Chapter 5
Chapter Five
We jerk apart, and suddenly blood rushes back into my brain. What was I even thinking? Or was I thinking at all? For none of this was in the plan.
Saved by someone's scream.
"Stay there!" Keir snarls, and then he's vanishing into the gardens, sprinting toward the castle.
Fae males and their arrogance. Oh, let me swoon.
I haul my skirts up, and find one of the blades strapped to my thigh. More screams are peeling through the air. Perhaps Soraya grew weary of waiting for me. Maybe she's slaughtering that precious flock of doves inside.
Or maybe Ismena or Narcissa had the poor sense to mock my sister.
One can hope.
But even as I sprint toward the palace I know I'm not going to be that lucky.
Blood splashes the marble floors of the hallway, and there's a long bloodied mark where someone tried to crawl away. The clash of swords echoes ahead of me and there's this horrible, awful snarling sound that sends a chill down my spine.
I don't know where Keir's gone, but he's most likely headed directly to where the sounds of fighting echo.
Stalking along the hallway, I hold myself right on the edge of the Sift, just in case I need to get away suddenly.
One step around the next corner and I'm confronted with a sight directly from my nightmares.
Lady Altrea stares blankly at the ceiling, her throat torn out and the skin around it bleached of all color.
She was one of the females in Narcissa and Ismena's alliance, and though I wasn't fond of her, no one deserves this.
I kneel beside her, closing those cerulean eyes, even as I examine the wound. There's something not right about it. Long, bloodied gouges like teeth marks have torn her throat right out. But it's the grayed edges that look unnatural, as if something's tainted the flesh.
A grunt huffs through the hallway behind me, and every hair along my spine rises.
I'm not alone.
Spinning to my feet, I catch a glimpse of a creature warped of pure shadows stalking toward me. It lifts its muzzle to the moon and howls.
A Banewolf. Twice the size of me and covered in dense black tufts of fur, a ruddy light glows behind the cage of its bleached ribs, as if its heart is forged with the light of a dying star.
It looks like it has crawled out of some grave somewhere, and its putrid breath fogs the air, stinking directly of rot.
A nightmare twisted directly from the Shadow Realms. After all, the Court of Dreams is but one Other World. There are more. And they're not all as pretty as this one.
"Mother of Night, protect me," I whisper, taking a stealthy step back as the Banewolf advances.
No Sifting will save me now. Banewolf's have the ability to Shadow Walk too.
It ripples toward me, red eyes glowing and its bloodied maw dripping crimson with Altrea's blood.
I hold the knife low. Good, cold iron crafted by a goblin smith that fused pure shadows to the blade. It can cut through anything, but as I see more of the Banewolf, I'm suddenly not so certain of that. Iron can kill any of the fae. I have to hope it will be enough.
Shouts echo behind it.
The Banewolf's ears flicker back, and then it launches forward, aiming for my throat.
I Sift to the side, my iron raking along those rotten ribs. And then I throw myself forward into a roll, momentarily thanking every master in the training camps for pushing my body to the brink all those years ago.
There's no time to think or dwell. Only time to move. Every animal instinct I own is telling me to get out of there, but what if it follows me through the shadows?
"Merisel!" Someone yells, and then the prince is there, striding along the hallway with his robe flaring wide behind him.
His skin is gilded with light as his magic spills out of him, and it glows in his eyes. Keir twists his hands and golden chains shoot out from his palms, lashing around the Banewolf's legs.
I roll under its abdomen, slashing up with the knife and spilling hot entrails across the floor. Then I'm gagging as the stink of it hits my nostrils with the force of a runaway carriage. I didn't get any of it on me, did I?
"Get out of the way!" Keir snarls, weaving his hands together in a sinuous dance. The chains work their way around the creature's body, twisting brutally into shadowborn flesh.
Gladly.
I bolt to the side, but a vicious snap of teeth catches the hem of my skirt and I go sprawling. No time to look. I have to move. Scrambling to my hands and knees, I slash through the ends of my skirt, and suddenly I'm free.
I can practically feel its hot breath on the back of my neck. I know I said I wouldn't Sift in front of Keir, but right now—
Just a blink. A slip in shadows.
A clash of fierce teeth over open air, right behind me.
I gain enough space to scramble free, though the fucking skirts are doing their best to betray me. How, by the light of the Cauldron, do fae princesses do anything in these blasted things?
The Banewolf screams in animalistic rage as those chains bite deeper into its putrid flesh.
Bones pop. Fur sizzles with the wet reek of something from the swamp.
It bites and snaps at the chains cutting their way through its flesh, but then its red eyes lock on me as if it knows its not going to escape.
As if it knows death is but a mere twist of Keir's hands away, and it wants to take every last living thing with it.
I see my death in its eyes.
I scream, kicking backwards across the floor as the Banewolf lunges for me, but then Keir is there. Hot golden light spills through the hallway, a flaming sword flickering to life in the prince's hands. It cleaves right through the Banewolf's neck, and the after-image burns my retinas
Blood spatters across my skirts as the head rolls across the floor.
The Banewolf's body slumps into a boneless mess on the floor, and as I watch, its blood seems to run together into puddles and its ribs cave in.
The fire in its chest dies. Wherever it came from, without that fire, its no longer bound to this plane.
Prince Keir kneels at my side, the sword evaporating into nothing. "Are you all right?" he demands.
"Fine." I stare at the dissolving puddle of sludge on the floor as I push to my feet. "What happened? How did that—?"
"I'll take care of it." He steps between me and what remains of the Banewolf, as if he's hiding something. "Are you sure you're fine?"
Curse it. I forgot to swoon. No help for it now. "Well, as much as I enjoyed dinner, it is threatening to return with a vengeance. Apart from that—and the stink—I think I'll survive." I pause. "Thank you for the memorable evening."
The Prince of Dreams stares at me for a long, slow moment, and I have no idea what's going on behind those dangerous eyes.
"Not quite what I had planned." A smile escapes me.
"You did get to show off your excellent skills with a blade and rescue the damsel from the nightmare.
If I didn't smell like something that just died, I might be inclined to grant you a kiss. "
"If a nightmare didn't just crawl out of the Shadow Realms and attack two of my guests, I might be inclined to accept it," he says, in a dry voice.
Only a puddle of sludge remains on the floor. "How did it get here?"
There's that hesitation again, as if he knows more than he wants to reveal. "I'm sure my guards will perform a full investigation. You should clean yourself up and go to bed, Lady Merisel. I'll take care of this."
If I didn't smell like I'd rolled in a rotten carcass, I might take exception at being dismissed so readily. "As you wish, my prince."
An almost-kiss from Keir? Or the snap of a Banewolf's jaws?
I don't know which one has proven more dangerous tonight.
* * *
I ripple through the shadows as Keir directs his servants to remove the mess in the hallway and see to the body.
Armored guards pour through the halls and the gardens, but I can't get close enough to hear what they're looking for.
It's clear that nobody expected the Banewolf to leap out of nowhere, and Keir's expression imitates a brewing storm.
This is his court. His reputation on the line.
Somehow he has to tell Lady Altrea's father that his daughter won't be coming home.
"How did it get in?" murmurs the Captain of the Guards, looking worried. "The safeguards are—"
"Impenetrable," Keir replies, kneeling by the body. He drapes his robe over Lady Altrea, hiding her from view, and perhaps granting her a certain dignity. "I've checked. Nothing came through the portal."
"Then someone here opened a portal," says the captain.
"Or," Keir adds grimly, "We're dealing with someone who can twist the dream realm into flesh. This wasn't real. A true Banewolf wouldn't have died so easily. It was dream-forged."
The captain falls silent.
Either way, it's not a pleasant thought.
To manipulate an Other World requires either a dangerous sort of power—or a relic. It's also a direct challenge to the prince.
Perhaps I'm not the only one who took advantage of the Summons to attend. Every princess in the palace has their own agenda, after all, though I thought they were mostly benign.
But why would someone murder Lady Altrea?
Was she competition? Was it a grudge?
Why reveal their hand so swiftly? They have to know Prince Keir won't take kindly to the threat.
Unless…. Whoever did this has the power to twist a world Prince Keir controls. Maybe this is a deliberate taunt, and they intend to challenge the prince for his court.
Excellent. Sounds like I've walked directly into a war. It ought to be the perfect cover for my own intended crimes, but I can't help thinking the stakes suddenly got higher.
I Sift away through the shadows, seeking refuge in my own chambers.
Infiltrate the Court of Dreams, father said. Steal the Dragon's Heart. It will be easy.
I shudder as I melt back into mortal flesh.
This task just became a thousand times more dangerous.