A jailer lifted a hand and struck her across the face. Maeve’s head whipped back, jarring her broken nose. Pain blinded her and fresh blood spurted from her nostrils. She gagged as it blocked her throat and her chained fingers twisted, desperate to clear the fluid away.
After a moment, the sensation faded. When her vision cleared, she saw the Master had left his shadowed corner. His slippered feet kissed the stones as though he were gliding across a frozen lake. His lips parted, and she glimpsed his fangs poking out of the corners of his mouth.
“You have no choice,” fury rolled through his words as he growled them. “This is a command. It is what you will do.”
Maeve spit blood and examined her enemy. Her bruised lip curled. “Your offer is tempting, but how do I know you will keep your word?”
“Those who break rules do not get a choice,” the Master rebuked her.
Heat flared up her neck, a reminder that he controlled her through the magical collar and she was nothing more than a slave to his commands.
“Listen well, Maeve of Carn. I alone can release you from the collar that holds you. I alone can reduce your sentence and let you go free. But I know your kind. You are full of self-righteousness and believe everything you do has an excuse, a reason. You forget the fundamental laws that shaped the world in the beginning of time, and you believe you can escape judgement for your deeds. You are wicked, but I see the merit in your skills. You hold a unique power, and although you are not fully human, you can walk among them. Unlike us, you need not hide from the sunlight. We have decided your redemptive path. You will return to the world where the humans dwell and find the Seven Shards of Erinyes. Every full moon, an agent of mine will meet you to bring the shards here.”
Maeve froze, a dull horror beating inside her like the wings of a trapped bird. She opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again. When her voice came out, it was only a whisper, and she stared up at the Master as though she’d heard wrong. “The Seven Shards of Erinyes? They have been lost for centuries . . .”
“Yes, and now to be found again. A scholar will assist in your quest. We have discovered the rough location of each shard. You will find them and bring them to me. Time is of the essence, but because of the perilous nature of this quest, we will give you seven months to complete it.”
Maeve sputtered. Seven months? But it was a chance to return to daylight, walk among the humans again, and flee the rotting pit. Her mind worked through scenarios and possibilities. She’d redeem herself and find him. Seven months would give her time to find out how to free herself of the golden collar and thwart the plans of the Master.
When she looked up again, the Master stood within arm’s length in a pool of torchlight. The paleness of his skin and the sharpness of his fangs made her quiver, but she faced him nonetheless. “If you would send me on this quest, I will need my weapons and my armor back.”
He flicked his fingers. “We have arranged it.”
Maeve took a deep breath as boldness came over her. “You have collared me, which reduces my strength. If you would have me succeed in recovering the shards, I will need access to my full abilities.”
The black pools of his eyes became deeper, and the Master bent over, bringing his face far too close to hers. Maeve wanted to shrink away from the scents of blood and decay that surrounded him. There was a sharp click as his claws extended, and he placed them under her chin. His aura surrounded her, and she felt as though she’d been dunked into a pool of darkness and it was him, and only him, that she could see.
When he spoke, his voice echoed both inside and outside of her head, ripping through all her private thoughts and shredding them. “Do you know why they call me the Master? I have seen civilizations rise and fall, and you are but a means to an end. Your power is mine, and until I see fit, you will wear the collar. If you think you can blindside me, betray me, and escape, think again. You have a fire in your soul, but I am the king of the fae. I can send you to eternal misery if you even think about disobeying me. I can make everyone and everything you care about suffer, and I can bend your will to servitude. That flash of defiance in your spirit will help you find the shards, but if you turn it against me, I will release the Underworld’s fury on you. Now go—and remember, you wear my mark. Wherever you go, whatever you do, I will find you. If you haven’t retrieved all seven shards within seven months, your life will be forfeit.”
3
Isle of Darkness
Sunlight kissed Maeve’s face as the portal spit her out on the island. She squinted against the light and waited, allowing her eyes to adjust to the brilliance. Despite the dark mission hanging over her, the fresh scent of salt-infused waves and the warmth from the sun gave a buoyancy to her attitude.
The fae, keen to stay away from the sunlight, had sent her through a portal instead of allowing her to use the tunnels to access the Isle of Darkness, the gateway to the fae’s Underground. On the island, crumbling, sand-bleached towers had given way to overgrown grass and the occasional tree, and four statues, each standing over fifty feet high, supported each corner of the watchtower. The statue that looked north was headless, with long robes and a broken sword in his, or her, hands. The one that looked south was an angel with one wing; the other had been shattered. She looked fierce as she gazed, sightless, across the shore. The ones that looked east and west each had one hand bearing a javelin outstretched, as if preparing to throw it at those who dared attempt entering the Underground.
Maeve stood on the watchtower lookout, which allowed her to see down the cliffs to the sea, where wild waves splashed up at the shoreline, chipping away at the ragged stairs that led down. To her right, on a crumbling staircase, sat a human woman. At least, she looked human. She appeared middle-aged with strands of silver in her dark hair, which was piled in a bun at the base of her neck. She had an ageless, elegant beauty, and once might have been a noblewoman, though wrinkles now surrounded her gray eyes, which had a sad droop to them. She wore a simple black robe and gloves, and a bundle sat by her feet. In her lap was a book. She frowned, and her voice came out hard and clipped. “You must be Maeve.”
“I am.” Maeve narrowed her eyes. “Who are you?”
“Didn’t they tell you?” she muttered darkly, glancing at the statues and down her nose at the sea. “I’m Sandrine. The scholar.”
Maeve stared and almost laughed. “You? The scholar? I thought they would send a warrior.”
Sandrine snorted. “One is enough. They don’t want us getting any ideas.”
Maeve chewed her lip and glanced out toward the horizon. It was midday, perhaps later. If they started now, they could reach the shoreline before midnight. “That means you know where we are going?”
Sandrine drew her thin shoulders up defensively. “I would not be going with you if I did not know where to go,” she snapped.
Maeve held out a hand, frustration mounting. “I did not mean to offend you. This is just irregular and unexpected.”
Sandrine sniffed. “Irregular? Unexpected? Where do you think we are?”
Maeve had to admit she had a point.
“Are you going to stand there while the sun sets, or will you gather your things?” Sandrine snapped her book shut and pointed to a second bundle that Maeve had missed.