Shadow Cursed: A Noblesse Oblige Duet Book Two Page 5

  She's been changed into another dress, and her hair is braided today. I wonder who's caring for her. Her mother? Her father? A servant?

  The thought of anyone undressing her and taking liberties with her body while she sleeps unnerves me. She's so vulnerable. No woman has ever held more power in her grasp since the day of Nyx, and yet, she's as defenseless as a puppy. Someone could hurt her. Touch her. Steal a kiss.

  I clear my throat, stepping forward.

  "I believe we had a bargain. I certainly hope you’ve kept your end of it, princess."

  A cold silence is the only answer I receive.

  I start to read. Nebula is fond of great tales of warrior princesses and cursed knights. This book tells the story of a war I can't remember hearing of; the kingdoms are unfamiliar, but I recognize some names. Names of legendary folk, long buried. This is a story from the Old World, before our kind left to find a land more suited to the needs of the folk.

  Alfheimr, our people called it, when they reached it. They were accompanied by three immortals, a thousand folk, and a hundred human servants.

  This was supposed to be our world. Now, some three thousand years later, one of the only two fae kingdoms on our continent has been taken by mortals and traitors.

  I wonder what Alara the Great, Conqueror of Death, Mavlan Spire, Air Whisperer, and Landrag Vern, Master of Darkness, would think of us now.

  I can't say I pay any mind to what I read, until a line catches my attention.

  I frown, silently reading it again, and then a third time.

  Sir Vern melded the darkness so well, he could drown souls in its depth.

  I would have dismissed it as more inane lyrical nonsense had I not done just that, again and again. Taken someone's body and mind, and contorted it under layers of shadows.

  They're talking of mysting.

  I'm stunned.

  When Gendrion Frost found me in my village and told me the power I wielded was called myst, he mentioned no one had seen a Myst for an age. If books ever existed on this power, they'd long been forgotten. I was trained alone, in an experimental way. My tutors had no idea what I could do, what my limits were. I'm still not quite sure of the bounds of my power.

  Yet this tiny pocket book printed not two winters ago mentions myst, under the surface. I am sure of it.

  I close it, and turn it around, checking the attribution.

  "A History of Fae, by Marren—79 AE."

  It's a print of a book written not even a hundred years after our arrival in Alfheimr.

  I catch a movement right in front of me, and lift my head.

  Then I still.

  Part of me wants to scream; the other could jump in elation.

  Vlari's right in front of me.

  She's also on her bed. She hasn't pulled me into her mind, this time. She's appeared here, in this world.

  "I thought we had an agreement." My voice is dry, but firm.

  "I'm within these four walls." She shrugs, callous as always.

  I can't even be mad at her twisting our deal to please her fancy. I would have done the same in her shoes.

  "You've found something, haven't you?"

  I don't reply at first. I'm too busy looking at her, taking her in, wondering if I can touch her. Feel her.

  At long last, I turn the book around. "See this line? I believe the author was talking about a Myst. This person—Vern."

  "The Master of Darkness," she says. One of us was paying attention, at least. "The title would certainly fit. Isn't that what you do? Mold darkness to your will?"

  It sounds like an oversimplification, but I nod all the same.

  "And this could be a Storm," she says, pointing to a line on the opposite page.

  Spire was "bidding the sky above to answer his commands." Storms are another lost power—air mages with the strength to command tornadoes and lightning, when ten regular air folk would have to use all of their power just to bring a little rain during a drought.

  The sky, like the sea, had a will of its own, and did not care to bow to the desires of most of the folk.

  "The Master of Death could be a Void," I say.

  Her eyes widen with an eagerness I share. Hearing of others who may have been like us is a strange thing, in a world where I've taken for granted that I am alone.

  "Well, keep reading!"

  We're both enraptured with the rest of the tale. While it occurs to me that I should tell her to rest her mind, I'm glad to see her in front of me, and I'm selfish enough to prioritize my enjoyment over her safety. She's followed her part of the bargain, and stopped herself from roaming Whitecroft with the power of her mind. I faced a hag who could have been crunching on my bones by now. We're both due for some reward.

  At the end of the overlong chapter, I know it's time to end this. Part ways. Return to my parents' quarters and get some rest. I'll need it for what is to come.

  I remain silent and unmoving, unwilling to voice the word that must be said. Goodbye.

  How I despise that word. Loathe it.

  "Will I see you tomorrow?" she murmurs.

  If the sun rises in the east. If the ocean's capricious, and the desert cruel.

  "If I can." I leave the book next to her pillow and walk away. At the door, I hesitate. "Have you heard that your mother has made me part of the high court?"

  "Has she, now?" Vlari's secretive grin exasperates me. I suppose we're not past this nonsense. Teasing each other. Keeping secrets. Hiding.

  "I'm told it's a small court. Just the family. It seems odd that she'd think to add me. I've only met her once."

  I don't ask whether Vlari told her mother to include me. It seems too obvious. The question is, why? Did she suspect I don't feel like I belong to any of the lower courts? How could she? Even Vlari doesn't know me this well.

  "I can't claim to know what happens in my mother's mind, but when immortals fell on us, you were protecting the folk. If I were to hazard a guess, I'd say that probably branded you as someone trustworthy."

  So few words, yet so many twists of the tongue. I roll my eyes. "You know, if you don't feel like answering me, you could simply say so. There's no need for tricks."

  She beams. “And what would be the fun in that?"

  The Price of Time

  Drusk

  I go back the next day, and the day after that. I must be a masochist to submit myself to that brand of torture. She does nothing but plague me, make me crave her, and drive me closer to madness.

  I need her. I need to be far away from her. I need to taste her. Part of me wants to kiss her unmoving lips, but I’ve never been much of a necrophile.

  I could take it up, though.

  I’ve buried myself in my work over the last decade. Everyone is used to seeing me enter base at dusk and remain there until darkness fades on the horizon. In the last week, I’ve barely stepped foot there, taking reports when I pass by some rangers on my way to Whitecroft Hall. It’s not like any of us have a mission. The lords and ladies are in constant meetings, arguing the best ways to use the information I came up with.

  I’m restless, and the only thing soothing me is her. She’s the worst kind of poison, a drug I can’t help going back to though I know it’s killing me.

  Vlari is hardly calmer. I’ve updated her on everything I know. She has her ideas about our next logical course of action.

  War.

  Right now.

  Without preparation, without seeking the elemental stones, without worrying about the usurper, without a scheme.

  “I’m just saying, worst-case scenario, we lose. All the folk are dead. The land has been razed. At least they won’t be stuck here, suffering a slow death.” She sniffles. “I should never have locked us away.”

  I grin. “You’re bored.”

  “Terribly.” She pouts. I never knew she was quite this bloodthirsty.

  “I must be dreadful at entertaining you.”

  She eyes the book in my hands meaningfully. “It’s not about me, th
ough. We need to do something. I should wake up.”

  She’s so, so cruel. Hearing her say those words hurts more than a knife to the chest. Because she can’t, and won’t.

  “If you do, the dome will fall. The scouts patrolling around us will notice right away, and there’ll be an army on its way here within the hour. If you do, there’s no stopping our destruction.” I hate that I have to be the voice of reason. “We need to be ready.”

  She sighs, defeated. “Read me another book? This one really is awful.”

  I comply.

  Four days later, I’m surprised to enter Vlari’s room and see a girl on the single chair. She’s brought a lute with her, and she plays our princess a cheerful song.

  It occurs to me that I do know her—she’s one of the Thorns, Dekren’s younger sister, Mephesea.

  I move to return to the door, but she turns to me, abandoning her instrument. “Don’t leave on my account. I’m about to go.”

  I hesitate, not wanting to cut her visit short, but Esea is already packing up the lute.

  “I didn’t know you played,” I say.

  I have seen her many a time in passing. Her brother was my friend back when we attended school here, and we did stay in touch. He was a little indulgent for my taste, but I appreciated his easy laughs and easier jabs.

  We lost him in the Shadow Peaks.

  Vlari brought many among the court back to life, but there still were many casualties when the usurper attacked. The royal family. Many guards. And the boys who liked to hide in the shadow with a lover or two weren’t in the hall when Vlari used her power to revive our people.

  Dekren may have survived it, but I’ve heard he was at court that day, and as he’s not with us, the chances that he might still be breathing are slim.

  “I didn’t use to.” Her smile is filled with sorrow. “We’ve all had to fashion ourselves into something else, here.”

  I find myself touching her shoulder as she passes me. “It was quite beautiful,” I tell her.

  I see others in the next few days. Old acquaintances, strangers of low and high rank alike. A lord she saved in the halls. Though he never knew her, he tells me he comes and kneels in front of her every new moon, to thank her for the time she gave him. A chambermaid who used to polish the polar flooring of Vlari’s old home. Meda, once. Nero, twice. I do remind him he’s welcome at Ash if he ever fancies a bowl of gruel.

  It is unavoidable that I’d meet the high queen, given how much time I linger in her daughter’s chamber, but I am never prepared. What am I supposed to tell her? What if she bans me from this room? I never know what to expect of Ciera.

  I come in one day to find her brushing Vlari’s hair. My princess is dressed in a simple gown of blue gossamer, not unlike what my own mother could have worn on a special occasion. There’s no heavy, antique crown on the high queen’s head, and she wears little jewelry at all, save for a gold wrist band.

  My eyes linger on the bracelet. I hadn’t noticed it before. I’ve seen ones just like it, though made of copper—on each of my parent’s right wrists. They’re seals, the kind that one exchanges in their bonding ceremony.

  Most fae are long lived—some, entirely impervious to the passage of time. As such, our kind often form alliances for a hundred years or so, rather than lifetime commitments.

  My parents decided to bond for life. It’s less uncommon among pucks and sprites. The great gentries almost never bond, unless they’ve found their own mate. Yet I know this is a true seal. Ciera and Nero must have chosen to bond. I don’t think they are true mates. For one, finding one’s true mate is incredibly rare, but when we do, our skin often bears the mark of it. Ciera’s exquisite gowns reveal most of her throat and arms—I’ve never seen a mating mark. They voluntarily linked in mind, body, and soul until the death of the flesh, which means that when one is killed, the other will soon follow to the grave. Unseelie folk, wild folk, shy folk, elven kind, and seelie often live a thousand years without experiencing a love like that.

  I’m half tempted to ask what made her, a princess of the realm, favorite of her mother back in the day, decide to throw everything away for the love of a common fae. But I know. Insanity. She’s completely mad.

  Does it run in the family?

  I hide a smile.

  The moment she sees me, Ciera’s eyes brighten.

  “Rystan. Wait, I hear you favor Drusk?”

  I shrug. “The high queen may call me as she pleases.”

  Her laugh makes me think of her daughter. “Why, I never knew you could be charming. My daughter doesn’t speak much of her friends.”

  I attempt no answer.

  Her smile drops and she sighs, returning to her brushing. “I owe you, Rystan. More than I should say. We all do.”

  She isn’t the first to express some gratitude for the role I’ve taken upon myself—training the folk. I never sought gratitude. I saw something that could prove useful, when I was feeling utterly helpless, and I chose to do it to retain some sanity. That’s all.

  But she isn’t talking about the rangers.

  “Do you know how it works? Her hair.” She’s looking down at her daughter.

  I shake my head. “I’ve always known her to be silver-haired, in our youth.”

  “She never was,” the queen tells me. “Vlari was born with a full head of violet curls. I meant to call her Hyacinth.”

  I grimace, making the queen laugh again.

  “Nero had the same reaction. Either way, we never had a choice. My mother saw her and decided her fate.”

  Her hand glides along Vlari’s skin, and pushes fabric down her shoulder. That feels like an invasion. I want to tell her to stop.

  “Just there,” Ciera says, brushing the back of her shoulder. “That’s where my mother branded her with old magic. A rune that sucked at her power. Sucked at her very life. All those of our line have an amethyst streak, inherited from our ancestors. And the moment Mother branded Vlari, her hair turned silver at the roots. You know what I noticed, right then? My mother’s violet eyes were brighter. She wasn’t only crippling my daughter. She was channeling her.”

  If I could bring Morgana to life right now, I would, only to ensure she suffers greater torments before extracting the last ounce of life from her.

  “I vowed I’d find a way to end her rule. I vowed death and violence. But these things aren’t in my nature. Most of all, I vowed Vlari would never be used again. Yet, we’re doing that right now. Sucking at her life to protect ourselves. To maintain our power.”

  If she’s hoping for me to disagree, she’ll be disappointed.

  “That’s why I intended to wake her on her birthday, no matter the cost. She’ll be eighty come midwinter, you know. And as we approached it, I saw her life draining before my eyes every day. I saw that if I would not condemn us all, I’d have to condemn my daughter instead.”

  My jaw ticks. “We still have time.” I move closer, eyes on the soft locks. “She’s still fine. Conscious. Fighting. Is she not?”

  She has to be. We talk every day, and she has said nothing of her strength waning. I haven’t seen or sensed any difference in her.

  To my shock, the queen drops the brush next to Vlari and rushes to me. I instinctively move into a defensive position, but before I entirely shift to one side to protect my heart, she’s thrown herself at me, arms around my shoulders, and her seemingly frail arms are squeezing me to her.

  I’m astounded, confused, and honestly, concerned. For one, what if her bondmate enters and misunderstands the situation? I consider prying her off me, but she’s the unseelie high queen. And she’s Vlari’s mother. It seems like she needs comfort. I can attempt to provide it, pretending it’s my sister in my arms. With great difficulty, I force my arm to circle hers loosely. She sniffles in my grasp.

  Oh, lords of all woods, I am dreadful at this hugging business.

  “We do.” The queen bobs her head up and down, as ungracefully as she’s able to. “We do have time, now.” F
inally, finally, she moves away from me. “She was fading. Her slumbers lasted longer. Most days, she barely breathed, and she was cold. So very cold. Now, look.” She’s pointing to Vlari’s hair. It isn’t much different from what it was when I first saw it a week ago. Half silver-gray, the other half a deep, dark purple.

  Reading my confusion, she clarifies, “We had less than three inches of color. My daughter is strong, but even she needs anchors. Things to hold her here with us. Friends, people to entertain her. Hope.”

  I practically growl. “Did none of her friends come?”

  I pause, wondering if Vlari has friends at all. The Thorn girl, Mephesea, comes to mind. “Didn’t Esea come?”

  The queen nods. “Occasionally, and it helped, of course. But she has no one else. A decade is a long time to hold on to just a few threads. I don’t think she was giving up. I think she was truly falling into the claws of deep eversleep, though I doubt it was of her own volition. She was fading.”

  I don’t say anything. I can’t. The guilt eating at me doesn’t allow for a word to cross my lips. I could have come earlier. In my anger and cowardice, I didn’t think about what her eversleep was like for her. All that mattered was that seeing her was too painful.

  “And yet, she used some energy. To save the girl…the child, a few weeks ago.”

  I’m redirecting my anger at Vlari, because if I don’t, I’m going to hit something.

  Ciera sighs. “She said the child is brave. That she deserves a chance. I think she knew she was almost gone, by then. She may have wanted to do something good before leaving us.”

  I can’t breathe. The queen should have just stabbed me in the heart.

  She takes my hand, her palm hot against my icy skin. “You brought her back to us.”

  “How long?” I clear my throat. “How long do we have, now? Given her energy level.”

  Ciera smiles at me. “Years. We have years, Rystan. I can’t tell you how many, exactly, but she’s well now.”

  I remember how to breathe again then.

  We have time.