Chapter 3 #2
The first I knew of the world was the small hovel where I was raised.
The potential of my bloodlines was too important for the wet nurse, Thia, to dare let me starve, but there was no kindness to be found among the several bastards she raised in exchange for my father’s coin.
With three older “brothers” and a “sister” who liked to cuff me when nobody was looking, there were only scraps of food to eat, and a small nest of hay under the bed to sleep in.
The first time I ever Sifted—slipping from shadow to shadow—was when I was four, and a pair of my “brothers” tried to drown me in a well.
All I can remember is that I was terrified and desperate enough that I somehow managed to reach my magic, and when I came to, I found myself drenched and shivering in a nearby forest.
It became my escape from a lifetime of misery.
I became adept at stealing from the markets near our house.
One sidestep into the shadows, and suddenly, I could take everything and anything I wanted from the market stalls.
I stole to eat. I stole to survive. I stole because sometimes it was the only way to revenge myself upon those older brothers who liked to hit, and kick, and ambush me in dangerous places.
I’d leave those treasures in their boots and other hidey holes, where they’d be found.
It earned them several thrashings and nobody ever knew it was me.
When my fifth birthing day came around, I was hauled before the king. I knew who he was and that I had to please him or the money would stop being sent.
I feel the same weight of condemnation now.
Somewhere, deep in my heart, I will always be that sickly child who knows she needs to prove herself.
“Daughter.” The king’s cold black eyes lock upon me, and then they slide down my length. “You look unwell.”
“Torture does that to a body,” I rasp, and can’t stop my right fist from curling in upon itself.
He notices. He notices everything.
I’d love to say I have the wherewithal to mutter “Fuck you,” but I’m pretty sure I do nothing more than tremble as the chancellor sweeps his torch closer to me.
“Is she even in any sort of condition to do this?” The chancellor asks.
My father’s eyes harden. There is no choice. Whatever he wants of me, I must do.
“The other one failed, after all,” says a new voice, coming from my right.
A chill trembles through me. I cut a sharp look toward the newcomer as he strolls out of the shadows, toying with something in his hands.
Black hair tumbles over a pale forehead, but where my father is wildness and aggression, Ruhle is cultured malice.
Every inch of him is sleekly poised, from the gleaming leather of his body armor to the silver skull ring on his finger.
His boots gleam, and there’s a joke among the court that you don’t want to get on Ruhle’s bad side, or your tongue will be the one that polishes them.
My father has sired many children.
But few survive the training camps, and those that do are the killers. I didn’t have the killing instinct—I still don’t—but Soraya did, and those were the days when she had my back.
Ruhle is the eldest of the wraith king’s children and heir apparent.
He was the only wraith-born bastard who survived the training camps during his year, and some whisper there’s a reason for that.
The first five to get across the finish line of the year-end challenge are allowed to live—but he was the only one who returned from the mountains.
That doesn’t mean he works alone.
No, he has his own little circle of wraiths to do his bidding. Seven of them, to be exact. And they’re all as cruel and malicious as he is.
“How was the Abyss?” he asks of me.
“Somewhat chilly. How was exile?” I return, squaring my shoulders.
Drawing his attention is never wise, but cowering before him is a certain means to earn his full attention.
He preys on the weak and after years of small aggressions, if I give him one good reason to believe me unable to fend him off, I’ll find him in my bedchambers one night with a knife in hand.
Ruhle’s lip curls. “It was never exile—”
“No?” I turn my full attention toward him as he prowls toward me. “Three of our brothers die, and you are sent to the watchtowers along our northern flank during winter? Perhaps it was a gift instead, a boon for our precious crown prince to learn to control his temper.”
Father hates that title.
He rules. Absolutely. And with his longevity, the concept of an heir makes his lip curl.
“The Blessed courts were starting to look south,” Ruhle grates. “Someone had to ensure they didn’t cross the Shadowfangs.”
“How brave of you, to take a captain’s job—”
“You little slut.” Ruhle starts toward me, his fist clenching. “Your bitch sister isn’t here to save you now—”
“Enough.” The word cuts through us and we both kneel toward Father as he watches us with simmering fury in his eyes.
The word echoes through the throne room with all the finality of the chancellor bringing his staff down on the slate floors with a ringing thump.
“Yes, Father.” Both Ruhle and I parrot, as we bow our heads.
But I can sense my brother’s cold glare.
I’ll pay for that little moment, but he won’t dare try to kill me. I’m still valuable to my father, and while Ruhle might have murdered three of our weaker brothers, he doesn’t dare touch the king’s Shadow Walker.
He’d also have to catch me first.
“I have a task for you, Zemira,” Father continues as we both straighten.
Twice in one night. A girl can only be so lucky.
“And here I thought you were prepared to welcome me back into your loving embrace,” I reply. “Imagine that. What would you have of me?”
“You failed me this summer. I sent you to steal the Dragon’s Heart from the Court of Dreams, and not only did you fail to find it, but you mistook it for this worthless scrap of gold.”
He flings something at my feet.
A golden amulet shaped like a dragon’s claw. It fetches up by my bare feet. The last time I saw it, it hung around Prince Keir’s muscled throat, but my sister stole it and presented it to my father as the Heart.
Stillness runs through me. This moment is dangerous.
Because I mistook nothing.
The Dragon’s Heart was never a relic. No, it was a story twisted to hide the truth of the matter: Many, many years ago, Keir was one of the powerful dragon kings who ruled this world.
Rumors abound that when the fae went to war with the dragon kings, the dragons turned to stone and withdrew from the world.
But Keir merely focused his magic upon himself.
He forged a new body, one that looks fae enough to pass, and he tore his court from the mortal planes, anchoring it in an Other World that sits alongside ours. Now he’s nothing more than a powerful prince in the eyes of the Blessed courts.
If anyone knew the truth of his heritage, there would be war again.
It was never a relic I was searching for. But his heart is another matter. If my father could cut it from Keir’s chest, he wouldn’t merely have the power to break the curse that afflicts wraithenkind and binds us to the icy south, he could tear apart the entire Seelie hegemony.
And I can stop him.
All I need do is keep this one secret from him. I can finally thwart him, even if it costs me.
So I lower my eyes. “My mistake, Father. I’m sorry.”
Ruhle’s smile is the kiss of a knife against my throat. “We’re only ever allowed one,” he whispers. “You seem to be at your quota.”
I swallow down the temptation to retort. Father’s focus is upon me now, and this is a dangerous moment. “What would you have of me, my king?”
“Your sister is missing,” Raesh tells me.
Not a dream. It wasn’t a dream at all. Which means that Keir truly demanded I find the Horn of Shadows for him.
“What do you mean?” I ask slowly, because I need to sound surprised.
“I sent her to carry out a task for me, and she hasn’t responded to the last three of my communications.” The king clamps a hand around one of the vials around his throat. “She’s not even responding to this.”
“What happened to her?” I can’t stop my gaze from dropping to the tiny vial. The wisp of her soul lies still and dormant at the bottom of the soul-trap. They’re never quiet like that.
For the first time, I feel true worry.
When Keir mentioned her disappearance, I shrugged it off. Soraya is a survivor. No matter what she must face, she puts herself first. Even the sight of her amulet wasn’t enough to know true fear.
But this….
She’s not dead. The little wisp of soul in that glass vial would have evaporated if she was, but something is wrong with her.
The king waves off my concern. “She will either return or she will not. What matters now is that her task remains incomplete. And you will finish it.” His eyes become hard. “The Lord of Mistmark is marrying the Prince of Blood’s cousin. I want you to steal something from Malechus—"
I almost laugh, barely hearing the words. What are the odds? If he dares say it….
“I’ve heard rumor the Prince of Blood has managed to get his hands on a certain horn…, one that controls the hounds of the Great Hunt. And those hounds can lead me to the Cauldron of Creation.”
Fuck you, Fate. Fuck you, you capricious bitch.
“The cauldron?”
The Wraith King leans toward me, both pallid hands curling around the ends of his throne.
“I warned you once that I would have an end to the curse that binds us to these misbegotten lands and tethers us to this warped flesh.” He holds up his claws.
“You failed to bring me the Dragon’s Heart.
The only other relic with the power to shatter our chains is the goddess’s cauldron. ”
“There has to be another way.” The words blurt out of me. I can’t let him do this. I can’t let him say the words. “If we—"
“Enough. Bring me the horn,” my father declares. “And I will break our curse.”
What am I going to do?
If that was truly not a dream, then Keir just demanded I fulfill my debt to him. I can feel the magic of his glyphs under my skin. The agony as they branded themselves into my skin was indescribable. I can only imagine what would happen if I dared defy him.
But my father….
My lungs still ache. Every inch of me is cold and clammy and echoing with the caress of death.
If I betray my father, then he won’t just kill me.
He will make me suffer endlessly.
And with my lifespan, it might be centuries before I ever see the mercy of light again.
“Yes, my king,” I breathe, bending knee once more before I turn toward the doors in a flurry of sweat-fueled nerves.
“Zemira?”
I pause, glancing back over my shoulder.
“No more failures,” the Wraith King says in a menacing whisper.
Ruhle smirks at me from his side. “Fail again and maybe I’ll ask for a boon. Maybe it will be my hand that ends your wretched life.”
It’s not an idle threat.
I have no choice.
The only one who can save me is me.
My shoulders straighten. “I will find the Horn of Shadows. I will not fail you again, Father.”
I do not dare.
Even if I have to betray Keir in order to do so.