Chapter 40
FORTY
CAIRN
The instant Alleria drops to the floor, the Challenge ends, and the binding releases me.
One breath, I’m frozen in the saddle, held there by a law more ancient than any fae in this room, forced to watch her drown on dry land with my hands locked on Selveryn’s reins. The next, it's gone, and nothing stands between us.
I’m off Selveryn and on my knees beside her before her body has finished settling against the floor.
She’s too still. For one wild moment, the bonds give me nothing, and the silence of it is the worst thing I’ve ever felt. I press two fingers beneath her jaw, and relief courses through me. Her pulse is there. It’s fast and thin, but it’s there.
Sliding one arm beneath her shoulders, I gather her against my chest, turning as I do until my back is to the dais and my body is between her and Lysaena, who stands frozen in front of her throne.
Alleria’s head falls against my shoulder.
The Nightwild armor fades as I watch, the magic no longer held together by her will.
And the rage I have held since Lysaena spoke the word Challenge comes off its leash.
I had to stand there while my sister poured the sea into Alleria’s head.
I had to watch as her face drained white, her knees gave up her weight, and she fought to keep her mouth shut while everything in her screamed to breathe.
And I did nothing, because the law said if I moved, her life would be forfeit.
The law is satisfied now.
I lock eyes with Lysaena. “My chambers. Have them opened. Now.”
Lysaena recovers fast.
“Your chambers?” She tips her head. “What about all those protests that you are no Sea Court prince? That you bend to no throne? Yet the moment your pet swoons, you ask for your rooms in my palace, as though they were yours to claim?” Her lips curve into a smug, victorious smile, as she retakes her seat on the throne.
She thinks she’s won. She thinks she has brought the Eldráfn to heel.
“Welcome home, Brother.”
Whatever shred of restraint I have left evaporates.
Down the line of the Guard, eleven steeds dissolve at once. Gone between one breath and the next, because I send the command through Nightwild. The five warriors at the dais shift their hands toward the blades at their hips.
“Therin.” My voice is soft, but it carries across the entire throne room.
Therin moves too fast for the Sea Court to track. He is past the five royal warriors before they can react. His hand closes around Lysaena’s throat, lifting her out of the throne.
Her guard lunges forward with shouts, weapons drawn, but they don’t manage a single step. The Nightwild Guard flows into the space between them and the dais, a silent, impenetrable wall of drawn steel and lethal intent.
Her warriors stop where they are. To take another step is to die, and they know it.
I rise slowly to my feet, lifting Alleria gently into my arms, and let the authority of the Nightwild magic bleed into the air. Every courtier in the room shrinks back.
I turn to face my sister, watching as she kicks at empty air, clawing frantically at the iron grip Therin has on her throat.
“I could kill you right here. I could leave the Sea Court without a queen before the tide turns. And there is nothing anyone in this room could do to stop it. The only reason you’re still breathing is because I have not yet decided if you are worth the effort of killing.”
Her eyes bulge. She scrabbles at Therin’s arm, her pride choking on the reality of what she’s just unleashed.
“So, I ask you again. Are my rooms open?”
“Yes! Of course. Your rooms are always ready!”
I turn and stride toward the side doors of the hall without another word. The Guard falls into formation around me. A second later, a heavy thud echoes through the throne room as Therin drops Lysaena to the floor.
The halls of the Palace of the Ninth Tide have not changed in three hundred years.
Pearl walls curve past on either side, lit from within.
The floor glows faintly underfoot. My feet know the turns without me needing to think, taking me past the lower galleries, and up the spiraling ramp of fused sea-glass.
Courtiers and guards we pass press themselves into the walls, eyes lowered to the floor, doing everything in their power not to attract our attention.
When we reach the wing set aside for the Guard—as the palaces of all the courts have ready—Therin steps ahead to push open the heavy double doors. They swing inward without a sound, revealing the central antechamber.
Wide windows full of moving water and pale light span one wall. Twelve archways branch off from the room, leading to private rooms for each Guard. A thirteenth stands alone between the windows.
That’s the one I take.
I stride across the space and into my personal chambers. The small sitting room hasn’t changed. Tapestries line one wall, bookshelves the other. I ignore both and keep moving until I’m through another door and in my bedchamber.
A large bed carved from pale wood takes up the center. I carry Alleria to it, laying her down gently on the deep blue silk sheets.
“Serath. Caelum.”
They’re already moving to the bed, and I step back to give them room to work. The rest of the Guard arrange themselves around the room.
Serath sets a palm over Alleria’s chest, and light spills from her hands. Caelum presses two fingers to the pulse point at her throat, his eyes closed as he concentrates.
The silence stretches, pulling the knot in my chest tighter with every heartbeat. My jaw is locked so tight, pain throbs in my gums.
When the healing light fades, Serath steps back, turning to face me.
“Well?” The word comes out clipped.
“She’s whole. There shouldn’t be any lasting harm. She’s spent, that’s all. Whatever she did to break free of Lysaena’s glamour took everything she had. Her body is paying the price. When she wakes, she’ll be tired. But she will wake.”
The anger holding me in its grip eases just enough to let me take a full breath. I look around at the gathered warriors.
“Go. There’s nothing any of you can do here.”
They dip their heads, and file out silently, the door clicking shut behind them as they retreat to their own rooms. All but two, anyway.
Therin and Brael remain behind, moving to different points of the room.
Therin takes a chair in one corner, while Brael stands near the window, back propped against the wall.
Neither of them speak, and the only sound is the faint pulse of water moving beyond the windows, and the steady, shallow breaths coming from Alleria.
I take the empty chair beside Brael, and drag it to the side of the bed, close enough to reach her when she wakes. My gaze stays fixed on the rise and fall of her chest.
I should have known what Lysaena would do. I should have prepared for it. I should have made sure Alleria was protected from it.
“What the fuck was that, Cairn?” It’s Therin who breaks the silence.
I don’t look at him. “Which part?”
“The part where a mortal girl turns out to be a halfling, becomes part of the Nightwild Guard, and then shatters a Sea Court drowning glamour through sheer will,” Brael says from his place against the wall.
“Yes, but no.” Therin’s voice is flat. “The crown bleeds. The blood still runs. The darkness hungers.” He pauses, waiting for my response. I say nothing. “She spoke true. You both felt it. The entire court felt it.”
I did feel it. That’s the trouble.
I have only witnessed something like that twice in my long life. Both times, the speaker was an oracle, a Laisrún—Holder of the Sight—ancient beyond reckoning, and half-mad with the power moving through her.
Both times, she predicted events to come. Both times her words were understood too late.
“I don’t know.” I pull my gaze away from Alleria, and turn to face them both. “But whatever triggered it, whatever she saw when the glamour broke, she spoke with the power of a Laisrún.”
Therin’s eyes narrow. “A halfling waking the Sight?”
“She is tied to the Nightwild magic, and you know what that does. It draws buried power to the surface.”
“Yes, but—”
“Maybe she is Wild Court.” I glance back at her, checking the pulse at her neck, the rise and fall of her chest. “It would make sense. At the cove, the tideharts danced for her. Chiarna’s garden opened for her. The last Laisrún was Wild Court.”
“That doesn’t make her Wild Court or a Laisrún,” Brael says. “How long has it been since a seer was born? A thousand years? Two?”
“Two, and Tiar’friel died fifty years before the war began.”
“So it’s been almost four hundred years since Underhill last had an oracle, and Alleria just happens to be one?”
“She saw the threads when I drew the moon.” The words drop into complete silence.
Before either of them can speak, a knock carries from the door connecting my personal rooms to the antechamber.
Therin and Brael are in motion immediately, black and silver blades forming in their hands. They move out of the bedroom without a sound, crossing the sitting room to intercept whoever is out there.
I rise from the chair and follow them, pulling the bedroom door shut at my back.
By the time I cross the sitting room, Brael has opened the door to the antechamber, just enough to see who’s out there.
“Lysaena.”
“Open the door.” I step past my brother and out into the chamber, him and Therin at my back.
Lysaena stands in the center of the room, her chin high, wearing the haughty expression of a Sea Court sovereign. Her eyes dart toward the closed door at my back before finding me.
“I came to see whether your mortal lives.”
“If she were otherwise, you would be dead already. What do you want?”
She sighs. “You rode into my hall, and renounced your titles in front of every Sea Court fae. I could not let that stand. I had to show a display of power. You know that.”
“You almost drowned her.”
“I tested her. Bringing a mortal plaything into the heart of the Sea Court is an insult I could not ignore. But it was never about the female. I could not let it pass unchallenged without looking weak. You know how this court works.”
I watch her. There’s something in the rigid set of her shoulders, a nervous energy humming beneath her composed exterior.
The crown bleeds.
“You don’t hold the crown.”
Lysaena freezes, and the arrogant mask slips a little.
“Careful, Cairn. You may be Nightwild, but your blood still flows with Sea Court salt.”
I smile. She needs the Witnessing.
And there is only one person alive with the authority to give it.
“I am not the one who needs to tread carefully. I can withhold it.” My voice turns silky. “I can strip you of what little power you’ve scraped together, and take away your borrowed crown.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
I close the distance between us.
“You drowned one of mine on the floor of your hall. Don't tell me what I’d dare.”
Her throat moves as she swallows.
“Without us, the Sea Court’s mantle never fully settled on you.
Your rule is incomplete. You need us to legitimize your claim.
” Disgust fills me. “I should refuse you. I should name another successor, and make every soul in this court kneel to her instead. It would be fair payment for what you did.”
Her eyes widen, and the last shred of arrogance falls away.
She knows I have the authority to do it.
The Nightwild Guard holds the power to recognize the sovereign of all the courts.
Without our Witnessing, a Queen cannot fully access the source of her Court’s magic.
She must rely on whatever power she’s amassed without it.
A dangerous position to be in. It weakens the Court, leaving it open to attack from the others. Fae feed on weakness. A weak Court is a dead Court.
“Cairn.”
“Beg for it. On your knees.”
Her eyes flare, but she lowers herself to her knees and bows her head. “I, Lysaena Thalor, first daughter of Lirael Thalor, beseech the Eldráfn of Nightwild to witness me as the true heir of the Sea Court crown.”
I stare down at her, letting her squirm as she waits for my decision. Then I lay the terms.
“The Nightwild Guard will perform your Witnessing. We will accept you as the rightful Queen of the Sea Court.”
Relief washes over her features, and a smile tilts her lips up. She goes to stand, then freezes when I continue speaking.
“Our condition is this. You will publicly accept Alleria as Nightwild. You will acknowledge her place before your Court. You will apologize for your challenge. And you will ensure every fae in the Sea Court understands the consequences of crossing her again.”
Lysaena’s smile disappears. “Apologize? Before the entire Court?”
“Yes.”
“You ask too much for one mortal.”
“I’m not asking.”
Her lips part. I can see the refusal forming.
A burst of fear comes down the blood bond.
Alleria.
Everything else stops mattering.
“We’re finished.” I turn from my sister. “Get out.”
“We have not settled—”
“You have your terms. Take them or lose your crown.” I turn my back on her and walk through the door leading to my chambers.