Larkin was hauled into an echoing two-story room packed with druids all the way up the second-story gallery. At the opposite end, Fenwick sat upon a throne on a raised dais. My family’s throne, she realized. On simple chairs on each side of him sat three Black Druids, all of them staring at her in disgust. Kneeling in chains before the dais, Harben, Raeneth, and Iniya watched as she was dragged into the room and shoved to the hard marble floor. Her knees barked with pain, but it didn’t really touch her, didn’t really register.

“Where is Kyden? Tam?” Larkin asked.

Iniya shook her head as Raeneth wailed, “They took him from me! They took my baby.”

“The child is fine,” Fenwick said in disgust.

He said nothing about Tam.

Ancestors, Larkin had sworn Tam would not die for her.

No. He was not dead. He couldn’t be.

Fenwick sighed as if he were tired of the whole affair. “Iniya Rothsberd, you have conspired with the pipers to free the prisoner Bane of Hamel and made an alliance with the pipers that would see you restored to power. The former having been witnessed under the watchful eye of dozens of high-ranking druids. The latter was confessed by your own son, Harben Rothsberd, in the hopes it would spare your lives. It will not. I sentence Iniya, Harben, and Raeneth to death by hanging. To be enacted immediately.”

Why were they sparing Larkin’s life? It was not mercy. No. The druids had another plan for her. Dread curdled in her gut.

Raeneth cried out and collapsed, shivering and whimpering. Harben stared off into nothing.

Iniya glared up at Fenwick. “I charge you, Fenwick, with the murder of my parents and siblings.”

“You have no authority here,” Fenwick said.

“I have the authority of a queen!” Iniya cried with righteous indignation. “An authority usurped by the druids.”

The crowd murmured.

Fenwick eyed the people. “Do not listen to the Mad Queen.”

“Mad Queen, ha!” Iniya shook her head. “A slur created to undermine my authority. I was not mad. I was grieving the murder of my family—a murder that you contrived!”

“I saved your life,” Fenwick cried.

“Only so you could marry into the royal family,” Iniya spat.

Larkin reeled, too numb and horrified to process what she heard.

Fenwick motioned to the guards, who hauled Iniya, Raeneth, and Harben to their feet.

“I was only seventeen years old!” Iniya screamed. “I demand that you hang. I demand my throne returned to me. I demand—” She continued listing demands that would never be met. They were all going to die.

Larkin hated her father. And yet she loved him too. Raeneth had done horrible things. And yet she was her brother’s mother. She had helped them at great risk to herself. And Iniya … Ancestors, what had the woman been through? Why was Larkin not hanging with them?

“Please, Grandfather,” she begged.

Fenwick flinched and refused to glance her way. The guards dragged the three of them toward the door.

“I am the rightful queen of the Idelmarch,” Iniya cried. “I have allies still, Fenwick. They will rise up and—”

Fenwick shook his head. “Your aging lords are too content with their wealth and their heirs to risk a coup simply to go back to the old ways.”

Larkin struggled against the druids holding her down. “Have you forgotten who I am, Master Fenwick? I am the princess of the Alamant. An assault against my family is an assault against me.”

His gaze slowly, reluctantly turned to her. “Take her to the dungeons.”

“No!” she cried.

“Please, Master Druid,” came a new voice. “I would ask for mercy.”

Larkin knew that voice—a voice that chimed like bells. A voice that caused Iniya to pause in her shouting. The guards stared as Nesha limped into the room. Her large pregnant belly did nothing to detract from the beauty of her auburn hair or her violet eyes. The black of her gown only made her rich coloring flare. Even her limp was dignified as she stepped up to the throne and bowed before it.

Larkin was aware of her own torn and soiled gown—her fake belly had fallen out sometime in the scuffle. Now that the druids had seen the real Hero of Hamel, they would never again mistake Larkin for her gorgeous sister.

“My father isn’t much of a man,” Nesha said into the silent crowd. “He is a drunk and a coward and a traitor. But I ask that you spare him. And my grandmother, though she disowned me before she ever knew me.” She looked at Raeneth, who was sobbing uncontrollably. “And I ask that you spare his mistress, if only so my half brother doesn’t lose his mother.”

Raeneth looked up at Nesha, gratitude shining in her eyes.

Fenwick’s gaze softened as it never had for Larkin. “I cannot spare them, for they will only rise up against the druids again and again.”

She looked up at him through her lashes. “Banish them to the forest, then, Master Druid, and let fate decide.”

Fenwick stared at her a long time. His gaze rose to Iniya, an ancient guilt fleeting across his face before vanishing. “Very well, Nesha. For your unwavering loyalty and service to the druids, I will grant your request.” His gaze fell on Iniya. “But if you ever step foot inside the Idelmarch again, I will tighten the noose myself.”

He waved his hands, and Iniya, Raeneth, and Harben were dragged away. Iniya was still cursing, Raeneth still cried, but her father met Larkin’s gaze.

“Take to the trees at night!” she shouted after him. “If you want to survive, you must be in the trees by sundown! Find the river. Follow it upstream.”

He gave one hard nod, then they were out of sight. Surely Denan’s spies would hear of this. Surely he would find them and see them safe. Relief gutted her. She would not lose anyone else—not today.

Of their own volition, her eyes sought out her sister. Nesha locked gazes with her. Her sister’s betrayal stung all over again. What had Larkin ever done to Nesha to make her hate her so?

“And what would you have us do with your sister?” Fenwick directed the question to Nesha.

Nesha’s gaze landed on Garrot. He gave a slight nod. “Do with her as you will,” her sister said.

Larkin locked her jaw to keep from sobbing. “Bane is dead.” The father of Nesha’s baby.

Nesha froze, her breath sucking in a startled gasp. So she hadn’t known. Larkin shouldn’t have felt satisfied at the obvious pain on her sister’s face, but she did. The forest take her, she did.

“And whose fault is that?” Nesha ground out.

“Yours,” Larkin spat.

Nesha rounded on her, but Garrot stepped between them and brushed his hand tenderly up and down her arm. He whispered something in her ear. She shot a poisonous look over his shoulder at Larkin before turning on her heel and quitting the room.

Garrot glared at Larkin. “And what will happen to the Piper Princess?” He directed the question at Fenwick.

The old man sat heavily in his chair. “Take her to the pit.”

 

 

Larkin sat for unending hours in the complete dark of the open pit. She feared the dark. She’d thought she’d understood that fear. She had understood nothing.

To keep the terror at bay, she sat with her back against the wall and held her sigils open, the light illuminating the pit for a step in every direction. Her magic had grown strong enough that she was able to keep them up for hours on end without fail.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat with her memories playing over and over again, the dark held at bay by nothing but her magic. How many times she watched Bane die. Felt her sword sink into Venna’s middle. The satisfaction she’d felt when she’d ended Blue Eyes.

She’d come to believe the dark would never end when light appeared around the edges of a door that opened near the ceiling. The light grew brighter. Muffled steps scuffed on an uneven path. Someone was coming.

There was nothing Larkin could do about her red, swollen eyes or the puncture marks on her arms from where she’d pierced herself with her amulet, only to see the same vision of the curse’s origins over and over again.

Unwilling to be caught huddled in a corner, she pushed her stiff, aching body upright. The steps came closer, the light brighter. Alone and carrying a wooden chair, Garrot stepped through the doorway and looked down at her. Unfortunately, he was too high to reach with her sword. She let it fill her hand anyway. Let the threat slide over him.

Unperturbed, he settled his chair on the side of the pit and sat in it.

“I will kill you for what you did to Bane.” Her voice sounded abused.

“Bane was tried and convicted as a traitor. He paid for his crimes with his life.”

“He died for getting Nesha pregnant!”

Garrot clenched his fists—she’d hit her mark.

“You can’t stand that it’s not your baby she’s carrying, can you?”

“If not for me, she would be an outcast, starving on the streets or whoring in some brothel to feed herself. If not for me—”

“You think yourself a savior,” Larkin spat. “But you’re nothing more than a petty murderer.”

He took a calming breath. “I do what I have to, Larkin.”

Ironic how like the pipers he sounded. “You spared my family. You spared me. But not Bane. You wanted him to die. And you wanted him to die in front of me.” She choked on a sob. “You’re the true monster.”

“I, the monster?”

“Where’s Tam?”

He leaned back in his chair and watched her.

“Why am I still alive?”

“Let me tell you a story,” Garrot said. “Long ago, two boys were born to a prostitute in the hovels of Landra. When the boys were six and five, their mother died of pox. The boys stole and begged to survive, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

“Until one winter day the oldest boy was caught and beaten so severely that he knew he wouldn’t survive until morning—not unless he found somewhere warm. With the help of his younger brother, they broke into an empty house, ate everything they could out of the larder, and curled up on a soft bed.

“The boy awoke only a few hours later to a scream. Too weak to run, he stared up at a girl about his own age, with dark skin, tight curls, and eyes the color of cinnamon. Her father came running, a knife in hand. The boy managed to stand on his broken leg before his little brother. The man wrenched the boys up to throw them out, but the pain was so great that the oldest screamed and wept.

“The girl begged her father not to throw them out. And as the father loved his only daughter very much, he finally agreed. The boy’s wounds were dressed. The brothers were fed and clothed. The younger was given a job as an errand boy for the wealthy merchant. The older apprenticed to a guard in the man’s caravans.

“The girl made it her goal to teach both boys to read and figure their sums. And over the years, the three of them became fast friends. Until the oldest boy fell in love with her—a girl so far above his station in life he knew it could never be.

“So you can imagine his surprise when this girl demanded that her father apprentice the boy in his merchant business so that someday she could marry him. You can imagine his even greater surprise when the father agreed.

“The boy worked hard—harder than he ever had before to prove himself worthy of her, of all that he had been given.”

Garrot paused, his shoulders rounded under the weight of his story—for it was his story. And Larkin knew what came next—she’d always known Garrot had lost someone he loved to the pipers.

“So when this boy who was now a man woke to the father’s deepest grief, he knew what had happened. And he vowed he’d do anything to bring her back or die trying.”

A girl from Landra, her father a merchant. Magalia. It must be. The boy Magalia had loved, twisted into this hateful, duplicitous man. Larkin would never tell him the truth. He didn’t deserve to know.

“You went into the forest after her,” Larkin breathed.

Garrot met her gaze. “I found her. And the pipers with her. They killed my brother and left me for dead.”

She hated this man. She would always hate this man. But she pitied him too.

Garrot lifted a necklace out of his shirt and stroked the tooth. “This is all I have left of my brother. I keep it as a reminder of what I lost and the vow I made—to stop the pipers. So that no man would ever have to endure what I have.”

“You’re trying to save my sister the way that little girl saved you.” She shook her head. “Nesha isn’t her, Garrot. Nor is she your mother.”

His mouth tightened. “Will you help me defeat the pipers, Larkin?”

“The pipers aren’t our enemy, Garrot. The wraiths are.”

“You’re not entirely to blame for what has happened to you. The pipers’ enchantment never really leaves a girl once taken.”

“A lie.” The forest take him.

He reached into his coat and pulled out a slim, worn book. The gold foil letters had long since worn down to the corners of the embossing. Eiryss’s journal—it must be. Tam was supposed to fetch it. Now Garrot had it.

Tam hadn’t escaped as she’d hoped. The druids had him. “What did you do to Tam?”

“Tell me, what do you want with this?” Garrot asked.

Larkin folded her arms to keep from reaching for it. Garrot obviously knew it was important, but not why. She couldn’t see the harm in telling him. “I will tell you, if you tell me what happened to my family and my friend.”

“Your family has been released into the Forbidden Forest. As for you piper friend, he is alive—for now.”

It took everything Larkin had not to gasp in relief. Alorica would never forgive Larkin if she didn’t bring the girl’s husband home alive. “You harm him at the risk of the Piper Prince’s wrath.”

“Tell me.” He held the journal up.

The druids must want the curse broken as much as the pipers did. If they understood that, perhaps they would help her. “We think Queen Eiryss might have left clues to breaking the curse inside.”

“In lullabies?”

“The curse doesn’t allow for outright truths.”

Eyebrow raised, Garrot flipped through the pages. Some of them crumbled in his fingers, brittle paper spinning like falling leaves into the pit. “What good does a book do for a girl who can’t read?”

She refused to be humiliated about that. “Others can read it for me.”

Garrot leaned back in his chair. “Shall I tell you the short version? There are lullabies and a few ramblings from our first queen. The important bit is this: the wraiths didn’t start the curse.”

He seemed to be waiting for her shock. Larkin had seen the day the curse had taken shape. Whether or not Eiryss had begun the curse, she’d done everything in her power to stop it.

Garrot perched a pair of spectacles on his nose, flipped through the book, and read, “‘In the five years since we fled the forest, no woman of the Alamant has borne a daughter nor successfully taken a thorn. The men’s magic is greatly reduced.

“‘And we of Valynthia—the magic is lost to us. To me. Already, the people forget from whence we came—our past lost to the shadow. Even for me, it becomes … difficult to write these words. As if my own hand will not obey me. Light, it’s my fault. If only I had realized the cost of the dark magic we wielded …

“‘But it cannot be undone—not by a man or woman living. So we must endure. Illin has ratified a treaty in which we will offer up our daughters so the Alamant may continue to protect us.

“‘As for me … the shadows lie in wait. The trap has been set. Soon, I will fall into it, and my people will be ignorant to the danger that hunts them. So I took what was left of the council and charged them with acting as liaisons between the pipers and my people—to protect our people as best they can.’”

Garrot looked down at her. “The council eventually became the druids, so you have Eiryss to thank for that too.”

“So the druids didn’t start off an evil organization bent on suppressing and controlling their people?”

“‘Even with what we have done,’” Garrot read on as if she hadn’t interrupted him, “‘we will never defeat the wraiths. All our valiant efforts, all our sacrifices won’t matter. The magic will fail. In trying to protect our people, I have cursed us to ruin.’”

He looked up at her, waiting.

“You misunderstand her.”

“It’s simple, Larkin. Your own ancestor used dark magic to win the war between Valynthia and the Alamant. That dark magic created the curse. She tried to reverse it and only managed an ineffective countercurse—one that banished us from our rightful inheritance, from our magic—then she created a treaty that left us beholden to our conquerors.”

“Conquerors? The pipers only take what they must to fight the curse.”

“Is that what has happened over the last few days? To the seven hundred-odd women the pipers have kidnapped?”

“You broke the treaty.”

Garrot shut the book with a snap. “Over the years, the curse seems to have morphed, to have pushed back the countercurse that keeps it in check. All because the pipers refused to end it.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “The pipers have lost so much more to this curse than you. How can you believe they would choose this?”

He leaned forward, his elbows braced against his knees. “No, Larkin. They could have ended the curse before it ever began, but they refused.”

“The wraiths kill pipers and turn them into mulgars. The pipers would do anything they could to stop that.”

“Even give up their precious White Tree?”

She stilled. Their sacred tree, opalescent and lined in gold. The source of their magic.

He nodded. “You see it now, don’t you? The pipers would have to use up every scrap of their magic, all of it. It would kill the tree, but it could be done. But the pipers refuse to do it.”

The White Tree was all magic and power and beauty. Destroy it? The last of its kind. No. The pipers wouldn’t do it. Neither would she. “And if you’re wrong, killing the White Tree will destroy any hope we have of survival.”

He rose to his feet. “I’ll take that risk.”

“You don’t understand. You can’t—not unless you see it for yourself. There is something majestic and holy about the White Tree.”

“I will do what I must to put an end to this, Larkin, even if I must profane something holy.”

“There is another way,” she said. “Join with the pipers. Our curse has already crumbled—I’ve seen it myself. All that remains is to defeat the wraiths and barrenness.”

Garrot tossed the book at her. She caught it. “Here. Keep it. It’s yours anyway, I suppose. And there are other copies. I’ll leave the lantern for you. See for yourself if the Curse Queen left us any hints to breaking the curse. As for me, I mean to do it.” He picked up his chair and turned to go.

She laid her hand on the cover and looked back up at him. “And what do you mean to do with me?”

He looked back at her. “I will do what I must to break this curse. Always remember that, Larkin.”

Why did his words feel like a threat?