Page 29
As we enter, the torches are replaced by cold orbs that flicker with the same light as the one in Fiadh’s palm. Their light casts weird lunar shadows that stretch our silhouettes into monsters. For the first time, I notice that the moonlight is getting stronger with every moment that passes. I reach out once to touch a beam and feel it tingle like a fresh cut.
The guards say nothing as they escort us, but they don’t need to—we’re well aware that we might be fucked by whatever is going to happen in here.
Behind us, I hear the beginnings of cleanup, the rush of servants and the distant, clinical thud of someone dragging away the ones who didn’t make it through the show. I suppose that has to happen even if exciting shit is going on in the ballroom, but it’s so ordinary and mundane that it makes me laugh drily.
The air grows colder, and I hiss softly, tasting the tang of something primal, barely disguised under the layers of Fae perfume and human decadence. Beyond the thrones on the dais we’re approaching, there are two enormous doors carved with every phase of the moon from new to blood red full ones. The surface is so dense with shining, magical inlays that looking at it too long makes my head ache.
I don’t know where that goes, but I doubt it’s good.
Our guards stop as one, and their leader steps aside, waiting for Lady Morana’s signal. I glance at Sassy surreptitiously. The light is fading from her palm, but the afterglow lingers on her skin like both a promise and a threat. I feel every pair of eyes on us—nobles, monsters, royals, and court lackeys alike—waiting for the curtain to rise.
No one in this castle wants us to walk through that door, but there’s not a force in hell that could keep my mate from doing it now. She’s smart enough to realize that whatever lies behind that threshold is her destiny—whether she wants it or not. Fiadh is not a coward, nor is she a woman who allows people to intimidate her, so the violence we’ll likely face isn’t a concern.
They picked the wrong motherfuckers to challenge, that’s for goddamn sure.
Lady Morana materializes in front of the royal platform. She’s lost the wolf mask again—though I don’t understand why—so her features are exposed. Her eyes are dark with fury, and I guess she’s pissed that a bunch of traitorous fucks screwed up the plan we made to keep this all quiet until it was time to act. When she speaks, it’s so low that I wonder if anyone else in the room can hear it.
“Nightshade’s toast was a signal,” she says, and her gaze skips from Sassy to Rev, and then to the rest of us. “The assassins made their move before the ball began, and now we are stuck answering to traditions that are meant to prevent those who take them up from surviving.”
Silver flickers around Fiadh’s fingers as she glares at the Fae lady angrily. “How do we stop this? I don’t want to be part of some bullshit test if it puts my companions in jeopardy.”
Morana’s expression softens fractionally. “If you claim sanctuary under the Midnight Oath, they cannot make you do this, but that has a cost. I can force the invocation, but you have to be willing to pay the price.”
I don’t trust her, but I trust the desperation.
My voice is dry as old bones as I snarl, “You’re going to just hand her protection? Forgive me if I don’t jump at the offer since you’re being quite cagey about what that cost might be.”
“You misunderstand, basilisk. The Midnight Oath is ancient and non-negotiable. If Fiadh invokes it, the entire castle is bound to her defense. You will avoid the trial and be able to continue your visit as scheduled. The violence will be averted.”
Revelin snorts. “That means the cost is so great that your court would want it more than finding the lost heir. None of us is stupid, Lady Morana. We realize that Fiadh will have to give up something much more appealing than some sweat and blood in the test.”
Good point, fancy pants.
Morana’s eyes narrow. “The alternative is carnage. Maybe you win, maybe you don’t, but either way, the balance tips tonight. If you want to make it out alive, she should invoke and fight another day. I would not risk myself to stand here and suggest it as we wait for the royals to make their appearance, if I didn’t think it was a viable option.”
Tiernan doesn’t look at her, but I see the set of his jaw and the way he’s ready to bolt at the first misstep. “What do you want to do, Knuckles? We cannot decide this for you, especially not if we are not going to share the price.”
Fiadh’s fingers curl into fists. For a moment, she looks worn to the nibs. Her eyes harden, and the silver in her veins flares like a match struck in the dark as she glares at Morana. “I’m done hiding,” she says, voice steady. “If they want to come for me, let them do it to my face.”
Morana actually smiles, and it occurs to me that she wanted this outcome, not the invocation. “Good. That means you are truly who we believe you to be, Fiadh Morgenstern. You will be the savior of Midnight someday, even if that day is not today.”
I study the doors, my mind already spinning out potential threats that could lurk behind it. Unfortunately, I don’t know enough about Fae flora or fauna to predict what the hell we’ll be heading into. What I definitely know is that magic will be involved, and it will take all five of us to defeat this fucking bullshit. There’s no way whatever the royals have behind that fancy-ass door is gentle, kind, or pretty—it’s there to kill whomever they send through it like the fucking Saarlac.
“Say good-bye to these lovely clothes," Revelin says as he runs a hand through his hair. “I guarantee we’re going to be torn to shreds by the time we emerge from their stupid trial realm.”
Dezi arches a brow, finally speaking as he looks at the prince. “Trial realm?”
The moonlight in Fiadh’s palm grows brighter, illuminating the alcove and painting our faces with ghost-light as she murmurs, “It must be a magical pocket realm they use for ascension to the throne. Right, Rev?”
He nods, shaking his head ruefully. “Daybreak stopped using them centuries ago. Family lineage and blood ties decide who sits on our gilded chairs now. I had no idea any of the courts still did this shit.”
The king and queen materialize out of thin air, taking their seats on the tallest thrones, and their children follow suit. I swallow hard as the queen’s lips curl up as if she’s eager to watch a shark attack on TV, and I know deep in my bones that nothing about this will be fair or fun.
We’re being tossed into the water like chum, and whatever they use to test potential royals is ready to eat us alive.
Fifteen
FIADH
