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?”
“They’ll wait.” Her eyes glitter peculiarly, somewhat like a cat focusing on its prey.
“You expect an attack?” Lammastide is the one night of the year when all five surviving kingdoms of the Seelie Alliance come together to bring in the new year. Drinking, dancing, bloodshed, and assassinations are all to be expected.
Because allied we may be, but it’s only against a common enemy. If my mother could destroy the other kings and queens of the alliance, she wouldn’t hesitate. I think, in some part of her mind, she sees herself sitting on a single throne that rules over the entire southern half of the continent.
“Sit,” she says.
The only option is to obey.
“No attack,” she says, slinking behind me as I take a seat at the vanity. “Or nothing beyond the usual. The Prince of Evernight will be there, after all. He craves my downfall.”
Someone’s projecting.
“I thought the Unseelie delegation would be the greater danger?”
Five hundred years ago we defeated them in the Wars of Light and Shadow, but the peace has always been tenuous. This recent treaty between Seelie and Unseelie courts is a relatively new development, and if I were my mother’s daughter, I wouldn’t trust it.
The three witch queens of the Unseelie court are bloodthirsty, vicious, and powerful. If my mother has delusions of grandeur, then they’re nothing compared to the Unseelie, who want to cast us all into chains.
The queen lifts the heavy strands of my hair from my shoulders and runs her jeweled claws through it. “Angharad is still bleeding from that last skirmish, and some say she doesn’t have the full support of her sister queens any more. She’s trying to fight a war on two fronts, so she won’t have the courage to cause trouble for us. She wouldn’t dare. Focus on the real danger, Iskvien. Those at your back. Those with a knife to your throat.” Her claws caress my collarbone. “Those who were never meant to rule the earth beneath their feet.”
She’s speaking of the two Seelie princes who forced their way onto the thrones of their own kingdoms. The Seelie kingdoms have always been matrilineal—queens are tied to the lands, and the earth beneath them flourishes from the bond. Any kings that sought to elevate themselves were slowly and mercilessly destroyed. My mother considers Prince Thiago and Prince Kyrian’s claims to be unnatural, and she’s been working on ruining them ever since they proclaimed themselves.
They’re also a threat, for both rule with a ruthless fist.
“No,” she whispers, stroking my hair. “Focus on the threat, Iskvien. Don’t ever take your eyes off it.”
Prince Kyrian never attends the Lammastide rites in person, I’ve heard. Mother once mocked him for the loss of the woman he loved, and he swore an oath that if he ever set eyes upon her again, he’d have her head. To uphold the peace, he sends an envoy to the rites in his stead.
So she’s talking of Evernight.
Always Evernight.
My thoughts stray to the forest and the bane. The creature who knew me.
And the Prince of Evernight, who rules the dark kingdom.
“What should I expect?” I’ve never met the prince. These are the first Lammastide rites my mother’s allowed me to attend. “Will he avoid us?”
“Unfortunately, not.” The scrape of one of those claws almost draws blood as she focuses down upon me. “And he’s the reason I’m here.”
Here it is. I still, like prey catching scent of a dangerous predator as she moves to the side, considering the array of scents and powders on my vanity.
“What does he have to do with me?”
“You’re not coming home with us tonight, Iskvien,” my mother says, lifting the stopper of my perfume vial and sniffing delicately at the scent within. Her nose wrinkles.
I blink.
“What?”
“The Prince of Evernight agreed to a truce over the territories of Mistmere after that unfortunate clash near the border, but it has come at a price.”
I can feel the edges of the world sucking at me. “What price?”
“There are to be hostages, to prove our good faith. His cousin is to be exchanged tonight, for you.”
The jaws of the trap spring shut. This is what she’s been angling for. I shouldn’t have trusted her sweet smile, her gentle touch. I’d expected punishment over my lapse the other day, but all along she’s been waiting to spring this trap.
“You bartered me away?” She’s the one who’s spent hours lecturing me about how dangerous he is. “Like a fucking trinket?”
The queen’s eyes narrow. “Watch your tone, daughter.”
Rage fills me, but it’s tempered with the quicksilver flash of fear. All these years I’ve been wary of her temper, but this is…. How do I…?
“It’s only for three months,” she continues, as if I’ve accepted it.
The prince could do anything to me in the space of three months. “Is this punishment?” The words erupt from my mouth. “For failing to kill that bane? It was just a hesitation, Mother. Andraste stole the kill. It won’t happen again.”
“What hesitation?”
The look on her face freezes my tongue.
Andraste didn’t tell her?
The queen’s face tightens imperceptibly, and her hands come to rest upon my shoulders. The tip of each of her fingers is covered in a silver claw, the points pressing into my collarbone. Thin chains connect them to the gauntlets around her wrist. It’s nothing more than a focus for her powers—not that many know that—but the effect is also eerily threatening.
She doesn’t say a word.
She doesn’t have to.
“Andraste was faster than I,” I say swiftly, to cover my misstep. “I thought she’d told you.”
“The bane is of little consequence.”
I square my shoulders. “Why worry about a ferocious beast when you’re throwing me to the wolves?”
“You are not to be harmed.”
“Of course not. Am I to be his whore instead?”
She arches a brow at my tone. “You are to be his political hostage, Iskvien. Make whatever bargains you need to, to keep yourself safe. But remember…, his cousin will be in my hands.”
And any harm that befalls me will be returned in kind.
“Forgive me, Mother, if such a concept brings me little peace. They say the prince betrayed his queen and murdered her sons. I daresay he’ll not hesitate to consider his cousin to be an acceptable loss if he can strike a blow upon you.”
“You disappoint me, daughter. I offer you an opportunity, and you throw it in my face.”
This is another one of her challenges. Prove yourself, she’s telling me. Show me you have the strength and wit to survive.
“What opportunity?”
“There is a way you could serve your queen while you are there,” my mother murmurs, unsheathing the dagger at her belt and placing it on the vanity in front of me.
Star-forged steel. My gaze locks on it. No trueborn fae can wield the iron that lies on this world, but this knife was forged from the heart of a fallen comet, and its iron came from beyond the stars.
As long as I don’t touch the blade itself, I can wield it.
For a second, I see his blood splashed across the marble tiles of his palace, the knife planted between his shoulder blades. An end to the monstrous lord of the Evernight court, and freedom for those Asturians who’ve been imprisoned in the war camps. No more fighting. No more endless wars. No more scheming and politicking.
But murder, just the same.
“No,” I say abruptly. “I’m no assassin.”
Adaia leans down, her face resting on my shoulder. “Perhaps not. But he’d never expect it. Not from you, with your soft heart and those pretty eyes. And perhaps you should consider your people. The Kingdom of Asturia has been at war with Evernight for centuries. Whilst this treaty sparks a fragile truce, it doesn’t mean anything. We could end this war with a single strike. We would own Mistmere, perhaps more….”
I push away from her, the hem of my silk wrap brushing against my calves. “Murder, Mother. I’m the first person they’ll point the finger at. And you were the one who taught me strategy. Who do you think they’ll blame? If I kill the prince, then his people will execute me immediately, and their armies will rise against you.”
“Not if it’s self-defense,” she points out.
So now I’m to frame an assassination as an assault by the prince. My head is spinning.
“Thiago has no heir,” she continues. “Without him, his generals will fight for control of his armies. It will be chaos, and I will crush them.”
I notice she doesn’t address the part where I lose my head.
“Take the dagger.”
It’s not a suggestion.
I pick it up, feeling the weight of it. Accepting it doesn’t mean I have to go through with anything.
“I’ll consider it,” I say as my hand closes over the hilt of the blade. I catch a glimpse of my mother’s dangerous smile in the reflection as the queen backs away. It wouldn’t surprise me if she made this bargain with this end in mind.
“You have an hour. Get dressed and meet us in the courtyard. We ride for the Hallow. Wear the red.”
Then she’s gone, her metal skirts rasping over the marble.
Leaving me trembling.
I can’t believe she gave me no warning. Or maybe that was deliberate: With a hint of what was to come, I might have been able to flee or outmaneuver this treaty. Now, I don’t have a choice. I can hear the stamp of the guard’s feet as they settle outside my door, and my mother expects me in the courtyard within an hour.
This isn’t merely hesitating to strike a killing blow against a monster.
This is politics, and she will brook no refusal.
But who would I rather face? My mother in a rage or a volatile, dangerous prince who might think me a plaything?
My resolve firms. If he thinks he’s getting a trinket to toy with, then he had best think again.
The prince of the Kingdom of Evernight is Unseelie to his bones, despite the fact he claims to be Seelie. I can’t afford to show him even a hint of my weak underbelly.
And curse my mother, but I’ll be damned to the Underworld if I’ll let her think me her puppet.
I fling the wardrobe open, both the red and the white gowns tumbling in a frothy mess to the floor. Inside the wardrobe, right at the back, is the dress.
It’s like a piece of pure midnight was carved from the sky, diamond stars glittering down its silken length. I don’t know what urged me to have it made. Mother’s right: vibrant colors suit me best. And yet, I’d been unable to think of anything else the moment I saw the material.
Red would be a sign of groveling.
The white is probably what she intended me to wear all along.
But this…. Time to show her I refuse to bow to her whims. This princess has claws. And she’s not afraid to use them.