Chapter 14

FOURTEEN

Cassia

A cold tension hangs in the air as I stand before the Keeper of Death. I don't know if this is more fae riddle bullshit or her trying to get in my head, maybe both, but I'm not going to crack under her amused gaze. This might not be going the way I planned, but the stakes are too high to screw up.

My gaze shifts back to my poor men. Prince Forrest with his shoulders bent, wincing, as if even sitting still hurts. Prince Cobar, his curls filthy, streaks of blood and dirt leaving tracks across his face, his whole body trembling as if he might fall over at any point. Prince Zane with his intense pale eyes locked onto mine even while blood slides from an unseen wound on his arm. Something about the way he looks at me seems to be pleading for forgiveness. Prince Sulien, his shirt in shreds, gaping wounds covering nearly every inch of him, his gaze faraway, as if he's having trouble even focusing on the here and now.

This bitch made a mistake messing with my men .

"What do you mean you've been waiting for us to speak for a long time?" I demand.

Her eyes light up, like she was waiting for that question. "I've been waiting nearly twenty-three years, to be exact."

What the fuck? I snort. "You wanted to talk to me as a newborn? What for? To hear what sounds I make while I shit?"

To my surprise, she doesn't flinch or even react to my crudeness. If anything, she seems excited by it. "You're brave. I'm not surprised."

Damn fae. "Oh, really?" This woman is playing some fucking mind games.

"Not the least bit… because your mother is brave too."

I stare at her. She doesn't explain further, and I feel my eye twitching. "My mother? You've met my mother?"

What the hell does this Keeper of Death have to do with my mother? Was she the one who killed her? The question makes a pit form in my stomach. My father had always refused to tell me much about how she died. The assumption was that it was during childbirth.

When she doesn't answer, I ask, "And how did you meet my mother exactly?"

Part of me wants to know. Part of me feels like this is some fae trickery, a way to distract me from my men and why I'm here, but I won't be fooled. I'm watching the dozens of dead soldiers around the room, as much as I can in the shadows. If she wants to surprise me, she won't.

"Oh, Cassia, how little you know. Your father must be as good at lying as he is at making love."

I stare. "Gross." What the hell else am I supposed to say to that? "There's no way you and my dad… besides, my dad is many things, but not a liar. We both know you're just trying to get in my head."

"Hardly, Cassia ," she says my name again, but almost tenderly. "What I'm trying to explain to you, but you don't seem to be getting, is that I'm your mother."

I stare at her in disbelief, then laugh. "You can't be my mother."

This fae is trickier than I ever imagined. Perhaps she learned that my mother was the one person not involved in my life, or heard about her early death. If she thought this was going to be used against me, she's wrong.

Her eyes shine like shards of ice. "Oh, but I am, Cassia ," she says, and I've officially decided I hate the sound of my name on her lips.

I shake my head, unwilling to play these games with her. "No, my mother was mortal, and she died. I know my history, so if you want to play mind games, you better play them better."

She cackles, and I feel that something inside of me grow warmer. More powerful. "Your father must have spun you such a pretty tale to protect you from the truth, didn't he?" She rolls her eyes in disgust and looks away.

"My father–"

"He has a great deal of fae in him, you know," she continues, as if she's remembering something from a time long ago. "Surprisingly, he never manifested any power. That's what drew me to him. He was a powerful fae who couldn't access his powers. I was a powerful fae who wanted a child, and none of the other men I'd been with had produced the heir I so desperately desired. So, I took a gamble." She stares off into the distance, a smile playing across her lips.

"I don't believe you."

"You will," she says, her voice void of emotion. "But my powers proved too great for him. It cost him the use of his legs."

"The accident?" I whisper. She was that accident? I don't believe it… even though he's never told me how it happened.

I'm starting to realize that my father didn't tell me as much as I'd thought. There are secrets in my family history, secrets I've been too busy to think about. Now though, I wish that wasn't the case. If he'd told me, doubts wouldn't be forming in my mind now about the truth of her words.

She taps her long nails on the arm of her throne. "It wasn't so much an accident. More like a consequence of the spells that were used to ensure our love-making resulted in a pregnancy."

My breath catches in my throat. That can't be possible. I can't be the reason my father lost his legs. Words float in my mind. How many times had my father told me that I was worth everything he's sacrificed and more? Or some variation of that?

I can't take my eyes off of her. Let's play along here and see if we can untangle this as I do. "Was I another consequence of you being together?" Is that what she wants me to believe?

"Yes, another useless consequence. My hopes that you'd have powers to rival mine were dashed away shortly after your birth. You were just like your father. So much power, and no way to access it." A scowl emerges on her face, as if the thought of me as a baby pisses her off.

"I don't believe you."

She smiles. "Do you know how the House of Death's children grow up? Death is drawn to them from the day they're born. Dead birds line the trees. Dead creatures emerge from the ground. Eventually, dead rise from their graves. Since your powers have emerged, you've been seeing such signs, am I correct?"

I know she sees the truth on my face before I can hide it by the way her smile widens. "You sent those creatures. Not me. I'm not your daughter. I'm not like you."

"And you feel the power within you. It's been growing since you came home, to the Kingdom of the Dead. It's within you. Growing warmer. Growing bigger. And with powers like yours, even our dead are responding to you, aren't they?"

I think of how the dead pointed down the hall when I asked them. Is that not normal? Do the dead not respond to the other fae?

"None of that is true."

She seems amused by my denial. "Does your father still carve his little figures?" Suddenly, she produces a finely crafted wooden tree from her throne. "He always had a way with them."

I feel sick. "It's not possible."

"And he's the charmer, isn't he? Even after he lost his ability to walk, I kept him around. He amused me. The man could make me laugh, he could tell a story, and he has the voice of an angel."

He does. How does she know this? Is she guessing? She has to be guessing.

"But he had a weak heart. Far too soft. From the moment he set eyes on you, he was in love. He loved you more than he ever loved me. And when it was determined that your powers were locked away, a useless source of nothing, he disagreed with what had to be done."

Had to be done ?

My heart clenches as I grasp everything she's telling me. "You…you gave me back to the woods."

She nods, and her apathy freezes my blood. "It's what we do with the weak ones–the ones who dilute our bloodline. It's true that it's rare for a fae to have more than one child, unless they're mated to more than one man, but it's believed that if the children are returned to the woods, we have a chance once more."

If she's telling the truth, she tossed me out like trash. A living child, all because of my lack of powers. "So my father…"

"He retrieved you," she finishes my thought, but her disgust flows through her words. "I don't know how he did it, how it was even possible, to drag himself out to the woods, to escape our lands without me noticing, and to hide you away with your grandmother. Truly, I'd thought you died and he fled because of my choice. I never thought–"

I picture my father, unable to use his legs, stuck in this dark place, witnessing these creatures tossing his daughter in the dark woods. She's right. How he got out, how he saved me and brought me to safety, I'll never know. But I believe he did it.

Something in my soul feels warm and cold at once. There are so many pieces from my past that feel like they're sliding into place, so many missing pieces, even from my father, that make sense. Why he never spoke of my mother. Why he never spoke of how he was injured.

And then there's this woman. My mother. The instant I think the words, something inside of me shifts. An acknowledgment. I believe her.

Tilting my head, I realize what was familiar now. We both have the same hair color, the same eyes, the same face shape. If I spent my life in the dark with the dead, letting my soul wither away, I might look like her when I grew older.

And I hate it. I hate the deep realization that she's telling the truth. That she's my mother. That this horrible woman and I share blood. She doesn't deserve to share blood with me.

"Why does any of this matter? You threw me away. That's the end of our story."

She leans forward on her throne. "That was the end of our story. Until you matched with the princes. Until I felt your powers surge free. Until I realized a way to get everything I wanted and more. I only needed to find the right path through you to them ."

"The deal you made with them. You knew my answer would be no," I whisper. The sound of my voice echoes through the chamber until it's drowned out by her laughter.

She shrugs. "I took a gamble on it after utilizing my sources. After learning just how deep your distrust, fear, and hatred for the fae lay."

No, she couldn't have played me this easily. "And now you plan to what, take down the whole fucking kingdom?"

"Yes," she says without hesitation. "The dead will rule. I will rule. And the fae will remember why they should always fear the House of the Dead."

I snort. "That's stupid."

She lifts a brow.

"What's to stop the good old iron demons from killing you?"

She smirks. "Perhaps my army of undead."

I feel it. My powers inside of me, growing, warming. She's right. This place… something about it is changing me. I can feel it. Fuck, I can sense every dead person in this room. I can sense if they were men or women, soldiers, healers, or something else. When I shift, I feel them shift, responding to me.

She stares. "Your power is blinding. Magnificent. One day, I'll have a use for it."

I shudder. "No." My word whispers through the dead, through the crowd, to the castle, where more dead stiffen at my word.

"I know that your concerns lie with your father and grandmother. I know they are everything to you," she says. "If you go to them now, I will gift you all the wealth, power, and privilege your life has been missing. You three will remain unharmed. I will give my word to you." Her face is still, void of any emotion as she awaits my answer.

I glance away from her, and my gaze lands on the princes. This is all too much. Too much information. Yet, as I look at them, I know it's not. I can handle this because nothing has truly changed. She's dangling everything I've ever thought I wanted right in front of me. All I have to do is say the word.

But I can't.

Because it's not everything I want. These dreams, this connection, our bond defies any logic and reason, and it is stronger than anything she can try to tempt me with.

Fuck. I think I love them. Not the kind of love that develops slowly over time, but a different kind of love, one you feel in an instant. One that knocks you on the ground and makes you want nothing but them for the rest of our lives. I don't know why I wasn't aware of it before. Maybe fear clouded my judgment, but I know, with time, this will grow into something amazing .

For myself. For them. For our kingdom. I have to save them. Even if I'm taking a frightening risk.

"Cassia, I'm offering you everything…"

She's not. "No."

She arches her brow. "You don't mean that, Cassia. Think about your father and grandmother. I'm powerful. I've already destroyed your princes. Just imagine what I can do to you. And I will do it. Daughter or not, I will not let you stand in the way of my throne. You refuse my deal and you will die right alongside your men, becoming mine to rule in death anyway."

I raise my head, feeling the dead in the castle lift their heads to mimic me. Then there's the rattle of bones as the ones around me do the same. "No."

She glances from the dead to me, and something unexplainable changes in the air. "Which castle do you want? When I'm queen, I'll give you whichever you choose."

After all this time and all of my suffering, she thinks I can be bought. She thinks the feelings I have for these four princes can be set aside for a castle or some sense of security that she'd provide. Unfortunately for her, her offer isn't even tempting. Just the thought of losing my men makes me feel like my heart is being slowly ripped out of my chest.

There's no offer I'll take that leaves my men and my people at her mercy. Because as rough as life has been for me, my people do live in this kingdom. My father and grandmother. My friends at the castle. None of them deserve to die because I had a chance to protect them and failed.

"No."

She sits up taller in her throne, her eyes sparkling with rage. "If you don't want what I've offered, what do you want?"

My hands curl into fists. I feel dozens of the undead mirror my movement. Connections to them like threads pull at me, whispering at me, asking what I want. I think she senses it. This change. There's desperation beneath her rage. And fear. Otherwise, why would she even be offering me these deals? If I have no power here, why not just destroy me?

"Nothing but the princes."

She slams her hand on the arm of her throne. "Impossible. I made a deal with your princes. They're mine. A fae deal can't be broken."

A strange awareness crawls from the top of my head down my spine. No, a fae deal can't be broken, but maybe I don't need to break it to save them.

"My princes asked me a question, and I'm finally ready to answer." Her lips part, but I press on before she can interrupt. "I love the princes. I want to marry them. My answer to their proposal is yes, and if I say yes, you have no power over them. Wasn't that your deal?"

She rises from her throne and steps off of her dais. Instinctually, I take a step back. Behind me, I feel the dead try to do the same, but I stiffen, remaining in place. Her power is pulling against my own. Taking control over the undead once more.

The feeling is… unsettling. Like someone bigger and stronger grabbing your arm and pulling you along. You want to fight back, but they're just so much larger.

"You don't mean that. You don't love these fools."

I root my feet to the ground. "I do."

Her lips curl. "You don't. Stop fearing the changes my rule will bring and accept this new order. "

"Accept my answer. It frees them from your binds. You gave your word."

She stops short, and then her expression gentles in a way that seems impossible. Her anger melts away and tension leaves her body. I feel some of her controlling over the undead slip, and the air in the room changes.

"Impressive. You actually outsmarted your mother. That intelligence, you got it from me."

I eye her, not trusting her new mood. "Actually, I'm pretty damn sure I got it from my dad. He, after all, wasn't stupid enough to throw away a child more powerful than you."

Her jaw ticks. "You sure about that? You sure your power is stronger than mine?"

Feeling the dead around me, I test the strings that bind us. I feel her strings, thick, but not as thick as mine. They're gray, while mine are gold. It's like an athlete who has trained better and longer against someone with a natural ability. I decide to test which is more important.

I do a dance move that the humans love. A silly one where my arms go in the air and I spin around. Bones shift and skin flies as the dead dance around me. They continue mirroring my movements, a backup dance crew made of skin and bones. She lifts a hand and my hold on them fades. I watch the dead smash back against the walls.

The Keeper of Death pants. "You're not just smart like me. Or powerful like me. You look like me too." She moves closer, closing the space between us.

Every muscle in my body tightens. I don't trust her, but I'm not going to back down either. When she's a couple feet away from me, a sudden burst of movement sends vines springing from her body, snaking toward me. I leap back, but the vines are quicker, curling around me. Trapping me, pulling me towards her.

"Mother?" I say sarcastically.

"Daughter?" she taunts right back.

I struggle for my dagger. It's there. Inches from my reach. But even closer, I sense my magic, and I realize it's waiting. Stronger than my blade.

The skeletons that line the walls begin to move at her command. I feel my connection to them, but I try not to pull on the cords. Not yet. They take their places, surrounding me. The perfect little trap by the Keeper of Death. Except she doesn't know me. She doesn't know I'm good at getting out of a bind.

The vines sting and burn me as thorns erupt, cutting deeply. Pain courses through me, but I feel my power burning, hot and bright. Power at my disposal.

I don't know what I'm doing as I direct that power toward the vines, but I let those cords of magic out, and the vines around me are suddenly in flames before they fall to ash around me. My mother leaps back, stopping the fire before it reaches her. In an instant, her countenance shifts to something somewhere between shock and pride.

Isn't it a bitch? She returned me to the forest for not having power, and yet here I am. Maybe more powerful than her.

"This is pathetic and foolish. You may have a spark of power, but it's nothing compared to what I possess." She's suddenly there, face inches from mine, triumph in her eyes.

In a flash, I let those threads of magic out, not knowing what they'll do, but knowing I have to do something. I feel the power in my hands, and I act. Suddenly, flames are dancing from my fingertips as I slap her across the face. She's turned away from me, unmoving for a painfully long moment, before she turns back. A gasp slips from my lips. I've singed off half of her face. The flesh is gone, everything melted down to muscle and bone.

Fuck…

Her chilling laugh sounds through the chamber, unexpected enough that it makes me jump. "Oh, now that's impressive. But let me show you some real pain." In a blink, she lunges at me, her fingers clawing at me.

I barely manage to sidestep in time, but I do. Probably because she's not nearly as numb to what I did to her as she's trying to pretend. "This can stop now. You gave your word. You have to let them out of your deal."

"It's too late," she says. "Don't you see?"

It's not. I don't. But when the dead suddenly start moving toward me, I try to take control of them once more. It doesn't work. They press forward. The bones in their hands sharpen to blades, blades already coated with blood. Blades capable of giving me a very slow, very painful death.

"Is this what you want?" the Keeper shouts. "This is what you were so desperately waiting to see, my power unmatched by your own!"

A blade slashes at my arm, and I cry out as I dive out of the way, but not nearly quick enough to avoid the sting. Another blade strikes me across my hip, and I hear my men shouting my name.

It's strange. Their voices. The sound of my name on my lips. It shakes something inside of me, reminding me of something Lady Nova said. I need to take control, even if only for a moment. It's all I need.

Taking in a slow, deep breath, I pull on all the threads of the undead at once… and feel them, feel them respond, ob eying me and not her. They shift their target, closing in on my mother. Her eyes widen, and I see her waiver momentarily, distracted by her own army turning against her.

It's all I need. This moment.

Slipping my blade free, I launch myself at her without hesitation. Our bodies collide, and I drive my blade into her chest, twisting with every bit of fury and pain I've ever felt. My power surges into the movement, and fire pours from the weapon, illuminating her chest from within. Her scream fills the chamber. She tumbles back onto the ground, scratching at the blade, but her hands do nothing.

Then I look at my men. At their wounds. At their broken bodies. And I pull on the threads around me once more. The army of the undead, sharpened hands outstretched, descends on my mother. Her screams fill the chamber, and the scent of fresh blood fills the air.

I don't move. I don't speak. The screams are all I can hear until they quiet. I can feel her heart beating still, slow, missing beats, almost gone, and I pull on the threads once more.

The army falls to the ground, a pile of bones and dead.

I move to stand over her, and my mother's eyes lock onto mine, filled with disbelief. I focus on them rather than her horrific body. "You've been returned to the woods, mother. Enjoy its cold embrace."

Without another word, she takes her last ragged breath, and I do her the honor of tugging my blade free from her chest, feeling nothing. Hopefully the woods will want her, because I sure as hell don't.