Chapter One
Lark
Hallowed Grounds is quiet tonight. It has been quiet every night since Iagan came to deliver the news of our late mother, and I am feeling unusually restless.
I wipe down the espresso maker again, then count the meagre amount of coins in the till.
Hardly anyone uses cash now. There might be iron in it, but I miss the heavy weight of metal against my skin all the same.
The two final patrons—two vampires who I believe are on their first date—leave without looking back. I remain in place, skin prickling, frozen, and once I have counted to ten, I rush over to the door and press my hand against the wall.
Magic flares as the wards strengthen, settling into place with a sigh. I rest my forehead against the wall and briefly close my eyes.
Weeks. I have had weeks here, weeks waiting for fae to descend upon this place, to wrest me from my haven, but so far, I have seen none at all.
I do not believe that Iagan and his Hunt are out there nobly defending me.
No. Rather, I have been ignored, overlooked, and even though that is exactly what I wish for, it makes my temper spike all the same.
I shake my head and turn my back on the door. It is better to remain productive, to keep my body as occupied as my mind.
Never mind the fact that I know Iagan is trying to rein in all the fae who are spilling through the veil. That his Hunt have scattered to do the same thing.
That I have not seen Dante for over a week, despite the fact that he has never stayed away for so long before.
I drop a mug into the sink and grip the side of the counter. He is safe. I know that. His pack would settle for nothing less, and although they may not know his true connection to me, they will be keeping him close. I merely wish to set eyes upon him and know that for myself.
He may well be keeping his distance because he believes that keeps me safer. I shake my head and set to washing up. He knows I am hiding, of course. He was the one I called when I found the former vampire crai, Vasile, out dead in the cold. He knows how little power I truly have.
He may have embarked on some new relationship and forgotten all about me.
I set the now clean mug down too hard and hiss through my teeth when it breaks, ceramic cutting into my palm.
My skin prickles again, but this time with the urge to shed my human glamour and free my true fae self.
Magic presses against me. I can feel it.
I can always feel it. I just gave up any way of accessing it when I left the Otherworld for good.
My decision. All my decisions, although it was not my decision-making that got Ronan killed and thrust me into a position I had decidedly never been prepared for.
I shake my head and rinse the shallow cut on my hand under the tap. No matter now. What is done is done; all that remains are consequences.
I throw out the remainder of the mug, clean the café, and only pause once by the door, staring out into the shadows, before I reach out to flick off the lights.
My breath catches when I am plunged into darkness.
Are there fae waiting out there? Unseelie, to drag me back to a throne I was never intended to sit upon?
Seelie, to kill me and pave the way for a change in who rules?
But no one is there. No one lunges towards the door or the windows or watches me from twisting shadows. All I see is darkness, and I feel the familiar, steady hum of the wards—wards I set with all my power, wards Iagan strengthened without me ever asking.
Perhaps the fae have all forgotten me. Perhaps they are chasing Iagan instead. Something like guilt twinges in my chest, but I push it quickly away.
My youngest brother has always been more than capable of taking care of himself.
I wake a little after two in the morning. The time is hardly surprising; Drew often arrives between four and five and has been insistent on keeping to his shifts, even as everything has begun to change around us.
But no. This is not the usual wakefulness of habit. This is something else. I slowly raise myself into a sitting position and cock my head to one side, listening. My glamour is gone, faded away while I slept, so my hair parts over long, pointed ears.
Nothing. I hear nothing. I see nothing in the darkness of my small bedroom, so after a few moments, I climb out of bed and pad over to the window.
I see nothing on the street, either, but here I feel a change in the wards. No one has been close enough to get in—that wake-up would have been much more urgent, almost violent—but a fae has brushed up against my magic, as though trying to get my attention.
I scowl and snatch up a dressing gown, then wrap the tie around my waist with short, sharp movements. Iagan… This is exactly the kind of petulant way he would attempt to get my attention; he would not tear down the wards, of course, but he would not care that he scared me.
Not that I will show him fear. Never that. My fingers twitch and my glamour rises. A fae might be at my wards, but humans are up at all hours, and I cannot risk being seen.
I make my way down into the café, which is as quiet and dark and empty as I left it a few hours ago. I do not bother to turn on the lights. I cross straight to the door instead and feel for the wards again.
Whoever was there, they are gone now. The visit was a brief one, which means it was likely not Iagan, and I swallow hard. Fear curls low in my stomach. An ambush? Perhaps. But the wards extend a little way into the street, and I want to see where this fae was standing.
I unlock the door and step out into the cool night. My feet are bare, and the pavement of a city is nothing compared to the forest floor, but energy presses against me all the same. The wards still gently hum. I was right. No one is here.
I see no one. I sense no one. I gather up the meagre amount of power remaining in me, tugging on my glamour to an almost dangerous degree, but I feel no indication that any fae or magical being is nearby.
What were they—
A flash of white catches my eye. A piece of paper stuck to a lamppost that I am certain was not there when I closed up for the night. I approach it slowly, my senses all alert. If this is an ambush, it is amateurish at best.
Only… I reach out of the wards to snatch the paper, then retreat back against my café, clutching it close to my chest. My heart flutters and my breath comes faster.
This fear—I have not felt fear like this in centuries.
I thought I was right to give up my magic to come here, but what if I made the wrong choice?
I tear my eyes from the shadows, which, even now, seem to loom over me, and look at the paper instead. My hand shakes so violently I almost drop it.
Prince,
We have your soulbond. Come to the Otherworld, take your rightful place, and she can rule alongside you.
You never should have run.
I collapse against the wall with a gasp.
They do not have my soulbond. They simply cannot, because Dante is my soulbond, and the faint thread that connects us is enough to tell me he has not passed through the veil. He is still here. Still safe.
But I have a sinking, terrifying feeling that I know who they have mistakenly taken in his stead.