Prince of Air and Darkness (The Darkest Court)
Her spine stiffens. “The first honest words you’ve said to me since you agreed to become the Knight.”
“Running into him today was an accident. A happy accident,” I say, well aware of the ice spreading over the floor. Everything has already been decided, my fate sealed, so why should I deny the truth any further? “I care for him. I’ve already agreed to take up the mantle. That will steal him from me soon enough. Please don’t ask me to give those memories up sooner.”
“Please?” Soft lethality in that question. “He’s a human,” she spits. “A speck of dust in the vastness of our immortality.”
“And I love him.”
Not too long ago, her expression would have left me spinning glamour upon glamour, hiding everything that is me. Burying it deeper and deeper until I’m naught but her good soldier again.
Now, I stare into the maelstrom yawning before me and think that perhaps the feathers on my scale could be enough to tip the balance. Not enough to make me forget him or stop worrying about him, but enough that I can be strong and give him the freedom he deserves. It’s better this way. It must be better this way. “Mother, I love him,” I repeat, gently this time.
She recoils at the words.
“He’s precious to me. That will never change.”
Her hands are so cold when I take them in mine, pressing them to my chest, urging her silently to look at me.
“But I was reckless and hurt him badly. I’ve lost him forever and no amount of magick will bring him back. Nothing will break the spell I set on him now. He is lost to us.”
“Darling—”
“Please, leave this, Mother. You know where my loyalty lies. Let that be enough.”
The delicate, bell-like chime of ice cracking. The flames gutter and gasp for breath while they reignite. My mother struggles to keep silent and eventually nods.
“Your guests await,” I say.
I squeeze her hands and walk with her to the door. The pain is still here, buried just behind my ribs, stabbing me every now and then when I try to catch my breath, but at least it’s honest pain now. That I can handle.
We return to the ballroom without another word. Mother’s composed, gracing her guests with delicate smiles and amusing anecdotes. Near midnight, a servant appears at her elbow. I excuse myself from my dance partner and join her.
“What’s going on?” I murmur, sensitive to the vast number of courtiers surrounding us.
“We have an unexpected guest,” she warns me.
“Shall we clear the room?”
There’s no time. A commotion toward the front of the ballroom forces us to make a decision. Mother takes her throne. I take my place at her right shoulder. Taking their cue from our composure, the crowd parts and offers a narrow aisle for our guest.
My skin crawls as a hooded figure steps into the ballroom. Mother’s chin lifts, her eyes narrowing. Something’s wrong...
The icy bracelet of my mother’s fingers on my wrist as I summon my rapier warns me to cease my efforts. I do, but I can’t bury the rising dread. The fae’s glamour splinters and flakes away with every step. The leftover magick floats in its wake like oil slicks on water, spreading the sense of wrongness through the murmuring crowd.
The figure halts before the throne and Mother shifts her weight forward, gaze fixed on him. “Welcome to our Court, traveler—”
A gloved hand rises and clutches at the edge of the hood. And when it falls back, Mother’s words die in her throat, just as my heart dies in my chest.
Sláine tilts his head and gives us a wan smile. “Hello, Mother. Roark.”
This is how the world ends.
“Leave us.”
The ballroom empties on Mother’s hissed command. The doors creak shut behind the last of the servants. All is silent, except for our breathing.
“You dare force your way into our home?” she whispers.
Sláine makes a face. It stretches the scar slicing across his face into a macabre angle. “It’s been a long day. May we dispense with the lectures, Mother?”