22. Interlude 2

Interlude 2

Twenty-eight years ago

The High Fae male is broken. Powerless and unable to do anything about it. The power of the Thrones was fading, but no one seemed to notice it, least of all the kings of the Great Houses.

The Houses of Earth and Shadow were broken. He had seen the severed head of King Roderic of the House of Earth. Brenna of the House of Shadows was rumored to be dead, but he had not seen her body with his own eyes, and that woman had more mastery of the powers of Shadow than anyone in memory. If there was a single individual that could trick and evade half of the High Fae, it was her.

Which is why it doesn't surprise him when she appears to him, far from any courts. He has been hiding in a village beyond the eye of the High Fae, living as a human would, yet the Lady of the House of Shadows is waiting for him in his room in the village's inn.

A simple village with a simple inn with simple rooms. A small window against the wall lets in the moonlight, coating the female in silver wherever her shadows don't stick. Wooden floors, walls, and ceiling have been kept clean, and the bed is reasonably clean as well.

And Brenna of the Shadows doesn't fit in this space. Long black hair. Thin as a wisp. Dark eyes that hold so much hidden knowledge that the male questions whether there's anything she doesn't know.

She is one of the most beautiful females in the world. She's always been poised and regal, the portrait of a Lady of the House of Shadows. Absolutely unfazed by anything.

Now, he doesn't see her regalness. She looks worn down. Exhausted. It's been two years since she'd been forced into hiding. Two years of continuous secrecy.

He says nothing when he sees her. Sitting on the single chair in his room, she stares at him for several moments before speaking, and he doesn't interrupt her. She's here for a reason, and he's patient enough to let her tell him. Her long, flowing black dress looks as though it was made from shadows spun into silk. Shiny and so dark that it seems to draw in the light. Not even spellstones could create that fabric, and for a moment, the male questions if he's ever seen anything as beautiful.

"I've found a way to fix things," she says slowly. Her voice is so soft that if he wasn't watching her mouth move, he'd swear a breeze was speaking to him.

"Fix things? You mean reclaim the Shadowed Throne?"

She shakes her head. "No. I will never sit on the Throne again. There is another who can stop the corruption, but she will need help."

"You come here asking for help? What help could I possibly be?"

"None. But you can become someone who could help her." From behind her back, she pulls a ragged black cloak. Simple and unassuming, it's made of linen and doesn't look like anything of value, like so many of the ancient pieces of magic from the House of Shadows. Nothing like the finery that most High Fae wore.

She hands it to him, and as soon as he touches it, he feels the power flowing through it. His eyes open wide, and he asks, "The Shadowed Cloak? I thought it was a myth?"

Brenna shakes her head slowly. "As with most things, my House knew where it was hidden. But a thing like that cannot be given. Everything has a price."

The male looks down at the cloak. An artifact from a time long forgotten. "What is the price?" he asks. The Shadowed Cloak. Worn by unknown High Fae throughout time, all of whom were known only as The Shade.

"You must swear that you will do everything in your power to see the one that I have chosen finds the Throne when it is time."

The male takes a deep breath. Treason. A death sentence. But it's the best path to saving the magical world, and the male knows this. A member of the House of Shadows on the Throne would help to right things. It would patch the hole that the Shattering put in the balance of the world. It wouldn't fix it. That would require a member of the House of Earth, too. But it would make things better.

And maybe it could give everyone more time to figure out how to repair what was broken.

"I'll do it." A statement of intent. Not a vow.

She nods and slips off the chair, moving with a grace that only the House of Shadows has. He puts his hand out, palm up, and she presses a black fingernail against his wrist. Those dark eyes of hers peer into his, and he knows that this is not a deal that Brenna wanted to make. Trusting others is difficult even when a magical oath is made. Her nail is as sharp as any blade, and when she pierces his skin, a thin line of shadow snakes into him.

Her power in his skin. Willingly given and willingly received. A debt that gives her power over him.

"I will make sure she claims the throne, Lady Brenna," he says, taking the oath more seriously than any other he'd ever said.

She nods to him. "Good. My daughter will need help. Use the cloak as it was used in the past."

Of course it would be her daughter. She wouldn't trust anyone other than her own blood to hold the Shadowed Throne. The male agrees with her choice. Her bloodline is the strongest. But who is her mate?

Brenna gives the male one last look, a haunted one, and then she takes a step, shadows wreathing her body in nothingness, and when they disperse, she's nowhere to be found. He looks down at the black cloth in his hands and realizes that, for the first time in his life, he can't depend on anyone else or blame anyone else for his failure.

He looks down at the mark on his wrist. A bond that ties him to the Queen of the Shadows. The little black mark wiggles on his arm, barely noticeable. No one can know what he's doing. The only thing that anyone will know is that the Shade has come back in the people's time of need.

And he will begin to collect debts that he'll use to protect the future Queen of Shadows.