And I have to say it. “I agree with Finn. This is going to end badly. Why would my mother propose a peace offering? She wants our heads. She wants war.”
“She’s stalling,” Thiago murmurs. “This is merely a distraction. I also suspect she’ll present Lysander to us, and then have a guard drive a sword through his heart.”
Lysander and Baylor can die, but as long as the Grimm is still alive—even if he’s trapped in his prison world—the second the moon rises they’ll be resurrected.
“He’ll rise.”
“Still hurts like a bitch. And with every death….” Baylor’s face turns to stone. “With every death, it becomes a little more difficult to remember who you are.”
“As long as we’re near the Hallow we’re safe,” I mutter, as we enter the Hallow’s chamber.
The enormous chamber is round, and thirteen huge standing stones mark the edges of the Hallow. They were built to contain the energy that will rise when we activate the runes carved into their enormous columns.
Everyone takes their place inside the circle, a squad of a dozen guards falling in beside us, and nervousness runs through me.
The ley line calls to me, a soft whisper that stirs over my skin. I’ve always felt it, but it wasn’t until three months ago that I realized no one else can.
Thiago shoots me a grim look, slicing his finger and pressing it to the rune that marks Ruthvien. A discordant buzzing shivers over my skin as the Hallow begins to draw power from far beneath the surface. “I’m not afraid of your mother. If she has an ambush planned, then we will destroy it.”
I wasn’t talking about fleeing.
He thinks I used my fae magic to overthrow my mother at the Queensmoot, and I haven’t dared tell him the truth.
The Old Ones who ruled Arcaedia before the fae arrived are the ones who consecrated the Hallows and bound the power of the ley lines to the stone henges that litter the countryside. The fae might be able to use them as portals, but the Old Ones could access the power and wield it like a whip.
Until the Seelie locked them away in prison worlds that are tied to the Hallows.
Somehow, I accessed that power.
And when I made a deal with the Mother of Night, she told me I was the leanabh an dàn—the child of destiny that is bound to release her and the other Old Ones from their prison world.
Thiago said we couldn’t allow the leanabh an dàn to live, in case they fall into the wrong hands.
He loves me. I know he loves me.
But at what point do I become too much of a burden? Between my mother and her war, my bargain with the Mother of Night, and now this, how far will he go before he starts to regret marrying me?
“Vi?”
I realize he’s holding out a hand toward me as the Hallow starts vibrating.
I reach for him, curling my fingers through his. Thiago’s my anchor in any storm. I spent my entire life wishing someone would love me, and even now there’s a part of me that thinks he’s too good to be true.
“We’ll be all right,” he murmurs, giving it a squeeze. “We’re ready for anything your mother has planned.”
I’ll tell him the truth one day. I swear I will.
But right now, I force a smile and rest my other hand on the hilt of my sword, prepared for anything.
The Hallow ignites, plunging us into darkness.
Every part of me feels stretched thin. Whirling. Set adrift.
And then we land with a shudder in Ruthvien.
“No ambush,” Finn mutters as we spread out from the Hallow.
“Find them,” Thiago commands, and the handsome hunter vanishes into the trees that loom around us.
“It won’t happen here. My mother likes suspense. She’ll want to see your face as her trap encloses us.” Even so, my heart races as we scour the ruins of Ruthvien, searching for a hint of danger.
Nothing.
Just a broken city, snarled over with brambles. The forest is slowly reclaiming it, but I catch a glimpse of polished white marble. Ruthvien used to be the Pearl of the West once.
Waves crash against a distant shore. And the jagged remains of a castle perch atop a hill, reaching desperately for the sky as if to escape the forest’s clutches. This is no new forest. There’s a malevolent feeling to the trees, and little blinking eyes watch us from the shadows. I’m used to demi-fey fluttering through every inch of Ceres with callous disregard for the fae that tramp through their city, but these demi-fey lurk.
And I swear the trees shift, as if to keep us within their field of awareness.
It stands to reason. When the Hallow in the north imploded, the energy transformed everything around it. They say there are packs of deer with sharp teeth that hunt the plains of Taranis, and birds that breathe fire. The fae didn’t survive—something about their magic is incompatible with the Hallow magic—but the creatures did.
“Found them,” Finn murmurs, appearing out of nowhere. “The Asturian embassy have set up on a grassy knoll overlooking the sea. Three tents. Only twenty guards, from what I could see, which means she obeyed the set terms. The area around them is clear for fifty feet.” He nods to me. “Your mother’s banners are there. And I caught a glimpse of her within the main tent.”
“Then let’s do this,” Thiago says grimly. He turns to Baylor. “Ready?”
Baylor stares toward the tents with a hard glare. “Ready.”
“Keep it reined in until I give the signal.”
Baylor turns wolfish eyes on him, filled with blood and vengeance. But he nods.
The tents are red and gold.
Horses shift and whicker at their moorings, and guards stand to attention beside them, gleaming as brightly as the gemstones that linger in my mother’s vaults. She’s always insisted her personal guard wear armor coated with thin gold scales for appearances sake, though a single blow will leave a dent that requires days of buffing.
My mother’s banners snap in the wind, and I catch a glimpse of a golden throne hidden within the main tent, though there’s no sign of her.
Every inch of it is planned.
It says: Did you think you had won at the Queensmoot? I let you live, and now I will crush you, as was my intention all along.
“Subtle, Mother.”
The silk parts as Thiago strides toward it, and he ducks within, leaving me to suck in one last fortifying breath before I face her. This is no time for nerves, but I can’t quite extinguish the breathless feeling inside me. Nor can I fight the urge to rest my hand on the hilt of my sword. I’m dressed for war in a brown leather corset that’s hard enough to turn away a glancing blow, and a mulberry-colored cloak over my shoulders, but the skin between my shoulder blades tickles.
The last time we met, I drove her back with the power of the Hallow.
My mother doesn’t forget such insults.
And the Ruthvien Hallow is far enough away that I can barely feel the quiver of it. With our recent arrival, it won’t be ready to use again until another hour has passed, at least.
“Excellent,” I mutter under my breath. I’m practically defenseless, except for the sword.
“Princess?” Finn murmurs.
“Nothing. Just enjoying my last moment of non-judgmental air.”
“Relish it. I’m sure she’ll manage to suck the wind out of our sails somehow.”