Whiny and intolerable she may be, but something akin to shame stirs in my chest at the thought of crushing her tender lungs. I banish the image of the silver doe from my mind. I rattle the sound of her song from my brain.
Go. Be gone.
“Goodnight, my Queen.” I step forward and kiss the rocks that sparkle from sharp rings on her fingers.
“Goodnight, my son. May you rest well and meet your destiny upon the morrow.”
I haven’t the slightest wish to meet my fate, only a burning hunger to end this curse forever—an impossible task.
“Balor, come.” My dog rises from the hearth, and I bolt down the endlessly long corridor as though a pack of banshees snaps at my cloak instead of one beloved hound.
As I reach the exit, my mother’s voice folds around my body, soft like a caress but deadly as a blade. “Oh, and, Ever? One more thing. When you arrived, the guards told me you carried the mortal in your arms, and my heart danced. But when you set her down to walk behind you, I knew she was no bride. But I did wonder how she came to be so protected, so cosseted by our merciless Prince of Air. A human, Ever, what were you thinking?”
My blood simmering, I stare at her—regal and composed—a briny, sulphuric danger infusing the air between us. Like my dead brother, Rain, water is her element. Words freeze, coating my throat thickly. Lies, every one. I cannot give a truthful answer that will please her.
Long nails, like green tourmaline wands, tap the sea dragons on her armrest. “As a child, Everend, whenever you were given your choice of a pet from a litter, every time without fail, you picked the weakest creature as your own. Do not let this pathetic mortal divert your attention. And do not forget what your strength did to those frail little cubs.”
I swallow, knuckles cracking as my fists close. Yes. It never ended well. I’ll always remember.
“Do not neglect your responsibility to your people and, as always, to the Throne of Five.”
“No, Mother. I won’t forget.”
Unfortunately, I have a constant reminder. The black blood. The poison. The encroaching darkness.
As I climb the stairs to my chambers, with each heartbeat, my blood pulses thicker. It speaks to me as it burns. It tells me things I do not want to know and do not wish to hear.
Remember, the black blood says. Always remember.
You are not your own master.
You are beholden to me, my creature.
It is written. And so it will be.
You are mine, Everend.
Forever mine.
Forever.
Chapter 9
COURT of FIVE
Lara
I had no idea gardening was a form of torture. The backbreaking labor of digging and weeding is the perfect punishment for a city girl like me, whose main experience with dirt before landing in this strange place had been scrubbing it off the potatoes at work.
After languishing in a sparsely furnished servant’s cell for three days, wondering if the fae would leave me there to rot, yesterday at dawn, I was led outside to toil in the garden until dusk. When I returned to my room, I was served a bowl of stew by a wide-eyed maid who spoke little and stared a lot. Muscles I didn’t even know I owned burned and ached, but the food tasted good and, surprisingly, I was still alive. Things could have been a lot worse.
Last night, when I finished eating, I soothed myself with a song, rocking on my cot while wrapped in colorful blankets as I wiped away tears of homesickness and waited, like I had every night since arriving, to be summoned by the queen and sentenced to an even harsher fate than digging and weeding.
Like death, for example.
I figured at least I’d be executed with a full belly. In my desolate state, that was the only positive thing I could think of. But I waited and waited, and the summons never came.
Eventually, I fell into a restless sleep and dreamed the dream that has always plagued me: I’m running through a forest, chased by a man who is tall, blond, and terrifyingly relentless. As usual, I couldn’t see his face, but for the first time, I knew who he was. The huntsman. Ever.
I tossed and turned for hours, and when I’d finally given up on it ever happening—the sun rose.
This morning, I woke to a gray sky blinking at me through a barred, high window, a jug of water and a bowl of porridge set on a small table fashioned from a block of wood, next to the bed.
Before I even finished breakfast, Magret, the castle’s head gardener, came to lead me along cobblestone alleyways, under archways, bridges, and turrets to fenced-in gardens set upon the hills that abut the city’s rear walls.
So, now it’s my fifth day at Talamh Cúig, and here I am again on the rolling green slopes—a sweet-floral scent and iridescent-colored insects wafting around me in the mild breeze as I work. Not far down the hill, fae gardeners are busy picking fruit in an orchard, but I’ve been assigned to labor at Magret’s side. Possibly forever.
“I heard you singing last night,” she says in her quiet voice as we prune tomato plants together.
I didn’t realize she slept in a cell near mine. I hope she didn’t hear me crying.
“Hopefully, I didn’t keep you awake,” I say.
Instead of answering, Magret just smiles, which I think means I did disturb her sleep.
The faery’s appearance is an extraordinary sight, and one I’m still adjusting to. She’s dressed in the same earth-colored tunic and loose pants as me, but that’s where our similarities end.
Tall and fair with translucent, pale-colored eyes, she looks like a beautiful woodland sprite, delicate antlers curling from her forehead like velvety winter branches. And in her manner, she’s somehow both fierce and kind, her movements strong yet graceful, and I’m very happy she decided to speak to me yesterday.
Since I’ve made a friend, I don’t feel anywhere near as terrified as I did when I first arrived in the city—which I remind myself was only five days ago. And if Magret is an example of what the Court of Five fae are like, then there’s still hope for me yet. I can’t imagine her baying for blood and insisting I be slaughtered.
But then there’s Ever, and the queen, and the beady-eyed advisers to consider. They make me worry for my future. They make me dread.
“I didn’t realize humans could sound as you did last night,” Magret says. “It was soothing.”
“Oh! Thank you for the compliment.” At least I think it was a compliment.
Glancing up from the plants, I say, “And I had no idea tomato leaves smelled this way, so incredibly sweet. The scent should be bottled and made into perfume.”
“Yes, earth smells are wonderful.”
All manner of vegetables sprawl over neat rows—artichokes, pumpkins, beans, and lettuces—which, come to think of it, is more than a little strange. My boss, Max, is a stickler for market-fresh produce, and he sets the diner’s menu by the seasons, and what I see sprouting and fruiting around me shouldn’t be possible—I think they’re all spring vegetables. Magret says it’s autumn here, but the air feels like winter.
“How do tomatoes grow outside when the weather’s so chilly?” I ask.
“Because of earth magic, mine in particular. In our court, each of us is born with an elemental power. It’s how we keep our trees evergreen no matter the season. Some fae have stronger magic than others. But none so strong as our princes.”