Chapter 1 #2
“Go to hell and help your ma make bitch stew.” Ciara cackles with laughter, tossing her red hair, as she throws petals down the back of Elatha’s wool robe.
Elatha flaps her eagle wings in outrage, before grabbing up her own handful of blossoms like a snowball and hurling it into Ciara’s face. “May the first cats to find you in the morning flee in terror at the gruesome sight of how horribly you died overnight.”
Elatha always has the best curses. She learns them from her ma.
I lean against the trunk of the tree, watching them.
Maybe they are disreputable.
It’s probably why we’re friends.
“Hey, your soon-to-be crowned prince is here.” I tilt up my chin. “Going to show me some respect, aye?”
They freeze, before turning to me.
When they exchange a glance, I straighten.
Wait, that was a mistake.
“Hold on a bloody minute…” I press my back against the hard trunk.
Too late.
My friends unite to snatch up handfuls of petals and hurl them in my face.
I splutter.
“Respectful enough, Your Majesty?” Ciara drags me down next to her in the bed of blossoms.
I laugh, as Elatha pins me on the other side, rubbing sweet blossoms in my face.
How could I become too big for my fae boots with these two as friends?
“Aye, about right.” I scrunch up my nose. “I think I smell sweet enough.”
“A few finishing touches.” Elatha’s blue eyes narrow.
Uh-oh.
She picks up a handful of lavender petals.
I study the freckles across the bridge of her nose and sharp cheekbones as she leans closer. Her brunette hair is wound into three long braids around her head, while the fourth trails down her back to her ankles.
Joy sings through me.
Elatha carefully threads the petals into my hair. “Your crown.”
She throws herself onto her back next to me with a satisfied smile.
I wish that I could lie like this, staring up at the sun through the branches of the tree, only ever wearing a crown crafted out of blossoms.
“How handsome,” Ciara teases.
“I am god-like.” I preen.
Ciara snorts.
Rude.
Contentment settles over me.
“One day,” Elatha boasts, “I will forge a new crown for you just like my da made the one that King Branna wears.”
My expression clouds. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
Hurt flashes across her face. “Why? Don’t you want me to work for you? My family have been royal artisans for generations. I’m loyal to you and—”
I sit up sharply, brushing the petal crown off my head. “I hate being a prince. For my job, someone must die. I don’t want the Crown.”
My chest is tight.
Elatha pales.
Ciara instantly reaches to grab my hand.
“I’m sorry.” Elatha wraps her wings around me. “I didn’t mean—”
“Da isn’t going anywhere,” I say, fiercely. “He isn’t gone.”
Elatha strokes me with her wing.
Ciara doesn’t say anything.
She lost her parents to the pandemic this year. She knows as well as I do that all of us are standing on our own graves, burying ourselves in blossoms and sweet-smelling but self-deceiving hope.
“Why don’t we escape?” She simply says at last. “The ceremony isn’t for hours. Let’s go climbing in Thorn Wilds, or we can explore the Circle Labyrinth. Once you’re made crown prince, we won’t see you as much. One final adventure?”
My stomach swoops.
Is she saying goodbye?
Did my parents insist on this? The elders?
Is this what happens every time a fae reaches his Crowning?
I clench my jaw. “Then we’re taking Wren with us.”
I glance across the Mound to the cluster of Druids with shaved heads, who are dressed in white tunics and plaid cloaks. They are hanging around on the edge of the festivities.
The Druids are the sorcerers, healers, and mediators.
They are watching but not joining in with the fun, just like normal.
Wren is decades younger than any of the other Druids.
The Omega is only a couple of years older than I am. An orphan, however, Wren displayed magical skills more powerful than any in the kingdom, and so was taken in by the elders.
I’ve been tutored alongside Wren. Most of the time, he’s my rival, pain in the arse, and the reason that I’m beaten by the elders.
He probably snitched on me about playing truant the other week.
Yet he has no one apart from me. He lives alone amongst the grim Druids. He has no family or friends.
He may think that I’m an idiot, and I believe that he’s an arrogant arsehole, but even my enemies deserve to enjoy today.
I pull Elatha up with me.
Ciara leaps up, grimacing. “Do we have to? Wren is handsome, brilliant, magically talented—”
I frown. “Are you getting to your point? Or is Wren your soulmate?”
Ciara blushes. “Fuck off.”
“Treason.”
“Despite all that, Wren wouldn’t know fun if it hit him in his—”
“Handsome face?” Elatha teases.
“How about we stuff his handsome face with food? This is meant to be a feast.” I perk up. “Ma promised honeyed oatcakes.”
Ciara rolls her eyes. “Are you sure that you’re a raven, rather than a bee? Anything with honey in it and you’re obsessed.”
“Wouldn’t that make me a bear?” I stroll away from the tree, waving at my ravens to follow me.
“I’m smuggling an oatcake for Wren, before we steal him away on our adventure.
The elders never allow him to eat anything nice.
Have you noticed how thin he’s become? Why do the bastards only talk to him about duty and responsibility, forcing him to act like them just because his magic is so powerful?
Why didn’t he get to choose what he wanted to do with his life? ”
“Are you sure that you’re not talking about yourself?” Ciara asks, quietly.
I stumble.
I don’t know.
“Thorn…” Elatha snatches me harshly by the shoulder, and I startle. What in the Shadow God’s name is wrong with her? Her claws dig into my skin through my robe. “Your da…”
She points with a shaking finger at the throne.
Suddenly cold, I force myself to look.
Da is slumped in the throne. His head lolls forward. His eyes are closed.
Morrigan is cawing wildly, flapping her wings in distress.
“Da!” I don’t hesitate.
I throw myself down the Mound toward the throne. I open my wings and swoop into the sky toward Da.
Normally, flying fills me with the greatest sense of exhilaration and freedom.
Now, however, I am numb.
Is it too late? I didn’t say goodbye.
Why did I leave his side?
I’m a bloody terrible son.
A bloody terrible prince.
My ravens caw. Their wings touch mine, as they ride on the wind as my honor guard.
My pulse roars in my ears.
The harp music still drifts through the Winter Court.
I can’t hear it.
The warm sunshine still plays across my cheeks.
I can’t feel it.
I can’t feel anything.
Wings as fiery copper as the sun flap to my left, as Elatha keeps pace with me.
When I throw myself down on my knees in front of the throne, Elatha lands next to my shoulder. She is as close to a bodyguard as I have allowed myself to have, unless it’s Ciara, who is sprinting to catch up with us across the Mound.
Has Ma noticed yet?
My eyes are wet with tears.
I don’t dare to look away from Da to check.
When I grab his hand, it is still warm.
“Da…” Desperate, I press my hand to his sweaty forehead. The iron poisoning is now throttling his neck like dark vines. It’s the last stage of the illness. We all know what it looks like. “Wake up. Please.”
Elatha rests her hand on my shoulder. “I’ll fetch the Queen.”
A tear traces down my cheek at the grief in her voice.
She watched this happen to her parents.
“Da…” I whisper again.
Ciara pats my shoulder.
Then I listen to my friends walk away.
I’m alone.
Morrigan’s harsh calls come out as strained croaks. Her wings droop, while her sharp eyes dart side to side unsettled. Then she turns her head and rubs her beak against Da’s cheek like she’s trying to rouse him.
“It’s okay, Morrigan.” My throat is tight. “Come to me, aye?”
She pecks at Da’s crown.
To my surprise, Da’s eyes open.
“Daire,” he murmurs through cracked lips, “you’re here.”
I grab his hands between mine, pressing them to my chest. “I’m here. I’ll get Ma and—”
“Don’t go.” Da holds onto my hand with surprising strength. “Your ma and I have already said our goodbyes. But this is your Crowning Celebration, and although no king wants to pass on his crown on the day his son becomes heir, I have been holding on for weeks to get you to this day. I am happy.”
“Don’t say that…”
“I am.” Da struggles to sit straighter, attempting to mask his agony. “Now, I must pass on two heirlooms from the House of Thorn. Take the ring from my finger and put it on your own.”
I don’t want to. But I bite back the words.
I have spent my life admiring this ancient ring, which has been passed down they say from the time the fae created the shadows.
Yet it makes me shudder now to pull it from Da’s finger.
I try to slip it onto my own finger, but it’s too large and slides off.
“It doesn’t fit me.” I shake. “Take it back.”
“Try your thumb,” Da says, gently. Reluctantly, I do. “This ring is sacred like the Mound is. Have the elders taught you about the magic of the Rebirth Ring?”
“It’s a myth.” I stroke over the cold emeralds.
“Is it? This ring holds the spirits of our people who are unjustly slain. They can be born again with the blood of the guilty. Do you understand what I am telling you?”
“That sounds like the dreams that the Seelie spin.” I don’t want to talk about make-believe stories, when my da is dying.
Da struggles to reach up and grasp his crown. “More like nightmares. The royal House of Draca are the only ones who can atone for this.”
Da’s breath becomes more labored, as he pulls off his crown. “Kneel up. Let’s make this official.”
“Don’t.” Tears stream down my cheeks. “Please, Da.”
Da’s hands are shaking with the effort of holding up the crown as he places it on my head; it feels so much bloody heavier than the blossom crown did. “I crown you the new King of the Shadow Fae.”
“How can I be a king?” I whisper. “I don’t know how to rule. I can’t even fight.”
“You have your ma to guide you. You can learn. And you have a duty now to protect your people above anything else. Do you swear?”
I nod, fervently. “I swear to protect the Unseelie.”