* * *
Reyna found her sister in the library.
“Eislyn.” She was bent over a book, back curled like a coiled snake. Shadows clung to her form, dancing from the candles that dripped wax onto the library table. Unease whispered through Reyna. Her sister had been plagued so long by nightmares, they had started to cling to her like wraiths. Eislyn glanced up from the book, and the strange darkness vanished without a trace.
“Reyna?” Her sister dropped the book onto the table. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at the feast?”
“I need to ask you something very important.”
Eislyn frowned. “I refuse to speak of this bloody betrothal anymore. I have made my decision, and Thane should learn that ‘no’ is in someone else’s vocabulary other than his.”
“That is not what I came here to ask you.”
Eislyn cocked her head, confusion rippling across her face. “Then, why are you here?”
Reyna ground her teeth together, forcing herself to say the words out loud. “Will you help me convince Father to return my titles to me?”
While reading the terror-stricken message from Aoiffe, Reyna had become certain of a horrible truth. There was only one way forward. Only one way to save her kingdom and find a cure for Glencora’s illness.Reyna was not fit to be a queen. She knew it. Thane knew it. Even her father knew it. She had not prepared for that kind of role. While her sisters had been inside their chambers memorizing every royal’s name and title, Reyna had been in the courtyard swinging a sword at potato sacks stuffed with hay.
But none of that mattered, not when their ally still murdered her people, on their own lands, in their own inns. Her kingdom was not safe so long as Prince Thane still lived. So, Reyna would have to marry him herself, biding her time until he sat on the throne.
And then she would kill him, taking control of his kingdom herself.
7
Tarrah
Tarrah Glas stood outside a short, squat castle made from the gleaming black stone that could only be found in the shadow fae realm. The hulking structure hid in the shadows of the Misty Wastes, but she was near enough to spot its square towers as she demanded to be seen by the exile king. Her head was thrown back, and her long raven hair swished against her armoured waist. The two guards who stood at the gates eyed her with a distinct air of wariness. She did not blame them. Even though she was a low fae of humble birth, theyshouldbe careful of her.
“What business do you have with the king?” the larger of the two demanded. Wearing grey scales and a thick helmet that shielded all of his face but a piercing set of silver eyes, he was a formidable presence. Indeed, he was almost as twice as tall as she. Clearly, he had ancient Unseelie blood running through his veins.
“Important information. He will wish to hear what I have to say.”
The second guard gripped the elaborate hilt of his longsword. The blade was made of shadowsteel, and the hilt had been carved into two black interwoven antlers, the infamous sigil of the Shadow Court, the very court that High King Sloane Selkirk had destroyed when he’d exiled them from Tir Na Nog fifty years past.
The guard peered down at her with narrowed eyes. “You are a commoner. A low fae. You cannot demand to see the king whenever you wish. If you have need of his assistance, you may bring your concerns to him on the first of the month, just like everyone else.”
Tarrah let out an impatient huff. “My concerns are not mine to bear alone. They are important to the future of this exiled court. It has to do with the king’s secretive war with the Air Court.”
Both guards suddenly straightened. Now, that had gotten their attention.
“Where did you hear such a thing?” the taller asked with suspicion in his voice.
“As I stated, I have some information for the king.”
The two guards turned away and bowed their heads as they spoke in quiet whispers. Tarrah watched, striving to hold back her eager hope. She had been trying to speak to the king for weeks. She had travelled across the Shadow Court’s lands, across long stretches of scalding deserts with hills full of black shifting sand, with no one to keep her company but the visions churning through her mind.
Finally, the guards turned back toward her, and the taller of the two spoke in a low growl. “We will allow you to see the king. But be warned, low fae. If you make any move against our ruler, your life is forfeit.”
Tarrah held back a smile. “I would not expect to survive such a thing.”
* * *
The guards led Tarrah through the looming gates. The ancient castle rose through the mists, red light from the baking sun glinting across the black stone walls. She walked up the long and winding dirt-packed pathway, her feet struggling to find purchase on the crumbling rocks. Olc Fortress sat atop a dormant volcano, the stone walls looming out of jagged cliffs. Battlements glowed as they rose from pits of fire that flashed against the churning sky.
Olc Fortress only had two small towers, one on each side of the castle. It was an impressive and imposing structure, but it did not hold a candle to the true home of the Shadow Court, the one where their kings and queens had once lived, where rulers had been coronated in the sight of the Unseelie god, where the shadow fae’s Seat of Power still sat waiting.
They had been driven out of that stronghold by the Air Court, the king and his entire family brutally slaughtered during the attack. Exiled from the rest of Tir Na Nog, the realm of the shadow fae had been plunged into chaos. In the end, the Lord of Olc Fortress had taken up the mantle of king, but he had never been coronated.
