Maeve’s fingers touched the golden collar, which hung loosely around her neck. Its touch burned against her skin, and again the words came to her. The power to break all curses. If she had the seven shards, she could free herself. Yet, just the memory of the dark eyes of the Master made her go cold. He was also aware of that fact, and he must have known her thoughts would drift to double-crossing him. That’s why she had seven months. The fae would cast a portal, come to her, and take the pieces one by one. She’d never find all seven shards before they were taken from her. She worried her lower lip between her teeth. She needed a mastermind, someone to assist her in figuring out the puzzle.
Glancing at Sandrine, she weighed the pros and cons, but soon dismissed the idea. Sandrine was not worthy. Knowledgeable? Yes. But too brusque to count on.
“Think, girl. If the fae can break their curse and walk among us, even if they must hide from daylight, we will not survive. If you think they will honor the agreement they set with you, you are wrong. They have tricked me more than once; it is better not to hope, and I see the spark in your eyes.”
Maeve grimaced. “How long have you worked for them?”
Sandrine scowled and walked faster. “It’s best not to get to know each other. You’ll be dead once you’ve outlived your usefulness.”
Anxiety bloomed as she sped up, recalling how the fae had treated her as a punching bag. The crack of a whip. The snap of her nose. Did the fae even want her to succeed? They’d taken the one trait that gave her an advantage above others, her strength. Destitute and in the wild, the best plan she could think of was to take on a bounty to fund her quest for the seven shards, all the while considering a way to foil the plans of the fae.
8
Master of the Fae
The Master—King Mrithun of the fae—climbed the stairs, wide slabs of stones that wound in a spiral, taking him higher and higher, up into clear air. He enjoyed the sensation of being away from the smell of blood, the rot of prisoners, and the cries elicited from the tortures.
The court of the fae had fallen. They’d always been dark, hungry for blood and twisted, malicious acts, but now they were lost, corrupted, trapped in the dank, dark Underground. Often their actions were for sport, a way to amuse themselves during the long dark days when they longed for sunlight, starlight, moonlight, anything other than the stifled heat of the Underground. It was as close to the Underworld as they’d ever be. Their exile was payment for their sins, wickedness, and desire to rule the world. The curse had been a devastating blow. Time and time again, Mrithun had analyzed the details of the war. He’d led his armies to the height of civilization—the kingdom of Draconbane—only to be set back because he misunderstood how powerful the race of dragons were. He’d used his black magic to create a curse, and somehow, the curse reflected back on him and his people. The dragons were no longer the most powerful rulers in the world, but the fae were also banished from sunlight.
Salvation was nigh, and once the curse was broken, he would take the name of king again and rule the court with an iron grip. New laws would be applied, for he had plans for his court and plans for his queen. All those years ago, she’d beckoned, and he’d come running, besotted, but not anymore. She hadn’t warned him about her sister, nor the dangers of her land. Forgiveness had been given, but just because he forgave did not mean he forgot. There was also the Prophecy of Erinyes to consider, and he intended to rise as the prophecy came true.
Ah, but the years had been long, and the remaining months were bittersweet. In truth, he missed the light of the sun on his face, the song of the bird, the cries of the night hunters and his castle hidden deep in the woods. He missed the freedom. But patience was his weakness; he had made missteps, and it was taking time to recover from them. It was a risk to collar Maeve of Carn and bend her to his will. But if all did not go well, he had contingencies, and his queen was smart, always thinking ahead. At times, he wondered if she meant to blindside him, and so he stayed alert, sharing much and yet still hiding some of his plans from her. He understood the need to play his hand and hold out in case she tried to overthrow him.
Deep in thought, he made his way to his chambers, shedding his robes as he walked. His queen preferred him without the mask he hid behind, and he knew why. Fae were known for their cruel beauty, sharp features, hard eyes full of depth, and lips that thinned and curved back to reveal fangs or a row of sharp, pointed teeth. The appearances of the fae varied; some were beautiful, while others dwelled in beast form, for their fae form was enough to make one lose their wits. The Master’s own form was a cross between devastating beauty and horror, hence the mask he wore to keep from distracting others with his appearance.
He removed the mask as he glided up to the door of his chamber and entered. Shutting the heavy door behind him, he turned to take in his dwelling place. The rooms were spacious, with high ceilings, as close to earth as could be in the Underground. Torchlight lit up the interior of the room, and black and red satin drapery hung from the dark stones of the walls and ceilings. The first room was his bedroom, and beyond that were his work rooms, filled with old scrolls, weapons, and conquests of war—mostly bones and treasure. He bared his fangs at the sight of the delightful creature who lay on the bed. She rested on her side, facing away from the door, her golden wings folded on her back and her slender form covered in a silk dress, thin and as delicate as a spider’s web. One flick of his claws would rip it to shreds, and he would relish the pleasures of her naked body.
She turned at his step, sitting up and dropping the scroll from her fingertips. A light came to her honey-colored eyes and dimples stood out on her cheeks. Her face was round, angelic, her skin pale, and a cascade of hair as dark as his heart flowed down onto her pale shoulders. The silk covering her showed off her heavy breasts, pointed nipples, and the curve of her belly giving way to generous hips. His angel. His queen. His dragon.
“Mrithun, is your business concluded? Did the warrior agree to search for us?” Her voice was breathy and whispery, like bells that chimed gently with wonder.
“Aye, my angel.” He strode toward her, his feet sinking into the plush carpets he’d stolen from houses of wealth to provide comfort for his queen.
Business. Maeve of Carn would do his dirty work for him, although he would send his warriors out every full moon to make her path easier—or more difficult. If Maeve of Carn succeeded, he’d have more for her to do, and the golden collar was a guarantee she would obey his commands. He only wished he’d been able to control the warlord, someone he assumed she cared about. It had been a mistake he’d easily rectified, yet it was difficult to exert full control with only twelve nights of the year to watch Maeve.
Still, Maeve of Carn was a puzzle, and the Master wished he had more on her. Although he’d sent Sandrine, the scholar, to guide her for a time, he knew the old woman would not be able to sway Maeve to join the fae. Nor would Maeve be able to persuade Sandrine to help her escape. Sandrine was hardened and uncaring, and although she had some weaknesses—what was left of her family—they were of no use to the fae. She’d lost everything and had bent to his will like clay in his hands, although he allowed his queen to handle most of the dealings with her. After all, it had been his queen’s idea to gather the Seven Shards of Erinyes. Once Maeve of Carn completed her quest and brought him the shards, he would use his black magic to put the pieces back together, set his bride free, and break the curse that kept the fae trapped in the Underground.