Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
I know what I have to do now.
I Sift along the hallways of the court, searching for my target. I checked on Keir before I left and found him sleeping, which means this is the perfect opportunity to take. My heart might be in turmoil, but my head is clear.
I can feel her, deep in my heart, stirring, reach for me—
It feels like days of mulling over the court, the gossip, the rumors and lies, has finally cleared the mess in my head.
Malechus has spent the days hunting and drinking, and the night’s debauching himself in his private grotto. I can’t get into his bedchambers, and there’s no sign of Soraya in the rest of the court, but there’s one place I haven’t looked for him.
The grotto.
It’s an old sunken limestone cave that’s been turned into a garden of sorts.
Thousands of candles are tucked in nooks and crannies around the walls, and thick vines tumble from the roof.
The floor is a carpet of moss and night-blooming flowers, and a little brook babbles somewhere in the distance.
Ancient stone sarcophagi line the room. The stone is so old the symbols on them are rubbed bare, but they don’t seem like anything I’ve seen before.
Someone whispered that they were the tombs of ancient dragon kings, long since turned to stone, and I haven’t dared asked Keir about it.
There was rumor that they opened one of the tombs last night, just to check, and the enormous vault was empty, except for an eerie puff of dust that was unleashed when they levered the lid off it.
Malechus’s debaucheries aren’t for the faint of heart.
I’ve seen the masked recipients coming and going—always from a distance—and there are rumors that Malechus simply pours the rapture on the nearest table and lets his guests fight for it.
A young brunette casts her mask free as she tumbles into the arms of a naked faun, the pair of them vanishing into one of those hidden chambers that line the grotto.
Snatching her mask before it hits the ground, I Sift into the shadows and then step out of them.
Binding her mask around my face, I check the position of my knives, before I steal a wineglass from a passing tray with no intention of touching it.
I swirl the wine, breathing it in as though I know the difference between whether the berries that brewed it came from the mountainous slopes of the Shadowfangs, or whether it’s low country swill.
Really though, I’m testing for poison.
It’s one of Soraya’s favorite weapons and we spent our youths tasting poisons and antidotes.
Even over the scent of a cloying wine I can pick out the faintest hint of hensbane or wolf fever, but this is innocent enough.
Adding a little saunter to my stride, I step into the light and join the party. Instantly the music assails me.
Clear head. Clear heart. Clear eyes.
I’m going to need it.
I know she’s here.
I’ve sensed it ever since I woke to that dream.
Malechus stalks into the grotto, his chest bare and a long black silk robe falling from his shoulders.
A pair of loose silk trousers hangs low on his hips.
It should look ridiculous, but there’s something about the way he moves that makes me suspect he could wear a jester’s bells and still pull it off.
Dozens of hands reach for him, and the fae cry out in welcome.
Gorgeous golden sigils are tattooed across his chest. I recognize a crescent moon, a sun, a spear, dozens of others….
“Every single one of those marks represents a fae house that he’s destroyed,” whispers a woman beside me, clearly following my gaze.
“Someone’s ambitious.” There are dozens of them.
“Hungry,” she says, watching Malechus with the same blaze of need in her eyes. But I half suspect she doesn’t desire his body—only his throat. “He was born hungry, that one.” Her mouth twists. “Though some say his father drove him to it.”
It’s not the first time I’ve heard of tensions between the king and his son. “Oh?”
The woman smirks and drinks a mouthful of her wine. “His older brother was stronger than he was, and the king spent years pitting them against each other for his love.”
“That doesn’t sound like love to me.”
The woman takes her first full look at me, as if surprised to find someone so na?ve here. “Well, the brother’s dead now. Hunting accident, they say. Though Malechus is fond of his hunting…. Now they say he’s starting to see a crown in his future.”
“Is that why the king’s not here?”
“The king wants no part of this mockery. He cast Belladonna out of his court long ago.”
Again, I’m missing threads. But I don’t say it this time. “Have you placed a bet on whether the wedding will take place yet?”
“My money’s on Belladonna,” the woman replies. “I hope she takes them all out. She’s earned a little peace and quiet.”
I stare at Malechus. “Oh, I think she’s making plans to that end. I just hope he’s not going to present too large an obstacle.”
The woman laughs as if I’d said something incredibly droll, before she walks away.
A golden statue moves next to me, and I nearly leap out of my skin.
No. Not a statue. A fae youth.
Naked. Painted gold from head-to-toe. Even his lashes and hair clump together, as if he’s been gilded. The shock of the whites of his eyes and his blue irises is a little eerie, but he presents a tray of goblets to me.
I shake my head and circle the room. One thing is becoming clear. Malechus likes his displays. Everything screams of excessive wealth and power. Who imports a white hart all the way from the fens? Who unwraps an ancient dragon king, just to see if he’s turned to stone?
I’m finally starting to put all of the pieces of the puzzle together.
Mistmark claimed the horn when it crossed his lands.
Malechus wanted it.
And so, what? He threatens war? No. The Court of Storms is dangerous enough that even Malechus wouldn’t dare cross its king. And then there’s his father, who considers his ambitions dangerous enough that he’d quash even the merest notion of war.
The king would not dare let his son come into possession of an army.
I rub my temples as I rest my back against the grotto wall. I think this is all a power play. Malechus doesn’t have the strength to stand against his father, but if he gets his hands on the horn, he will wield the Wild Hunt. He can challenge his father. Kill him. Take his crown.
But the question always came back to: How did he force Mistmark into marriage?
What did he use against the lord in order to blackmail him?
It had to be something Mistmark would kill to get his hands on.
I’d already thought I’d found her, a long time ago….
My breath eases out slowly. It all comes down to Soraya.
My sister is missing—the same sister who lost more than her killer’s touch when she was sent to kill Mistmark, the same sister who won’t even breathe so much as a hint of his name.
Malechus has her, I’ll bet every coin in the treasury on it.
And he’s using her to blackmail Mistmark.
There are still so many unanswered questions—how did Malechus even know my sister would blunder into his court?—and yet my head is spinning as it all locks into place.
“Every time I see you, you look so melancholy,” says a cool voice.
As if summoned, Malechus swims into view, watching me with those shark’s eyes.
“Have you tired of your prince?” he asks. “Are you come to try something new?”
I can’t stop my knife from slipping from my sleeve and finding welcome in the warmth of my hand. He sees it too, and his lips quirk. “Perhaps I was curious,” I tell him. “But you will keep your distance.”
“I’m not here to harm you,” he murmurs.
“No? You certainly had no compunctions about sending your little handmaid to do your bidding the other night.”
“Handmaid?” His eyebrow arches. And then comprehension dawns. “Ah, you think her mine. Alas, my dearest Rhea has found another master who suits her purposes. Or should I say, ‘Mistress.’”
He smirks at me as if he knows something I don’t know.
I think of every time I’ve seen Rhea.
Ismena is always nearby, and Ismena hates me.
Maybe he’s telling the truth. Maybe he merely came along and took advantage of my rapture-addled state. Maybe he didn’t plan it.
“I was wondering if you’d ever win free of Keir.” He prowls closer. “He’s so protective of you, my sweet. It must be chafing. But then, what is it they say? Keep your enemies close?”
I run my tongue over my teeth. I need to play this right. “Sometimes. But sometimes I like knowing he gets jealous.”
“Such a cruel game you play,” he whispers.
“Aren’t they all?”
A smile.
“A gift for you,” he murmurs, conjuring four long thin hair needles out of nowhere. He certainly wasn’t hiding them behind his robe.
“For me?”
A denial dies on the tip of my tongue as I catch a glimpse of the little jeweled ornaments on the end of them. A crescent moon adorns the largest. The other three are glittering stars, encrusted with tiny crushed diamonds.
“For you,” he murmurs. “For you shine the brightest of any here.”
Now I know he’s full of shit. As amazing as I am, the women here are beautiful. “That’s so sweet of you.”
Circling around behind me, he slides the first pin into the hair twisted on top of my head. “Sweet. Now I know you’re mocking me.” Another pin. “Does it amuse you to have two powerful princes chasing after you?”
“Are there two of them?” Even though my voice sounds flirtatious, I can’t quite manage to soothe the tension from my shoulders. He’s right behind me with a weapon in hand.
“There could be.” Another pin. And then the final one, sliding into place within my hair a little painfully. He strokes a strand of hair over my shoulders. “Where has he been hiding you?”
“Keir?” I take a nervous sip of my elderberry wine, then force myself to spit it back into my glass before he notices. It’s not every day a girl finds herself the center of a prince’s attention and I’m not fool enough to think this has anything to do with me.
No. Malechus is playing games.
I’m just the pawn he’s using to take a tilt at Keir.
Something about Keir unnerves him.
“He’s kept you from every court in the land,” Malechus muses. “Just think of all you’ve missed out on because of him.”
Murderous fae. Blood curses. Overly ambitious predators. Oh, yes, such a shame. “Maybe His Highness makes up for it in other ways.”
His smile is dangerous and knowing. “You remind me of someone.”
“Was she beautiful?”
He leans closer, forcing me to put my back against the wall in order to maintain some semblance of distance.
Over his shoulder I catch a glimpse of the room.
He’s managed to herd me away quite nicely.
“She was beautiful.” There’s hunger roughening his voice as he slips the sleeve from my shoulder.
“But better yet, she belonged to another and I wanted her. I like taking what I want.”
Pressing a finger to his chest I arch a brow. “Then your father should have taught you to share better. Being the bone caught between two dogs is hardly flattering, Your Highness.”
His hand curls around my wrist. “Only when you think you’re the one with the leash in hand, is it?”
There it is.
The glimpse of something ugly in his face that I saw the other night.
This seductive tease is nothing more than a mask for his true intentions.
“Tsk, tsk, Malechus.” A voice calls out. “Chasing sloppy seconds again?”
The Lord of Mistmark appears, winding his way between sarcophagi. Falion lurks at his heels like a watchful hound.
A muscle in Malechus’s jaw ticks, and then he pushes away from me, his brow clearing of any irritation. “Ah, my reluctant groom. I didn’t expect to see you here. I thought you disdained such attractions.”
“I find them tedious.” The look Mistmark gives me, however, is anything but bored. He’s clearly curious as to why I’m here, and perhaps asking if I want to be here. “I find the entire affair tedious.”
“Ah, yes.” Malechus slinks toward him. “But the game is nearly done.”
“Mmm, perhaps.” Mistmark tugs his sleeve into place. “I do like your ambitious, however. It wasn’t enough to merely cross me, but now you’re going to take a tilt at Keir? My, my, someone has grown bold.” He looks at me directly. “You ought to leave, my lady. This isn’t a place for you.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” I smile at him. “All the dangly bits painted gold are kind of interesting to look at.”
Falion stares at me as if he can’t quite work out what type of woman I am.
“Falion will escort you,” Mistmark says, and Falion’s head tracks toward him as if to say when-the-sun-shines-in-the-Shadow-Lands.
“That’s very kind of—” There’s a hissing sound across the grotto.
A trio of rambunctious fae have levered open one of the sarcophagi and are peering inside it. One of them screams as if he sees something staring back at him, and then he tumbles inside the enormous casket.
“Those fucking morons.” Malechus’s face goes white with rage. “Do they have any idea what they’re doing? There are dragon spirits leashed into that stone—”
The sarcophagi simply explodes outward.
Falion’s eyes widen and then he slams into Mistmark, wrapping his arms around them before they both vanish. I stagger to my knees behind one of the remaining sarcophagi, with Malechus—of all fae—shoving my head down.
Screams echo through the grotto. And then laughter. Malechus, however, is not laughing.
“Stay here,” he growls, pushing to his feet and stalking in the direction of the explosion.
They’re… gone.
Not merely across the cavern. But gone. Completely. Out of line of sight.
Falion Sifted him somewhere beyond this room, which was, until this point, something I considered impossible.
I gape at the room, slowly lowering my arms.
One of the wreaths is on fire. The grotto is mayhem. Half naked males and females spill from small nooks, clutching arms across breasts and buttocks. Malechus strides through it all, seemingly intent upon murder.
I couldn’t get a better distraction if I’d tried.
* * *
I circle one of the enormous coffins, the one that calls to me the most.
It occurred to me that there’s one place to hide someone right out in the open, when you don’t want them found. Somewhere that you can keep a close eye on your prisoner. Somewhere that nobody would ever be able to escape from.
A stone tomb, built to house a dragon’s spirit.
I press my hand against the stone and lean my forehead there.
“Forever,” Soraya whispers in my memories as she slices her dagger across the palm of her hand, forcing blood to well. “You and I against the world forever.”
We bound ourselves to each other that long-ago night.
The link between us is still there, buried deep in my heart and chained down by treachery.
I reach for it and metaphysically dust it off, and on the inside of the sarcophagus I swear I feel her suck in a sharp breath as if she feels it too.
That son of a bitch.
Keep your enemies close indeed.
Now how the fuck am I going to get this cursed thing open?