Chapter 3

THREE

BASTIEN

“ It is but a dream, a nightmare, that has disturbed you. ”

I sighed and lowered my book into my lap. Sometimes my books sought to torment me, even when their words never changed. Some days, old lines I’d read a million times leapt off the page after me.

It was a nightmare that had disturbed me . . . centuries ago.

I glanced down at the book in my lap and recalled the first time I’d read it. The Count of Monte Cristo had left a mark from the start. Edmond Dantes and I knew the same kind of betrayal and misery at the hands of someone we’d trusted. If not for finding this book in my youth, I might not have survived this long with my mind intact. Edmond had played the long game, and that was exactly what I intended to do.

Inspiration could be found in the most unlikely places. Sixty years ago, I’d found this exact copy of the novel on a bench outside of The Emerald in First Realm. It’d been in pristine condition. Now, as it sat on my lap in my mother’s glamourous crystal palace, the pages were worn and the spine was crumbling, yet I cherished both its words and memories all the same. The tattered state of the book mimicked myself.

There were few things I felt similarly for. I glanced around my private chambers in search of anything I felt attached to, but I didn’t have much. All in all, my space was sparse, which spoke volumes in itself. The large bed with pale-blue blankets was custom built to fit my height, but it meant nothing to me. The only part I cared for was the built-in shelf on the headboard where I sat a handful of trinkets and the few books I’d kept—all of which I could grab at a moment’s notice if need be. The wardrobe made of silver and blue topaz on the far wall held all five pieces of my clothing collection. The only other piece of furniture I had was the armchair in the corner to my right. It used to sit directly in front of the fireplace, but it was hideous and uncomfortable, so I pushed it aside. Instead, I sat on the fluffy white rug directly in front of the fireplace. It was more comfortable than the chair and allowed me to be as close to the flames as possible.

The glowing blue flames danced and flickered, sending warmth across my body. This damned realm was frozen, literally. Snow and ice covered nearly every surface of everything. The temperature of the air was sharply cold. The only source of warmth we had anywhere were the fireplaces in our chambers. I spent most of my time right here, reading by the warmth?—

The blue flames vanished all at once. My stomach tightened into knots. I knew what was coming next, yet watching that damned green vine drop down from the chimney like a snake still made my skin crawl. The vine took the shape of a hand, then curled one narrow finger-like end in toward itself—then repeated. It was just a vine, a piece of nature, but it carried my mother’s scent and movements. She beckoned. It wasn’t really an option.

I snarled at it.

A moment later, the vine-hand unwound itself and slithered back up and out of sight. The fire did not return. I clenched my teeth and took a deep breath through my nose. My mother had her tricks for summoning us, and I loathed every last one of them. I had no desire to answer, to see her face or hear her voice. I wanted to be left alone. I wanted her to forget I existed and leave me be. But without the fire, remaining in this room would become impossible.

I sighed and leaned my head back.

She’ll just keep calling and calling.

Or she’ll come up here and drag me out.

With that final thought, I forced myself to slide my ribbon bookmark to save my spot in my book, then I sat it aside. With a grunt, I climbed to my feet. My mother had summoned, and it was futile to refuse . . . I’d learned from experience. Instead, I slid my thick fur coat on and marched out the door.

The halls of my mother’s palace were cold long before the temperature plummeted. The walls were made of pearl and the floors opal. There were windows overlooking the rest of the dying realm, but I tried not to look. It depressed me too much. I was in too deep now to give myself away. I let my mind drift to dangerous thoughts of the future as I stomped toward the dining hall.

At the last moment before I approached the entrance, I reached up and checked to make sure my crystal necklaces were in place. My fingers found the cold, silver chains immediately. I always wore three and always intentionally. The first was a shiny, glistening piece of black obsidian with razor-sharp edges that looked like midnight itself and warded off negative energy. The second was a faceted triangle of raw amethyst made for emotional and psychic protection. The last was a chunk of raw black tourmaline, which looked like a rock or a painted chuck of wood. I wore it for protection. It was the best for protection, and for mental, emotional, and spiritual strength. It warded against psychic attacks and served as a protector and healer on all ends.

And I wore them to defend myself from my own flesh and blood.

Once I confirmed all were in place before facing them, I took a deep breath to steady my pulse and emotions, then stepped up to the double doors made of pure moldavite. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes every time I came here. My mother was trouble incarnate and relished chaos around her, so she lined her halls with crystals to incite such. As their magic sensed me, the doors opened inward.

My gaze landed on my mother in an instant.

She sat thirty feet inside on her throne made of aquamarine. Her hair was as white as the snow covering our entire realm, and the way it cascaded over her shoulders and down her body was like a slap in the face—like she was mocking us. Those pale-blue eyes flashed and sparkled as she watched me, and it made my stomach tighten into knots. She reached up and ran her finger over the edge of her crown. She wore one of her simpler options this evening, with only one stone sitting front and center in the silver metal. Yet that stone was malachite. And that told me all I needed to know—she was scheming. That stone was for mental power. For intelligence amplifying.

This was not a social call.

Good. Makes this easier.

Between her and I were her dozens of pets, as I called them. She referred to them as her court. Which, in truth, was composed of civilians who would rather pretend to fawn over her in warmth than to freeze in the village. My mother didn’t provide the civilians with heat. She only gave that to the palace. I glanced to where they sat on the opal stone floors and perched on pillows at the low tables. They weren’t allowed to sit at her level, so they couldn’t sit at tables of normal height, nor were they allowed chairs. None of them seemed to mind though, as the tables were covered in trays of food and pitchers for drinking.

My mother arched one pale-white eyebrow.

I snarled and marched into the large room. The second my feet crossed the threshold, I hissed at the sheer volume inside. The high pitch of the court’s voices pierced my ears. I winced and narrowed my eyes, sweeping my gaze left and right to find the reason for such atrocious sounds but finding nothing. They were just loud. My sister Cleo had cursed me sixty years ago, stealing my voice. Perhaps a product of being forced into silence was that it made me irritated by sound.

I curled my hands into fists and my knuckles cracked.

Somehow, over the loudness, the sound echoed around the room. The court gasped and instantly turned to face me. Silence. All talk vanished. No one ate. No one moved. Faces paled and eyes widened. Jaws dropped. Silverware clattered to their plates.

Their reaction to me almost made this trip worth it. Almost.

I looked back to where my mother sat on her raised platform and clenched my teeth. The rest of my family looked far, far too pleased to see me. My father sat beside my mother in his own throne, but everyone knew my mother was in charge. King Bregan, husband of the Queen, as he was referred to. Though he didn’t care, and why should he, he got whatever he wanted as her chosen king. He sat there, indifferent to my presence, with his green eyes locked on what was most definitely a mostly undressed courtier batting her eyelashes at him. I was surprised civilian females made attempts. He was quite attractive with his olive skin and long dark-green hair, but to do it in front of my mother and sisters was bold.

Foolishly so.

My father’s eyes didn’t move to me even as I approached the final few feet to the platform. The tiger’s eye stone embedded in his chest was buried under a draping of silky material because he disliked the color of it, and therefore often tried to conceal it.

Sitting to his right was the youngest of my four sisters, Princess Marigold, though at five hundred years old she was still centuries older than me. Her purple eyes shot to me and then bounced back to the court in front of them as she ran her fingers over the amethyst stone in her chest. That apple-red hair was wildly disheveled. To her right was her partner-in-crime, Princess Aryk. She was more than twice her age but held nearly the same pinkish-pale skin tone under her bright-orange hair. Her emerald eyes aimed daggers at me, most likely a result of our . . . altercation a few days prior.

I shrugged and looked to my mother—only for my eldest sister, Cleo, to catch my attention. She sat just beside my mother, so close she was almost sitting on her throne. Princess Cleopatra had never looked so rough. Each member of the royal family was blessed with the right to hold a piece of Crystal Henge, a source of power in our realm, in our chests. These stones honored us with gifts. Cleo’s stone had been a deep, beautiful sapphire that had gifted her control of and communication with snakes.

Had because it was gone.

Stolen.

By the Stone Keeper, Eloise, and her soulmate Prince Stellan—mages of Second Realm.

I still wasn’t quite sure how Eloise had managed to pull the stone out of my sister’s chest, but when she’d fled from our realm not too many days ago, it had been embedded in her palm. Cleopatra was five thousand years old. She’d had that stone since the day she was born. Being without it was tearing her apart. Her normally navy-blue hair looked slate-gray. Her olive skin tone, which was supposed to match our father’s, was ashy and yellowing, and her sapphire-blue eyes were turning brown. She looked awful.

I smirked.

My happiness vanished with a snap of Venus’s fingers. I narrowed my eyes at her. Everything about her was pink . . . pink hair, pink eyes, even a pink stone in her chest. She irritated me the most of my sisters because she was still riding the high of pretending to be a Roman Goddess some two thousand years ago. Good for you. You deceived humans. Get over it.

The last of my sisters, Princess Helena, was sprawled out on the fluffy rug in front of my mother, undoubtedly to give everyone else a better view of her. All of her. She was by far the most beautiful in the family. I would not deny that. Her eyes were the exact same shade of the peridot stone in her chest, both of which sparkled against her tanned skin and dark purple hair.

Not a single one of them spoke as I stopped before them.

My mother gave me a crooked grin.

I waited for her to speak, but she was clearly in a mood. She knew I couldn’t speak, and she enjoyed tormenting me. I sighed and gestured around me. I’m here.

My mother pouted her lips and twirled her white hair around her fingers. “You never join us for meals anymore, Bastien.”

I glared. You did not call me down here for that.

She shrugged one shoulder and batted her eyelashes. “Can’t a mother want the company of her only son?”

I growled. I’m not playing this game. I spun to storm out of the room?—

“Don’t you want your voice back?” My mother’s voice was smooth. Too smooth.

Show her no emotion. I turned around and crossed my arms over my chest. I’m listening.

She grinned and gestured to the room around us. The sparkle in her pale-blue eyes sent chills down my spine. “I think this is better suited for just the family.”

I flicked my wrist and everything around us turned solid black—except for us. The rest of the court could not see us now, not until I released my magic. My mother loved showing off my gifts. It was a despicable show of power and fearmongering. Obey her or her son would deprive them of their senses. I hated playing along, but it was just easier, and I had to stay under the radar.

My mother licked her lips to draw out the moment. “So, our Stone Keeper has been found.”

Show nothing.

This was huge. Life changing. Our Stone Keeper would save our realm, stop us from freezing inch by inch to a slow and painful death. She would right our realm to what it used to be.

I arched an eyebrow. Go on.

“A lovely little faeling in First Realm has just reported another fae committing crime . . .” My mother chuckled, and my sisters followed suit. “The Stone Keeper’s name is Collins Elliott. She lives in Las Vegas.”

I stared.

“Go there and kill her.”

I swallowed roughly, but I held myself still. Emotionless. I simply held my stare, waiting for more.

My mother leaned back, then adjusted the crown on her head. “Bring me her head, and I’ll make Cleo give you your voice back.”