Misrule, page 31
You are not that creature anymore, Mortania rumbles.
No. I am not.
“There is one final item I require before we enact the enchantment,” Oryn says. “The Briar crown. Do you know where it might be found?”
The crown? It’s a strange request. I would assume that Oryn considered the gilded wreath of bramble and thorn as nothing but a human trinket, far beneath his notice.
Rose adjusts the collar of her jacket, overlaid with something fine and shimmery, like a spider’s web. “I’ve not seen it in a century, High King. It may well have been lost in the mongrel’s siege.”
Mongrel. I flinch reflexively, wishing that I’d not been persuaded to remove Rose’s necklace.
“She proves more useless every day,” one of Oryn’s Fae mocks with a sneer.
Rose stiffens. “I am sorry to disappoint you. But perhaps I am not the best person to ask.”
“Whom do you suggest in your stead?” Oryn sets down his marker.
“The princess, of course. She’s the one who would care most about such an object.”
My heart thumps against my breastbone, blood flashing hot, then cold. Aurora is here.
The High King’s moss-green curls stir in the sea breeze. “Fetch her, then.”
Rose nods then strides back up the stairs, boots clipping on the stone. Voices drift from the upper story, and then—
Torchlight shines on Aurora’s bronze-kissed skin as she descends into the chamber, still luminous even though it’s marred with the evidence of her journey. Threads of crimson-gold glimmer in the mess of windswept braids coiled beneath her hood. Her hands are bound in front of her. The sight of a cut on her cheek threatens to undo my Shift.
She betrayed you, Mortania fumes.
She did. Unforgivably. But in this moment, damn my feckless heart, I want to go to her. Burn this cursed tower to the ground and fly away with Aurora in my arms.
“Princess.” Oryn’s spurs, fashioned like pairs of thistles, jangle as he nears her. “I seek the Briar crown. The Grace informs me that you may be aware of its location.”
Anyone else would be cowed and trembling, but Aurora regards Oryn as if he is the prisoner. “The crown is no business of yours. It belongs to Leythana’s heirs. And I haven’t seen it in a hundred years.”
The squawking laughter of grackles bounces off the curved walls of the chamber. Oryn inhales deeply. “You lie.”
She only shrugs and blinks innocently back at him. “Can you prove that?”
A low warning hiss emanates from the other Fae. Spindly fingered hands go to gem-encrusted blade hilts, and the High King’s guards stomp forward. Six orbs begin to pulse from gold to amber. Light flashes across the wreaths of laurel leaves on their helmets.
“Perhaps the mortal princess will feel more inclined to honesty without a hand, High King.” One of the others, a Fae wearing epaulettes fashioned like screaming eagles, unsheathes a knife from his belt. “We can present it to the boy to fulfill our bargain. That is what he desired, was it not? Her hand?”
Laughter, like branches clicking together.
No. They will not harm her.
Let them keep her, Mortania orders. Her presence fizzes in my fingertips. She cares nothing for you.
A pounding starts in my head. But then the circle of Fae surrounding Aurora tightens. Before I’ve fully realized what I’m doing, I’m sprinting across the tower, my Vila magic pummeling into the first Fae it lands on.
The guard roars as my power weaves past his ribs and squeezes his insides. I leave him on his knees and aim for another.
Oryn bangs his staff on the floor, his signature stoicism fracturing. “What is this? What is happening?”
Waves hurl themselves against the base of the cliff.
“It must be Malyce!” Rose shouts above the tumult. I should have dispensed with her first. “Hurry—the princess. It’s the only way to stop her.”
I spin in Aurora’s direction, preparing to catch her around the waist and vault out the gaping side of the tower. A dangerous, insane ploy—but it’s the only chance we have. I’m too slow. One of the Fae guards seizes Aurora, his bark-handled dagger pressed to her neck hard enough that a thin line of crimson blood dribbles onto her collarbone.
“Stop this!” Rose shouts, attention roving in search of me. “Show yourself, Malyce. Unless you want her to die.”
It will be the Grace who dies, I think, my magic poised to strike. Oryn’s Fae sport various states of injury and outrage. The tips of the High King’s crown gleam, menacing as spears. I can end this battle here, before it begins. But then I see the pleading in Aurora’s expression—the way her lips might form the shape of my name. And I am unmoored.
Mortania’s presence thrums. Leave now, or you will face a far worse fate than a medallion.
Wind howls through the chamber. My very bones ache, as if I will split right down the middle. But I resist the ancient Vila’s urging, skin prickling as my Shift falls away.
“Ah.” Rose smiles at me, saccharine. “There she is.”
One of the hulking Fae guards moves to bind my wrists.
“Leave her,” Oryn instructs. The sigils of his fallen courts glare at me from his breastplate. “We have her chains here.” He indicates Aurora. “If the creature Shifts, if she tries to lash out at us with that abominable power, it will be the princess who suffers.”
Every fiber of my being wants to attack anyway, or to flee. But I am rooted to the spot, attention fixed on Aurora’s head, where something is glimmering.
In the scuffle, Aurora’s hood has fallen around her shoulders, and her braids have loosened, exposing something beneath. I bite my bottom lip to keep from uttering a curse. Where had she found that?
“Don’t worry, Malyce.” Rose straightens a bronze leaf on her sleeve. “We’ll take good care of her. You, perhaps not. But the princess—” Her whole body goes rigid. “Dragon’s teeth.”
“What is it now?” Oryn demands.
Rose points, and my stomach sinks. She noticed it, too. “The crown, High King. She’s wearing it.”
The Fae who is holding Aurora glances down. His knife moves from her throat and takes two swipes at her braids. Thick chunks of copper-gold hair flutter to the floor, revealing the gilded wreath of bramble and thorn.
Low Fae laughter—like the first greeting of thunder—winds around us, cresting to a peak that makes my blood boil. Aurora juts out her chin, defiant as ever, but I can sense the current of fear that must be threading through her veins.
“Ah, Princess.” Oryn smiles, all sharp teeth and menace. “You never fail to amuse me.”
A wave shatters below.
“Shall I?” Rose reaches for the crown, greedy snake that she is, but Oryn stops her.
“Leave it.”
A few of the Fae exchange uncertain murmurs.
“Is that wise, High King?” one ventures.
“She will not wear it long.” The leaves of his chain mail chime as he moves. “I should like for this so-called queen to watch her realm crumble.”
Stars leap and spin within the orb of the High King’s staff, bathing the room in gold. In the shimmery haze, Aurora is like a statue come to life—like Leythana’s outside the main gates of Briar. But she is not Leythana.
We are both prisoners.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
We’re kept under guard until dawn, one of the Fae always close enough to reach for Aurora if I misbehave. Rose was dispatched shortly after my failed attack—something about completing the High King’s business. Every muscle aches to fight back. Dig for each heart of Fae power and squeeze until there’s nothing left. A taste of metal and blood coats my tongue, Mortania wilder than Chaos in his worst temper, far more so than I’ve ever sensed her. But if anything should happen to Aurora…
You should not care.
But I do.
That does not mean that I forgive her. I am furious with her. She let me believe we could find our way back to each other when all she really wanted to do was hand me over to the High King. Extinguish my power. But I cannot stop looking at her where she sits on the other side of the tower. Cannot stop wondering what she’s thinking as she stares out the gap in the wall. After an eternity, her gaze tracks to mine, and my heart crashes against my ribs like the waves against the cliff below. I wish I could scream at her. Hold her. And I search her expression for some hint that she’s sorry. That she’s realized she made a mistake. But those amethyst eyes are closer akin to the churning sea—angry and frigid and deadly. I do not dare look at her again.
* * *
—
As the sun begins to rise, Briar shrouded in the shades of the gray dawn, we’re marched up the piecemeal staircase to the very top of the black tower. Three of the Fae whistle, calling their steeds and galloping off toward the ships behind us. And I notice a faint beating that I ascribe to the tempo of waves and the gales buffeting the tower. But it’s a different rhythm altogether, punctuated by barely perceptible whinnying. Oryn’s army. I can’t see them, but they’re here, perhaps hovering just above the sea.
“Another member of your ilk dwelled in this place some years past.” Oryn’s hammered-bark cloak shimmers as it swells behind him.
“Dwelled?” I reply. “You mean the Shifter you chained here in shadow?”
“It was a fitting punishment, the Shifter and his mate imprisoned together. Close enough to hear the screams of the fallen. To understand the full extent of their defeat.”
Defeat. My mind wanders back to the conversation I had with Neve, and her suggestion that Kal had been a pawn in a larger game. Since that awful night when Aurora was cursed again, I’d painted the Shifter as a monster. But how much had he done out of desperation because he believed he was right? And what does that say about everything I’ve done? Can the death and destruction be wholly justified? Mortania is eerily silent.
“We’ll see if you don’t share a similar fate by day’s end, Oryn.”
The jewel on his forehead glimmers. “The day has much in store for us both, half-breed. And I am not the one held captive by my enemies.”
Oryn’s staff taps against stone as he moves away. Aurora and I are alone, save for the Fae guards behind us. It’s the closest we’ve been since Oryn’s audience chamber, and my skin tingles with the urge to touch her. I curse myself for the weakness and ball my hands into fists.
“Your new allies handle you poorly,” I observe, low enough so that they won’t hear.
“They aren’t my allies,” she mutters back.
“Illicit talks and intricate conspiracies.” I huff out a laugh. It clouds in front of my face. “No, those don’t sound like the sort of things allies do together. Call him off if you’re no longer on good terms.”
Her jaw sets. “I tried.”
I blink, and a wisp of hope flutters in my chest. “You did?”
“It may surprise you to learn that I do not want my realm locked within an enchanted cage.”
“Then why is Oryn still here? Doesn’t he need your permission to invade?”
Aurora’s shorn locks stir in the icy sea-salted wind. It carries her scent—apple blossom and cool water. And that endless craving I feel for her is both sated and intensified at once.
“Apparently, my summons cannot be rescinded once given.” She swallows. “I thought I’d been so careful, but he…”
Crows wheel overhead, trading their calls.
“You’re not the first to fall victim to Oryn’s trickery,” I say, gentler than before. “Fae bargains are unpredictable. Which is why I never expected you to make one.”
Her dirt-smudged face at last turns to me. “I lied to you about Oryn because I knew if Mortania guessed my plans, she would influence you to abandon them. And I was right. As soon as the details came to light, you changed course—even though you promised to trust me.”
The ancient Vila swirls with displeasure.
“Promises don’t count when they’re made under false pretenses,” I fire back. “What of the trust I placed in you? I thought you really wanted to build something together. But you just wanted me to be powerless.”
“I never wanted that.”
The scent of steel and loam lands on my tongue. “No? Then why was Oryn prepared to strip me of my magic while you were secretly wearing your crown?” She opens her mouth to reply, but I cut her off. “Don’t trouble yourself. That crown is the only thing you’ve ever cared about. Even if we had been wed, you would have been queen, and I your consort. My power at your disposal.”
“Are you finished?”
I’m not. But I chew my lips and don’t say anything else. The nickering of the Fae steeds floats up from below.
“This crown is the only thing I have left of my life before,” Aurora says. “You want me to forget Briar. Forget who I am. Well, I cannot. I will not. Not for you, nor anyone else.”
Mortania roils in her den, and my palms ache from where I’ve been digging my nails into my flesh. “Was any of it real?”
For the briefest instant, hurt flickers across her expression. And then it glazes over, colder than a frigid sea. She studies the horizon, refusing to reply. It is answer enough.
“Your plan wouldn’t have worked,” I say, angry tears stinging on my dry lips. “Oryn would have had to kill me to remove her. Trap me in some medallion along with her. Did you know that? Would it have mattered?”
The next gust of wind grabs at us both. But Aurora gives nothing away. And I’m honestly not sure what I expected her to say. Or which answer would have hurt me worse.
* * *
—
The sun finally heaves itself over the horizon line. A dull orange dawn bleeds through the realm. Mist billows across the land and climbs over the bramble barrier at the main gates. The human ships are even with the Crimson Cliffs. A horn sounds and my heart beats harder. The lights of the palace begin to glow, like rows of eyes watching. I should be there.
And then an explosion reverberates from the direction of the palace. Panic spears through me, and I try to Shift my eyesight to determine what it is, but I’m out of range. Another blast echoes. The Fae king is smiling. His moss-green curls dance around the antlers of his crown.
“What’s happening?” Aurora tries to inch closer to the edge of the tower, but her guard hauls her back.
“Patience, Princess.” He combs his sticklike fingers through her uneven locks.
I count three more explosions, one rumbling into the next, before something much nearer the black tower catches my attention. Hooded figures are hurrying from Briar’s main gates. At least two dozen. Oryn doesn’t seem alarmed and doesn’t call for the party to be intercepted. They scurry through the clumps of skeletal trees, heads bent, and file swiftly into the tower.
“Who is that?” They’re too small to be Fae. And how did they get past the bramble barrier? Footsteps clatter up the stairs and one of the cloaked figures emerges.
It’s Rose, returned from whatever errand the High King assigned to her. Her clothes are mud-stained and there’s ash on her face.
“I take it your strategy was effective,” Oryn says.
“Oh, yes.” Rose sweeps him a curtsy, pleased with herself. “The tunnels served our purpose beautifully.”
The tunnels. That’s why my brambles didn’t stop them. I curse my own stupidity. Rose must have learned of them when she attended the funeral.
“What have you done?” I breathe.
“As His Majesty requested,” she answers, beaming at Oryn. “I’ve helped rid the world of the Vila scum. Everything was accomplished exactly as you bid, High King.”
“And the runes?”
“Awaiting your command.”
“What is she talking about?” I stalk forward, but then Aurora’s guard clamps his sinewy arm around her shoulders.
“Hold your temper, half-breed. Lest your princess lose her head.”
I snarl at him. Oryn hasn’t moved. He stares toward Briar, the jewels on his breastplate glimmering in the sunrise. Fae steeds chuff and whicker behind us. It’s then that I see it. Smoke curls up from the palace in sooty tendrils. The explosions.
I whirl back to Rose. Beneath the grime, her cheeks are smeared with a golden flush of exhilaration. “You did this.”
“You think you’re the only one among us capable of formulating a plan, Malyce? Maybe you shouldn’t have kept us locked in a dungeon for a hundred years if you wanted to inspire loyalty.”
Us. And suddenly I know who the others were—the Graces, escaped from the Garden. “The Goblins—”
“Were all busy preparing for the Fae siege. The keys were hanging on a peg.” She laughs again. “It was too easy, really.”
Dragon’s teeth, Valmar. He must have assumed that playing jailer to a couple dozen caged Graces was a waste of time given the current situation.
“Rose, how could you?” The pain in Aurora’s voice is palpable. “My home. Our home.”
“It isn’t our home anymore,” she replies, adjusting her jacket. “They took it from us. Honestly, Highness, I did you a favor. The war is all but won now. You won’t have to deal with that”—she jerks her chin at me—“for much longer.”
Mortania strains beneath my skin. I have no one to blame for this but myself. I knew Rose would cause trouble if I let her out. But I’d wanted to please Aurora.
Show them what you can do.
But the risk is still too great.
Rose gathers her composure and addresses the High King. “The others are waiting downstairs. Shall I tell them you’ll come?”
