn't mean that we can or should.

  The knight answers the question I haven't asked. "The high queen gave orders some time ago. The members of her high court are to be admitted at any time, and command us all, it seems. You aren't liked for it."

  I blink. "I'm a member of the high court?"

  That was news to me.

  "There are so few, it's easy to remember the list. The queen’s family, and you. That's it. As I said, you aren't liked for it."

  I suppose I wouldn't be.

  It astonishes me that I was included, when I never knelt to Ciera.

  "This way. The queen will join you as soon as she's able."

  I'm ushered to a study with bookshelves full of colorful spines. Too restless to claim a woven wood seat, I opt to inspect the books, pulling one here and there.

  They aren't spell books, or memoirs, or even dull historical novels. These are stories. Human stories, printed by the hundreds.

  I'm astonished to find them here.

  "My greatest secret. I am a lover of adventure. Just not when it happens outside of the safety of these pages."

  I turn to find Ciera standing at the doorway, hand in her husband Nero's grasp.

  She has always looked the part of a queen, but now she wears a crown that looks too cumbersome on her pretty head.

  "Your Highness."

  I know protocol dictates that I get to one knee. I don't. She doesn't demand it.

  "Come, sit. I am glad you came to us. Is your family well?"

  I don't have the patience to stand for small talk. "I went to see the hag just now."

  Ciera's eyes widen, but I see no recognition on Nero's features.

  And no wonder. While Ciera was educated here in her days, Vlari's father, a commoner like me, knows nothing of Whitecroft. "There's a hag in a well, at the edge of the grove. She's been there for a long time. I thought she’d have some advice."

  "Oh, I never doubted old Traffatel would have plenty of advice." Ciera shakes her pretty head. "But I never would have sent someone to their death to find out what she’d deign to tell us."

  I don't point out that this makes her a weak ruler. She doesn't need to be told that.

  "You were reckless, Drusk, but I can see you're well. If you've come to us, then I take
it what she had to say was helpful?"

  "The protective spell we need to close our borders. I have it."

  I repeat the hag's spell word for word, and let them take it in. Word for word.

  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.

  To me, that was the important part, but Ciera says, “The queen must be holding the heart of Tenebris?” She sighs in relief. "Thank the gods, we do have the heart.”

  “Your Grace?”

  “It was taken out of the Wicked Court by my father—with your assistance, unless I’m mistaken.”

  I wouldn’t have guessed that the heart of Tenebris would be an actual object, rather than a fanciful notion about her popularity.

  Was that the stone we’d retrieved?

  “As for the four elements, we have air and earth, but fire and water…" Nero winces.

  "We can ask Ash. Creating an elemental stone isn't easy, but with so many salamanders here, they should manage. Water is another matter. Do you think the Sea Court would speak to us?"

  The queen and her mate whisper among themselves—I can tell I'm no longer needed.

  "With your leave, then—"

  Ciera's head snaps to me. "You have to stay. The lords will need to hear it all."

  My lips thin. “I'm sure you can relay the information.” Too late, I remember to add, “My queen.”

  She's displeased with me, but I can't bring myself to care. I bow, and I get out.

  Already, I am tired, weary, and reeling from the day's events, but I have a promise to keep.

  From the royal quarters, Vlari's room is close, but I lose my way once or twice in the unfamiliar passages. Soon, I'm back in front of the red door.

  This time, I push it open without hesitation.

  A Taste of History

  Drusk

  I slid one of my sister's books into the inside pocket of my cloak this morning, knowing where I'd end up going sometime today. To Vlari’s chamber.