Her mother had loved falsehoods. It made Tarrah hate them.
She glanced toward the princess, who stood beside her in the throne room. They were just below the dais where High King Bolg perched on his black stone throne. His expression was one of smugness, and he swirled a goblet of thick, sickly-sweet wine that he’d smuggled in from the southern regions of the human lands. It seemed his own victory to reclaim Findius Stronghold had come at a price as well. He had gained a second layer of dough around his middle, and he rarely left his chambers. It was said that he kept air fae prisoners in the dungeons, leftover survivors from the reclaiming of the city. Females, only. Every night, he commanded the guards bring him another. Sometimes, Tarrah swore she heard muffled screams echoing through the castle, whorling to mix with the thick, impenetrable mist.
And yet, Tarrah continued to serve him. His champion still. Regardless of how she might view his dishonorable actions, she would stand by his side until Unseelie told her otherwise. Her god had chosen Bolg Rothach for a reason. What that reason was, Tarrah could not comprehend, nor did she even expect to understand. Unseelie was all-seeing, all-knowing. Tarrah was nothing more than an ant in the dirt.
“Princess Reyna. I must say, I did not expect to find you inside my throne room so soon.”
Beside Tarrah, Reyna scowled. “The only reason I’m here is because your damn champion threatened to involve my sister in this. It’s me or her, so here I am. What would you have me do?”
He took a long sip of his wine, forcing Reyna to wait. She had come to him with her head hanged low to give herself to his mercy, and he revelled in it. It was a cruel move. Finally, he set down his empty goblet and wiped the red from his lips. When he smiled, crimson stained his yellow teeth. “I would have you make your vow to me.”
“Show me Eislyn,” the princess said, her voice as frozen as the icy north. “And then I will fight whatever battle you deem necessary.”
“I think not,” the king said smoothly, without a moment’s hesitation, as if he had expected the demand. “As I said before, I cannot risk putting the two of you into a room together.”
Reyna’s hands clenched. A guard shifted closer to the king’s side. “You are a shadow fae. You are not bound to truth. How can I be certain you have my sister if you will not allow me to see her?”
“Well, here’s how it is, princess. Youcannotbe certain I have her, but are you willing to take that risk?”
Tarrah was an expert in controlling her expression. She learned long ago not to show her mother the truth of her emotions, and Tarrah had carried that with her even here. So, outwardly, she knew she was the picture of calm serenity. Inwardly, however, she was troubled. The High King seemed to take delight in this game of lies. It revealed a level of corruption in his soul that she had not realized he had.
Tarrah had seen the very same corruption in her own mother. She might worry that they suffered from the same affliction, but she knew it to be impossible. When her mother had been pregnant with Tarrah, she had travelled to a land far from the shores of Tir Na Nog, and she had stared into the face of deep, dark magic. That magic had transformed her, changed her. It had turned her into something full of rot and dread.
But the king had never been to Inishfall. He didn’t even know the truth of the two powers hidden there. If he did, she knew what he would do. He would want to go and take one for himself. And, just like her mother, he would choose wrong.
Reyna let out a long exhale. “Fine. You win. I’m not willing to take that risk. Tell me the vows, and I will speak them, but you must promise me you will not harm my sister. I know your words are meaningless, but on your honor as a king, I ask you to promise.”
The High King smiled, victory dancing in his beady eyes. “Very well then. I promise you, I will not harm Princess Eislyn.” His gaze slid to Tarrah. “Now the vows, Tarrah.”
Tarrah swallowed hard and nodded before turning to face Reyna. “Princess Reyna Darragh, you have come before the High King of the Shadow Court, and our Seat of Power, to make vows to serve this realm. To bond your vows to your life, repeat these words after me.”
Reyna’s eyes were two thin slits of hate, but she nodded all the same.
“I promise to serve the High King of the Shadow Court. I promise to protect his life and fight for him when he commands. I promise to never attempt an escape, nor shall I ever attempt to kill him. I am his to command, now and always.” Tarrah stopped and sucked in a sharp breath of hope. Regardless of how they had come to this moment, they finally had. The Shadow Court needed Reyna to make these vows, but as the moments ticked ever forward, Tarrah began to doubt.
The High King had chosen force as a way to procure the princess’s vow. But Reyna Darragh did not seem the kind of fae to respond very favorably to force.
But finally, Reyna spoke, repeating the words that Tarrah had said. And then finished with, “But these promises are hereby revoked if you harm my sister.”
Tarrah swallowed hard and glanced sharply at the king, who swirled his wine, lips pursed. But then he smiled. “Such a fiery little thing you are for being born in the ice. I should make you repeat your promises, only this time, as you were instructed. But as I have no intention of harming your sister, I’ll leave it be. Thank you for your service, princess. You’re excused now. I have some other matters to attend to this evening, and they do not require your presence. Unless, of course, you would like to join me and my companions in my bedchamber.”
Eyes flashing, Reyna twisted on her heels without another word and headed straight toward the door, her long hair a whirlwind around her shoulders.
“I need to speak with you, Your Majesty,” Tarrah said quietly as Reyna stormed out of the room.
He jerked his attention away from the retreating princess and waved dismissively in Tarrah’s direction. Now that he had what he needed—his throne—he seemed far less interested in what Tarrah had to say. “Go on then. New vision, eh? I hope it involves a head on a spike, preferably the wood king’s ugly green head.”
Tarrah frowned. “Now that Reyna has made her vows, we should tell her the truth about her sister. The lies will only turn to dust in your mouth if you don’t.”
Bolg coughed out a laugh. “What and tell her that she’s not here? That she’s gone missing? That might be the worst counsel you have given me yet, Tarrah.”
“She would do better knowing the truth.”
“Do better at what?” He laughed again and waved at a nearby serving girl to refill his goblet. “At plotting ways to escape so that she can run to her sister? No, I think not. As long as she believes we have the girl, then she will do whatever we say.”
“She made vows that cannot be broken. The magic would kill her before she stepped foot outside this castle. If we told her the truth—that we are not in fact threatening her sister’s life—she might not view us as her ardent enemy.” That was the real truth of it. Tarrah had seen the hate churning in Reyna’s eyes. She’d made her vows, but she would forever hold a deep-seated grudge against the Shadow Court, and Tarrah could scarcely blame her.
When Tarrah had first been blessed with a vision of the ice princess, wielding her sword on a bloody battlefield, she had been full of hope. She’d imagined Prince Lorcan delivering her to the feet of the king, who spoke with ardent, poetic words, convincing her of their need to end the exile.
