Days pass. Then a week.
We spend the nights buried in each other’s arms, trying to ignore the tick of the clock. The days are given to courtly business. Angharad may have been driven back at Mistmere, but she’s out there somewhere, and Thiago is determined to find her. He sent an entire warband to clear the ruins and they returned yesterday, smiling with victory.
So far, there’s been no word of the Erlking, though the full moon has not yet come again, and, judging from how quiet Blaedwyn seems to be, I suspect he’s busy.
We argue about how to trap him again, and whether the Alliance should be alerted. But the Alliance seems to be shattered, my mother’s connection to Angharad making us wary. And the other queens may use the information to strike a cruel blow, rather than as the warning it should be.
With Thiago’s mind busy, I give myself over to the idea of breaking the curse. I know Thiago’s last hope lies in his faith that this time will be different, but I can’t accept that.
My mother’s stolen him from me twelve times.
I don’t want to make it thirteen.
Seven days until the rites, and I can feel the panic in my touch when I haul him into bed at night. At six days, I bury my nails in his back and make such marks they’re still there the next day. At five days, I tear the library apart, looking for answers. I still have Kyrian’s grimoire, but I’ve been through it a thousand times, and there’s nothing but lore about the Old Ones and black magic.
And then the morning of the third day from the rites dawns, and the moment I wake, I know this has to be the day I find an answer.
Or else, all is lost.
I can hear Thiago arguing with Baylor in the stables as I hurry along the bridge that leads to the library. Most of the words are muted, but I can hear enough to know they’re arguing about Mistmere and the forthcoming rites.
I don’t want to speak of them anymore.
I am done with dwelling on my mother and her curse. I need a solution.
It’s in the library that the truth first starts to stare me in the eye.
Killing my mother isn’t an option. Even if I could bring myself to take that step, I know she’ll have a contingency in place. She’ll never let us have a moment of peace, even from beyond the grave.
But the Morai gave me another means to break the curse. Seek one who is more powerful…. Thiago doesn’t want to take that option. He fears the consequences, but what am I supposed to do?
Kill myself?
Watch him die?
Murder my mother?
As far as I can see, finding someone who can break the spell is our only possible solution, but who? My mother’s a direct descendant of Maia, power bred through her line through the ages. The Queen of Nightmares is her equal, but no friend of mine. The Unseelie queens are clearly working with my mother, and Isem, the only sorcerer with the skill to curse-twist, has no reason to help us.
Besides, Angharad and Isem want to cut my heart out of my chest to summon the Mother of Night.
That leaves me with Prince Kyrian and Thiago, and if either of them was strong enough to break the curse, they would have done it.
The golden antlers on my hand wink in the candlelight as I turn the pages of the grimoire one last time. I’m owed two favors by the Erlking, but he’s no sorcerer. Powerful enough, yes. Could he break the curse? Possibly. Would he destroy my mind in the process? Also, possible.
I turn the page, and there it is.
The answer I’ve been looking for.
The paper’s so old, it almost crumbles beneath my touch. Gilt lines the edges, and the image in the center is etched in black and silver ink. A serene face stares out from beneath a cowl, those black eyes locking on me as if the figure can see directly through the pages of the book. A triple moon is painted over her shoulder; a crescent, a full moon, and a waning one.
Maiden. Mother. Crone.
The Mother of Night.
And as I turn the page, I swear she’s the woman I saw in my vision the night I drew the Sword of Mourning.
The second I blink the resemblance is gone. But a shiver of excitement lights through me.
Years and years ago, when she walked the realms, she was worshipped as a goddess that granted her powers to those who pledged their allegiance. She was the one who forged spell craft and taught it to the fae. The first sorcerer. The first curse worker.
Granted, such powers were not given freely.
No, they came at a cost.
But if I don’t take a risk right now, then at the end of the week, I’m going to watch my mother execute my husband, and I’m not even going to know who he is.
I slam the book shut, nervousness rising in my chest.
If I turn down this path, then there’s no escaping the consequences.
I’ll have enough power to defeat my mother, but I’ll be bound to pay the price the Mother insists upon. Magic is never free.
And yet, I might be able to save my husband’s life.
Thiago’s spent so many years sacrificing everything, just for me. He fought for us when I didn’t. Or couldn’t.
If you go down this path, then you’ll lose him.
He was furious that I released the Erlking. Never again, Iskvien. The Old Ones were locked away for a reason….
I set the book down with a heavy thud. “I’m going to lose him either way,” I whisper to myself.
At least he’ll be alive.
And I don’t have to release her. Just… entice her with a little bargain.
With that thought, my resolve firms.
Angharad wanted to use the power of the Mother of Night to break the Horned One free of his prison. The Hallow in Mistmere is resurrected, which means Angharad will be able to forge a link to the Mother if she returns.
All I need is the Hallow, a blood sacrifice, and a little luck.
But there’s no way Thiago will allow me to make this sacrifice.
So maybe I’ll need a few other items as well, including a surly, vicious warrior who doesn’t seem to like me very much.