Misrule, page 29
“Can’t you see that I’m protecting you, Alyce?” Aurora says. “Mortania cannot be allowed to—”
“So it’s fine for you to decide what protection means?” A root winds higher up my calf and bites into my muscle. “It’s fine for you to sacrifice a piece of my very being without my knowledge or consent?”
The ancient Vila whirls as if she will break free of the barrier of my skin.
“Mortania is corrupting your mind,” she volleys back. “You’re addicted to her power.”
Oryn’s court has clumped together. A Fae wearing a gown made of drooping wisteria blossoms licks her honeysuckle lips and leers.
“Have you stopped to think for one moment what they might do if I actually agreed to what you suggest? Chain me to the shadows in the black tower and wait for me to die, perhaps. You saw what they did to Malakar. What they did to the Vila in the first war.”
“A war is what I’m trying to end!”
“And what of our plan? The plan you begged me not to abandon when something went wrong? Which, I might point out, is exactly what you are doing now.”
Songbirds trade their tunes, but Aurora won’t answer. The truth digs between my ribs. “Because that was never the plan,” I say, numb. “You made it up to distract the council—and me. While you hatched your own plot with Oryn.”
Fae laughter eddies around us. Laughter that is hauntingly similar to that which I endured as the Dark Grace. I clench my fists and forbid myself to hunch against it.
“I had to get you to come to Oryn’s palace without the might of your army behind you. Otherwise, you never would have agreed. Neve said—”
“Neve?”
“Yes,” she replies smoothly. “I needed her help to communicate with Oryn. And she was the only member of your court whom I trusted would see the value of this strategy.”
I hate that Shifter. How long has she been colluding with the Fae?
Regan curses and tries to sever her bindings again. More roots coil around her legs and torso. Mortania howls and thrashes. All Aurora’s talk of forgiveness. Of us finding our way back to each other. She was only using me. Some fragile, tender part of me dies.
A breeze wafts through the broken window behind us. Vines rustle. The opalescent light of the strange blossoms glows against Aurora’s skin.
“I told you a long time ago, that I would be the queen Leythana was. That I would protect my realm. And whatever means I employed—the deception and manipulation”—she fixes me with a stone-hard glare—“I learned from you.”
Her words are like a slap. Mortania churns, furious. The scent of molten steel and silty blood floods my lungs.
“There will be no bargain today,” I grind out.
“I did not presume that there would be,” Oryn replies, surveying us like we’re a pair of Imps squabbling over a bad dice throw. That unnerving Fae laughter begins to swell again. “But I desired you both here so that the last princess of Briar can witness your death. One a century in the making.”
Aurora cries out in protest. But had she really imagined this meeting would end any other way? The guards close in on us. The magic in Oryn’s staff begins to pulse and spin. He aims at me.
A shrill screech slices through the chamber. A smear of tawny brown and white charges the High King. Callow. A heady mix of pride and terror beats in my chest. Oryn stumbles in alarm, ducking in a decidedly unkingly fashion as Callow pecks and claws at his face. His staff—the most powerful weapon in Etheria—clatters to the ground.
Now, pet!
I let my power free.
My magic pummels into the roots holding us, clamping on to their Fae magic in an instant. They scream and shrivel, blackened and burned husks wilting away. Regan leaps out of her bonds just before a gilded arc of magic slices through her middle. My power dives from one Fae guard to the next. Armor clangs as the massive creatures topple like felled trees. Oryn is still trying to fend off Callow’s assault.
“Regan! The staff!”
The orb encased in its gnarled and knotted nest sputters on the ground. Regan bounds toward it and skids across the floor—a heartbeat too late. Oryn lands a blow to Callow’s body. My bird is tossed to one side like a child’s toy. Rage boils. He will pay for that. Oryn picks up his staff. Mortania’s presence canters through my limbs, more potent than I’ve ever felt it. A scythe of the High King’s power sweeps toward me.
Something careens into my side.
Glass shards pop under my feet as I struggle to get my bearings. Aurora is standing between me and the High King.
“Run!” I can barely hear her over the riot of magic.
But where is there to go?
Regan fights through the swarm of Fae, Callow tucked to her side. She grabs my arm and pulls me along. The rest of the court converges on us. Fae power ricochets off the walls and zigzags through the air like shooting stars. The wind tugs at us, reeling us toward the broken window. A familiar whinny echoes from below. I peer over the edge, catching the blot of a silvery-winged body. Chaos.
“Jump!” I shout at Regan.
“What?” She eyes the dizzying drop.
“Just do it!”
The Fae press closer, pointed teeth gnashing. Regan is not convinced. But the steed calls again, and then she spews a string of curses, secures Callow in her arms, and catapults herself into the void. I wait only long enough to see the quicksilver blur that is Chaos swoop beneath her and break her fall, then dive after them.
The wind snatches the air from my lungs. Shapes and colors bleed past in a nauseating whorl. I can’t tell up from down, and I’m certain Oryn will get his wish and I’ll be a splattered mess at the base of this mountain. But an instant later, wings erupt from my back. I cry out, body twisting in somersaults. My wings unfurl, snapping as they catch me.
I steady myself, streaking through the air like one of the Goblins’ loosed crossbow bolts. Chaos huffs a greeting as I pull beside them, Regan clinging to both Callow and the steed’s star-dusted mane as she throws up her shields and fends off attacks. Fae magic blasts through windows and archways. But that gilded power only bounces off my own green shield. And then the sparkling Fae palace is shrinking into a flicker of white-gold as we race back toward Briar.
Without Aurora.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
We do not see Torin or the others as we sail across the edge of Oryn’s domain, and their disappearance only fuels my fear. I hope that they sensed the trap and retreated, and that they were not intercepted by Oryn’s forces and are currently imprisoned in a Fae dungeon. Because we do not have time to go back for them. Not when anything might be waiting for us at home.
It takes a full day of breathless flying before the silhouette of the Dark Court comes into view. Relief rushes through me when we cross the Etherian Mountain border, and I see that the palace appears undisturbed. There’s no enchanted cage or battalion of armored Fae warriors. But then Regan points to the sea, where several specks skate across the horizon. My blade-sharp eyes home in. They’re ships. Human ships, and they’re moving faster than they ought to be, sails full-bellied despite the calm. I’m able to pick out a flicker of color atop one of the masts. Navy and bronze. The colors, I recall dully, of Ryna.
What would they be doing here? Clearly, the Ryna king’s opinion on allying with the Fae has changed. Which means the ships are likely Etherian-made. Mortania’s wrath sizzles across every nerve.
I drive myself harder and faster toward the ruined districts. At their Fae-gifted speed, the ships will reach Briar’s shores by tomorrow. The court must be protected.
“Where are you going?” Regan shouts, struggling to keep up as I swerve away from the palace and toward the sea cliffs. Chaos whinnies.
“We have to slow them down!”
I pull to a stop, treading the air outside the main gates. Using both my Vila and Shifter magic after flying for a straight day is beyond difficult. But I lean into the fresh agony of betrayal Aurora inflicted in Oryn’s audience chamber, letting the pain spur me on. My magic finds the black hearts of the oil-skinned trees, and I bid them climb toward the sky, melding together to create an impenetrable wall of bramble. Wicked thorns glint in the weak sunlight, as long as a human’s arm and deadlier than a Goblin’s sword, closing the Dark Court to the human invaders. It will buy us time—but not much.
* * *
—
The Demon sentries blow their horns from the battlements to announce our return. Exhaustion blunders my landing in the courtyard. Imps scatter in every direction. Callow hops from Regan’s arms, mildly injured from her ordeal in the High Court, but whole.
Chaos’s flank is lathered, his sides heaving. Regan slides from his back and stalks across the courtyard. Her whole body vibrates.
And then pain cracks across my cheek.
“I warned you.”
The courtyard wobbles, made worse by the sudden onset of hunger and the overuse of my magic. One hand goes to my throbbing jaw. She…hit me.
“Damn you, Nimara! I warned you about her.” Rage rolls from Regan in waves. “I told you not to trust her. But you didn’t listen. Nothing else mattered to you—not even this home we have sacrificed everything to build. All you’ve ever cared about was the path to her fickle human heart.”
I have never seen her so angry. In the century we’ve known each other, Regan and I have hardly ever quarreled. Not like this. And my chest aches with shame and remorse and a hundred other emotions. Because she is right. I should have suspected Aurora. Instead, I allowed our history to cloud my judgment. Let her endanger my court and bargain away my own power, all for the hope of some imaginary future together. The Imps around us begin to mutter, confusion wrinkling their ruddy faces. But no one dares to intervene.
“I lost my way,” I say, cringing at the excuse.
Regan bends close. “And how many times did I try to tell you that? Or attempt to help you find your way back? You dismissed me, preferring her sugar-coated lies. The greatest power of an age”—she laughs darkly—“and it is wasted on you. You’re too much of a coward to wield it properly.”
Coward? A different kind of pain sings through me, sharp-edged and white-hot. I shove the Vila leader away. “Yes, she deceived me. But you’ve never understood what was between Aurora and me. Just because Pansy—”
“Don’t you dare bring her into this,” Regan bites back. She paces, the bone spikes on her knuckles stretching pale as her fists clench and unclench. “But at least I knew my sister. The princess was a stranger to you. I assumed that once the boy woke her, you’d see that she wasn’t worth all your pining. That she was just like the other nobles when it came down to it. And no matter how many times she demonstrated…”
Her vitriol continues, but I’ve stopped listening. Something else snags in her words. “What do you mean, ‘once the boy woke her’?” I interrupt. “Did you…did you know that Derek would kiss her?” And then, a far more lethal question. “Did you help him somehow?”
Regan wheels to me, indignant, but I detect the hint of panic in her emerald eyes. “How could you ask me that? The boy knew about the princess before he set foot in the Dark Court. He came here specifically to wake her.”
“But he didn’t know where she was,” I counter. “He spouted that story about seeing the opening to the library while training steeds, but it always smelled rotten to me.” At the expression on Regan’s face, her lack of outright denial, a horrible certainty crackles like frost over my skin, replacing the bruising ache in my face. “You did help him, didn’t you?”
She is not daft enough to refute my accusation, and I didn’t know it was possible to feel the sort of anguish that pulses through me. Regan is my friend. Almost more than that. I can still imagine the press of her lips against mine. Lips that had been lying every day for Dragon knows how long. Are my instincts so skewed that I am blind to deceit?
“All those times when you claimed Aurora would be welcome,” I say softly. “Invited her to court. None of it was real.”
“You were obsessed,” Regan says at last. “She was some…goddess to you. I needed you to understand that she was mortal. With mortal desires that didn’t include you. If she’d woken and been as you said—accepting and open-minded—I would have been happy to have her in the Dark Court. But she wasn’t, Nimara. And she never will be. She proved that today.”
The air is too thin, and there isn’t enough of it. “How did you even know how to wake her? I never told you.”
She rubs her thumb over the gleaming scales of her twisted snake ring. “I paid a visit to the Graces in the Garden,” she admits. “The one you freed—Rose, or whatever—was happy to inform me of the princess and her curse in exchange for a decent meal.”
Rose? But that means the Grace knew that Aurora was alive well before I presented her with the necklace. She’d likely been plotting how to reach the princess, and I’d played right into her hands. Of course I did.
“And Derek?” I swallow down the lump of embarrassment in my throat. “How did he get to Aurora? He never said anything about your assistance.”
“A Vila trick to lure prey,” she says. And she does not look remorseful in the least. “A few drops of the boy’s blood on a stone I dropped in the library. It called to him until he ventured near enough.”
So he had been drawn to the library, just as he claimed.
“The kiss was luck, or so I assumed,” Regan goes on. “I didn’t think the boy would be able to resist her. That he’d hack apart the bramble enclosure with his bare hands if he had to. But I had no idea that the Fae had already told him what to do.”
My head is spinning. “You punish me for falling for Aurora’s traps when you have set just as many of your own. I thought you were my closest friend, but you’ve been manipulating me—far more than she ever did.”
A memory of the game we shared together surfaces, when Aurora claimed Regan was exactly like the duplicitous courtiers from Briar. I should have listened.
“I am your friend,” Regan snaps. “I’m your family. And sometimes family has to do what’s best, even when it hurts. You think what I did was worse than what just happened in Oryn’s court? The princess went behind your back to the High King. Demanded that you give away your power, so that she could keep hers. She does not care for you, Nimara.”
Shared ire wafts and wends between us. Callow shrieks, and Chaos chuffs and thumps a foot. But I can think of nothing to say in return. As furious as I am with Regan…she isn’t entirely wrong.
Movement ripples from the fringes of the courtyard.
“Nimara.” Valmar hurries toward us, oblivious to the simmering tension in the air. “Where are Torin and the others? Oryn’s staff?”
Regan answers without ever taking her murderous glare from mine. “We had to leave them behind. It was sabotage.”
The Imp leader’s tail begins to twitch.
“Aye. That explains the human ships the sentries spotted.” He fires off a litany of orders to his nearest Imps, who bound away in a chittering cloud. “Who was it betrayed us? The boy?”
“It was Neve,” I answer, unwilling to say Aurora’s name. Regan, mercifully, stays silent on the matter. My temples ache with unspent adrenaline.
Valmar’s long ears lie back. “Neve? Are you certain? She hates the Fae king as much as the rest of us.”
“Obviously not,” I say. “Have the sentries keep a watch for her. I want her captured and brought before me if she dares to show her face.”
And then I stalk away, leaving Regan seething behind me.
* * *
—
Valmar and the others spring into action. Sentries are doubled, and the remaining Goblins begin handing out weapons and arming themselves with vials of blight elixir. The rest of Regan’s Vila coat their own blood over arrows and sword edges—anything that might give us an advantage in the battle to come. Again I pray that Torin and Renard and the rest are safe. That they hadn’t gone charging into the High Court after me, assuming I’d been captured. I want to send a party to rescue them, but we cannot spare anyone. Even so, if anything happens to them, I’ll never forgive myself.
Having expended an enormous amount of my magic during our flight and in erecting the wall of bramble at the main gates, I’m all but banished to my rooms to rest. I shovel down as much food as the Imps can conjure, but sleep eludes me. There’s a constant hum in the air, anxiety and bloodlust mixed together. I pace my rooms, so restless that, despite her injuries, Callow demands to be let out into the night. I don’t blame her. My anger at both Regan and Aurora is like the sea during a storm, one I also yearn to escape. How could I have been so careless—again? Each of them knew exactly how to lure me in. How to use my love as a weapon. And I allowed them to do it.
Still, my traitorous mind wanders to Aurora.
What happened after we left? Is she in a Fae dungeon right now? Dead? It shouldn’t matter. But my wretched, wasted heart pulses out her name anyway.
At some point, I sink into a fitful slumber. Dreams creep through my brain like sharp-footed spiders. Sometimes I see Torin and the others, their small party overwhelmed by Etherians and slaughtered. Other times, the tale Regan told me of her past comes to life—villagers bludgeoning her to death. And then Aurora, standing beside the High King as she orders my execution with a flick of her royal wrist. Her laughter is brittle and cruel. It winds around me until all I can do is scream and scream.
I jolt into consciousness. The bedclothes cling to my sweat-drenched skin. A shadow curves in the light of the dying embers in the hearth. I’m still half inside my nightmare and believe it might be Kal come back to torment me. No—that Shifter is dead. But another is very much alive.
