I grab Andraste’s fallen cloak and throw it over the bane’s head. Andraste drives her knife between its ribs just as I kick the back of its knee. For one shining, precious moment, we’re moving in unison. A deadly, unstoppable force to be reckoned with.
“Don’t kill it!”
Her eyes flicker to mine, and then she slashes through its hamstring. The bane screams. Her knife flashes, catching the last dying rays of sunlight that glint through the arch, and then it’s burying itself in the bane’s throat.
“No!”
Blood gurgles from the stab wound. The bane’s roar chokes off.
She stabs it again, right in the kidneys.
Those amber eyes lock upon me, breath wheezing from its lungs as it goes to its knees. “Prinshess….”
And then the light in those eyes fades, and the beast hits the floor.
My sister turns to me, her eyes alight with fury as she wipes the blade on her thigh. “What in Maia’s name were you thinking? Were you trying to get yourself killed?”
Light shimmers around the bane, as though the curse isn’t quite done with him. Its fur shrinks, claws sinking back into flesh and becoming fingers right before my eyes.
When the light fades, there’s a fae male on the floor, naked and bloody. Scratches mar his back and buttocks, and his blond hair is long and ragged. I can’t stop myself from squatting beside him, trying to avoid the growing pool of blood.
I don’t know his face.
I would swear I’ve never seen him before.
But he’s seen me.
Or he knows what I look like, which sends a shiver down my spine. Catching the attention of the vicious prince who rules Evernight is never a wise idea.
There’s a chain around his throat, and I slide my hand along its length, revealing a golden amulet shaped in a wolf’s snarling head.
“Leave it,” Andraste says, sliding her dagger back in her boot.
“It knew me,” I insist, slipping the amulet free. I don’t know why, but I feel the urge to keep it.
“It was Evernight.”
“Precisely the problem,” I snap, fetching my sword and pocketing the amulet. Won’t Mother be thrilled with her now. “A pity you’re not going to get a nice fur throw for your floor.”
“Haven’t you learned anything, Iskvien?” My sister says coldly. “We do not treat with the enemy. And we show the beasts no mercy. Both are only likely to get you killed.”
“And we wouldn’t want that.” I slide my sword home with a steely rasp. “Or do we?”
Andraste startles, looking me in the eye for a long moment. “I don’t want you dead,” she says after a long moment.
Only bowing at her feet.
“There can be only one.” One queen. One heir. It’s how the Kingdom of Asturia operates. And there are whispers our mother, the queen, is fading, though I’ve seen no sign of it myself. “Let’s not pretend I wouldn’t be a threat to you if you left me alive.” Every scheming courtier in the castle would see me as an opportunity to climb the ladder at court. “Let’s not pretend I’m stupid enough to think you wouldn’t. You should have waited. You should have let the bane have me.”
“Vi.” She snags my wrist as I turn to go.
I arch a brow, waiting for her to protest that it’s not like that at all. That we’re sisters, not a threat to each other. But Mother has done her job far too well.
“I am either Mother’s heir or I am dead,” I say quietly. “I don’t even want the throne. I just want to stay alive. And so do you.”
“There are other options.”
“Oh, really? I would love to hear your proposition.”
Her lips press thinly together.
“Marriage into another kingdom? You know we’d both be merely pawns. And Mother’s done too good a job in alienating every other royal court. Besides, I’d prefer to choose my own husband rather than become some petty prince’s little plaything.”
None of the royal options are anything short of skin-crawling. The fae can be merciless and malicious. Royals never sit on an easy throne, and the truth is, no innocent ever holds a position of power in this world.
Not for long anyway.
Those who rule kingdoms are rarely kind.
“Maybe marriage doesn’t have to be a death sentence,” she says slowly.
“And maybe that bane there didn’t intend to kill either of us. Maybe it was trying to give me a hug.”
Andraste slowly lets me go. “We’re not enemies, Vi. I would protect you.”
She doesn’t understand. She never will. She’s always been Mother’s favorite. The one who sits in on council meetings. The one who receives gifts from visiting nobles, as if they already consider her to be Mother’s heir.
The one who can wield her own magic, when mine dies on my fingertips in a shower of sparks.
“I wish that was the truth,” I murmur. I miss my sister. But neither of us are children anymore, and I can’t afford to forget that. “And I’d stay to help you lug your trophy home, but I think I’d best get a head start before night falls. Got to watch my back out there.”
2
Two dresses hang in the closet in front of me, both gauzy and overflowing with far too much fabric. Neither are my preferred style, but that’s not the point.
Tonight is Lammastide and appearances have to be met.
Tonight I’m not Iskvien, second daughter of a merciless queen. Tonight I’m an Asturian princess, ruthless in her own right, invulnerable to those who might seek to bring down my mother’s court. It might only be silk, but it’s armor of a kind, though I’d far prefer a chain mail vest.
“Wear the red,” says a clipped voice from the doorway. “It will accentuate your dark hair and olive skin.”
My fingers still on the fabric. “Mother. What a pleasant surprise.”
It is neither.
She wasn’t here when we returned from the hunt. It’s been three days. And I know Andraste made her report. I daresay it wasn’t favorable.
I’ve been waiting for the queen to make an appearance, and point out all the ways in which I fail her. Queen Adaia is not the type to strike immediately. She likes to let her opponents wait. And each day she hesitates to strike is one more hint of her displeasure, one more sign it’s going to be fatal.
Three days…. Not quite a storm of rage that could threaten to tear the palace apart, but a quiet, deadly chill, I suspect. Like the breath of winter down your spine.
I turn as the queen sweeps inside the room, her heavy silver gown dragging over the marble tiles with a rasp. We’re as different as night and day, and I see Andraste in the queen’s features, which is simply another reminder of whom the favorite daughter is. They share the same stubborn chin and full mouth, high-swept cheekbones highlighting the vaguely feline shape of their blue eyes.
But Mother’s hair is wheaten gold, drawn up into a coronet of braids upon which rests her sharp-pointed crown. And she’s taller, slightly thinner. More dangerous.
Anyone looking at the two of us might wonder if we shared any blood at all.
“To what do I owe this pleasure, Mother?” It’s the edge of impertinence, which is all she will allow. “Won’t we be late to the Queensmoot?”