Chapter 29

CHAPTER 29

Thalia

Isit at the kitchen table, thumbing through the journals I’ve been keeping on all the preparations for our march on Kestevayne. It’s overkill, really. I’ve checked everything again and again, and we’re as ready as we will ever be.

We’ve finished all the potions, spells, amulets, and charms to help our forces cross Ferelith’s barriers, bend distance in large groups, and repel her blood magics. Tonics to amp power have been distributed and consumed. The rest of the townspeople are back to their regular jobs, waiting on us to now end the war so we can all go home to Kestevayne.

Heph is out with the Conclave members, shoring up the protective cloak around Clairmont. We added my blood and infused it with my shadows, making the cloak even harder to pierce.

But because we will never again assume we’re invincible, Kieran has also stationed forces outside the cloak in all directions to stop anyone who might get too close. We’re no longer hiding because there’s no sense in it. We’re doing all we can to ensure that no enemies get through in these last few days before we march.

The only thing left to finish is an incantation I’ve created—a magical theory, really—and the Scrinia will test it out tonight. I wanted a way for our soldiers to be hidden as we move closer to Kestevayne. I’ve mixed salt with my blood and shadows, resulting in a very powerful mixture that can be molded to my will, and I’ve asked the shadows to hide my people once the sun sets. It seemed to work well enough when I created and tested it on Heph, but I need to be sure it will cover thousands. If it works, we can move on Kestevayne at night and blitz attack Ferelith.

I glance up from the journals and stare at the spell book Amell gave me yesterday before he left. I haven’t had the courage to open it yet, but it calls to me. Just as I could feel darkness inside Amell, I can feel it inside the book. And it’s more than just being filled with dark magics.

I also feel its intent, and much of it is evil. The contents inside want to hurt, maim, and maul. They want blood to flow and victims to perish.

I shudder even thinking about reading that stuff. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to.

While Amell might be dark and far from a good guy, he also has the capacity to love and show goodness. He told me that whether we have dark or light inside us, it’s always the actions we should examine to determine someone’s true nature.

The book’s nature isn’t exactly clear. I somehow know it can’t act on its own without me enacting spells, but I can tell it wants me to use it in the darkest of ways.

And while the thought of doing so is abhorrent—that I might feel compelled to give it a whirl—I find it more appealing to consider it as an option versus thinking about Bastien. I have no clue if I’ll ever see him again. He’ll lead the charge into Kestevayne. He could be killed.

He could succeed and leave Vyronas immediately upon victory.

But I refuse to go to him and ask again. I drew the line, and although Amell seems to think Bastien will come to his senses, I can’t spend time worrying about it. While I care for him with all my heart and will die one day with that same unrequited love inside me, he’s not what’s most important right now.

Saving Vyronas is.

A knock on the door startles me, but I am immediately grateful for the interruption. My thoughts tend to get heavy when I ruminate too long.

I open the door to find a woman standing there smiling at me. She’s beautiful, about my age, with black curly hair streaming down her back. She’s wearing a long dress that’s tight across the chest and cut low to reveal her more than ample cleavage. In the crook of her arm hangs a white woven basket filled with bunches of dried herbs tied with colorful ribbons.

“Can I help you?” I ask, returning the smile.

The woman bobs a slight curtsy, I suppose a nod to my royal title, but honestly… no one does that to me here in Clairmont. We’re beyond social graces right now. I’m the princess who walks among the people in my First Dimension jeans and Stetson.

“My name is Merrilyn, Your Highness. I was talking to Heph a bit ago, and he told me you were feeling tired. I’m an herbalist, and I have teas that can help. He suggested I come by to offer you some.”

I’m slightly irritated that Heph would send a stranger here, but then I realize, Heph wouldn’t send someone untrustworthy. He must’ve gotten to know her the last few weeks, and he’s not wrong about me being tired. I don’t give a lot of blood on any given day, but I do give it every day. Combined with the lack of sleep and emotional upheaval regarding Bastien and my newfound father, I am exhausted.

Gratitude takes hold—I could use the break. I step back and invite her into my home. “That was nice of Heph and even sweeter of you to come by. Please, come on in and maybe you can join me for a cup of tea.”

“Your Highness,” Merrilyn says with a coy smile. “I’m honored.”

“Thalia,” I say firmly. “No royal titles, please. We’re just two girls having tea together.”

Merrilyn moves to my kitchen table, glances at the spell book Amell had given me, and puts her basket down to rummage through it. I move to the stove and set a kettle to boil, giving it a wave of magic—just the good old-fashioned kind I have inside me—so that it boils faster.

After I pull out a teapot and set two mismatched cups on a tray, Merrilyn offers me two different bags. “The purple one is for you, for energy and revitalization. The yellow is for me… mostly chamomile to relax as I’m headed home after a long day helping to man the spell cauldrons.”

I drop the tea bags into the cups just as the kettle whistles. While I pour water in each, I say, “Thank you so much for working the cauldrons. It’s taken so many hands to get all the charms and amulets prepared.”

“We’ll get Kestevayne back,” Merrilyn says confidently.

I like this woman. I nod toward the table as I bring the tray over. Merrilyn sits, and I take the chair adjacent to hers.

We pull our cups inward, but I don’t touch mine yet. It needs to cool a bit, so I smile at my guest. “What’s your story, Merrilyn? Are you from Kestevayne originally? Do you have family here?”

The black-haired woman lifts her cup, blows on it slightly, and takes a tiny sip before setting it down. “I’m from Donhue.”

“That’s a lovely area.” A little south of Kestevayne, it’s good farmland with rolling hills of patchwork colors. “I’m glad you made it safely.”

Merrilyn nods in understanding. “It’s been a tough several years.” Another delicate sip as she regards me over the rim of her cup. When she sets it back down, she says, “Of course, Bastien has made it so much more bearable.”

I jolt at the mention of his name, and then flush hot when it dawns on me, from the sultry tone in her voice, she means something very personal.

“Excuse me?” I tilt my head and can’t help the frost in my tone.

“We’re lovers,” she says sweetly, but then waves a hand. “Or rather… we were. He wanted to take a bit of a break when you came back.”

My jaw slackens in shock that she’s telling me this.

And gloating about it.

“Oh my,” she murmurs apologetically. “I can see you had no clue. I’m not surprised he kept me a secret.”

“Actually, it wasn’t a secret,” I reply, pushing my cup back. “I knew about you, just not your name, and I knew Bastien broke things off.”

“For the time being.” Merrilyn’s eyes flash with ire, but she maintains a saccharine smile.

I’d like to grab this woman and physically toss her from my home, but I have to maintain civil decorum because I am a princess. Also, I don’t want to be a jealous shrew, and I don’t have the right to be, anyway.

I don’t know what her motives are, but I intend to find out. Before I can even open my mouth to speak, though, there’s a knock at my door.

Merrilyn picks up her cup and sips her tea, clearly settled in for a continued chat, and I’m a little discombobulated by her audacity. On the flip side, I also find myself curious about her too. What type of woman had Bastien’s interest while I was gone? I certainly can’t be mad at him when he felt nothing for me. There was no reason to expect him to remain celibate. I guess I’m just surprised he’d be with someone who thought it okay to come into my home and throw the relationship in my face. Bastien is not a cruel man and would never abide cruel people.

“Excuse me,” I murmur and push up from my chair to move to the door.

When I open it, I’m surprised to see Archer. I haven’t seen him in weeks as he’s been off recruiting fighters outside the royal families. “Archer,” I exclaim, throwing my arms around his neck. “You’re back.”

“Just arrived and thought I’d come see you. News has been scarce to come by, and I wanted to know how it went with your visit to Heph.”

I pull him inside and shut the door, having completely forgotten I’ve got a guest. When I turn around and see Merrilyn there, I freeze at the awkwardness.

“Um, Archer… this is Merrilyn.”

“I know exactly who she is,” he replies softly, giving me a very meaningful look as he dips his head to murmur, “And I wouldn’t be sharing tea with her if I were you.”

My gaze snaps to the cup I’d yet to sip from. She’d handed me a separate packet from what she’s drinking.

Would she dare poison me?

I move to the table, gathering up her cup and mine. I take them into the kitchen, keeping my tone light. “I hope this doesn’t seem rude, Merrilyn, but I really need to catch up with my cousin on important matters of state, so we’re going to have to cut our tea party short.”

She stands and smooths her skirt. Eyes darting to the teacups I’d set on the wooden counter, then back to me, she smiles. “Perhaps we can get together again soon.”

Archer stands behind Merrilyn, watching intently.

“Maybe,” I say with a tight smile. “But thank you again for the tea.”

“You should drink that,” she says, tipping her head toward the cup. “It will make you feel better.”

My stomach tightens… perhaps in warning, but something pulls at me that feels insidiously dark. Almost like the feeling I get from the spell book, but more intense.

I think Archer feels it, too, as he takes a step toward Merrilyn, approaching from her rear. She doesn’t sense him, her eyes glued to mine, and she doesn’t even try to hide her dislike of me. I see it as well as jealousy… consuming her.

Archer moves another step, and I relax. He’ll insist she leave, and then I’ll need to talk to Bastien about keeping his psycho ex-girlfriend away from me.

With Archer looming behind her, Merrilyn finally must sense him as she tenses and starts to turn.

I frown as Archer pulls a knife from a sheath at his hip, the sharp edge winking in the sunlight coming through the window. It happens quickly, and yet also feels like it takes a million years but I have no power to stop it.

Archer takes one more step toward Merrilyn and before she can face him fully, he fists his hand into her curly hair, jerks her head back hard and drives the knife deep into the side of her neck.

I stagger in horror as Merrilyn’s eyes go round with surprise. Her mouth opens and closes like a gasping fish, and she reaches a shaky hand out to me for help.

Gripping the edge of a chair to steady my shaking legs, I’m revolted when Archer pulls the knife out and a stream of blood sprays the wall.

Merrilyn’s eyes roll into the back of her head, and she starts to sag to the ground, but Archer holds her up as he slides the bloody knife back into the sheath. With his hand free, he cups it under the wound in her throat to capture her life force as it drains.

“What are you doing?” I gasp, taking another step back.

Lifting his gaze to mine, Archer smiles, and within it I see a stranger. His mouth twists in a deranged sneer as he lets Merrilyn fall to the floor.

He moves toward me, and the dark feeling I’d thought was coming from Merrilyn intensifies. Treachery radiates from Archer, and my stomach pitches as if riding turbulent seas in a dinghy.

Rattling off words under his breath that I cannot hear completely, he rubs his hands together, smearing the red blood over and in between his fingers as the excess drips off. Frozen in fear and partial fascination, I watch as inky tendrils of smoke slither out from his fingertips to hover for a moment before shooting toward me at a speed far greater than I can outmaneuver. I try to throw up a shield, my magic clumsy and inefficient from my confusion over what in the hell is happening, but the ribbons of darkness wrap around me.

My breath is cut off, and a wave of dizziness washes through me. I call on my magic to break the grip, but I get no response.

It’s cold and silent inside me. It’s the same feeling—or lack thereof—as when the iron collar was put around my neck, sapping my magic.

“What are you doing, Archer?” Tears slip from the corners of my eyes, and they’re the only thing I can feel as they slide down my cheeks in warm streams.

He doesn’t answer but instead turns toward the table, bending over the spell book. Twisting his neck, he glares back at me. “What is this book? What does it do? There were rumors you had a Dark Fae helping you. Did you get it from him?”

I refuse to answer, my gaze pinned on him. He heard Amell was here, but like everyone else in Clairmont, no one knew his true identity.

“No matter,” he says with good nature, tucking the book under his arm. “Ferelith can figure it out.”

Even though I’ve been demanding to know his intentions, I’m not surprised to hear Ferelith’s name. It’s the only explanation for him murdering that poor woman and using her blood to cast the magic that’s rendered me useless.

“But why?” I whisper.

Archer tilts his head as if I’ve just asked the dumbest question in the world. “Why?” he taunts, moving in a flash to stand before me. “I do it for love, Thalia. I know it’s hard for you to understand, given that Bastien no longer loves you, but I’d do anything for Ferelith.”

“Even betray your family,” I snarl in anger.

Whatever magic Archer has—presumably borrowed from Ferelith, as I know he doesn’t have this type of power, and amped by the blood sacrifice of Merrilyn—it’s sent deep into my body and causes me to shriek in pain as if all my bones were being broken.

Archer laughs, bending in to kiss my cheek. “Now it’s time for us to go visit my love.”

My cousin grabs my upper arm, and the world tilts as he bends distance and takes us straight to the palace in Kestevayne. We step out into the throne room where my parents used to sit to hear formal petitions from the people. Their simple wingback chairs are gone, and in their place sits a massive gold throne with red velvet cushions.

Perched on the very edge is the woman I assume to be Ferelith.

Archer shoves me forward, and I stumble, falling to my knees. I try to rise but whatever magic he’s still wielding holds me down.

Ferelith lifts from the chair fluidly, seeming to float with gracefulness. She’s tall and thin with dark red hair severely parted down the middle and hanging in lustrous waves over her shoulders. She’s wearing a red velvet gown cut into a deep V at her chest, almost to mid stomach, and when she walks, slits up the sides expose her legs. Weirdly, she’s barefoot.

She comes toward me, but she doesn’t really walk.

She glides unnaturally, her hips swaying in a creepy rhythm. It reminds me of how a snake moves back and forth.

“I found this spell book,” Archer says as he moves to intercept Ferelith before she reaches me. “It looks like it might have power.”

Interesting choice of words. He must not feel its darkness the way I can.

Ferelith glances at me, then takes the book from Archer. She turns it over, examining the runes, and looks to me again. “What is this?” Her voice is husky but has a high pitch to it. It grates on my ears.

I stare at her mutely.

“I’ve heard you have a Dark Fae working for you.”

I glare at her, but my eyebrows drawing together is the only movement my body exhibits. I’m constrained by Archer’s magic.

Ferelith stands before me, and Archer grabs my hair to pull back my head so I can see her fully. She holds the tome in front of my face. “Are you learning blood magic from this?”

When I don’t answer, she hands the book to Archer and squats before me. Up close, her brown eyes have a red tint swirling throughout.

She brushes hair away from my face almost tenderly. “You don’t have what it takes to practice the magic I do, young Thalia. You don’t have it in you to take a life, and that’s what you’d need to do to even think about going head-to-head with me.”

“If you say so,” I grit out.

She slaps me hard across the face, and my teeth shred the inside of my cheek. I can taste the salty blood, but I swallow it as I can’t let her see that my blood is black. She’d know then that I have fae blood and there’s no telling what she’d do to me with that information.

In the here and now, she’s not concerned that I pose any threat to her whatsoever, and I intend to keep it that way.

While I won’t engage with her, I do need to know why Archer is in so deep. He said it was for love, but I don’t believe it.

“Archer,” I murmur, garnering his attention. “Please… don’t do this. Release me and let’s end this together. Let’s get our city back.”

“Our city?” he asks with exaggerated surprise. “This isn’t your city. This isn’t your dimension anymore. It all belongs to Ferelith.”

“But why are you helping her?” I ask as Ferelith stands, turns her back on me, and studies the book.

Archer uses his magical hold, fueled by Merrilyn’s blood and whatever power Ferelith has shared with him, to pull me to my feet. His magic is nowhere near this strong to be able to keep me subdued, but I am like a marionette under his control.

Putting his face before mine, he whispers, “When the rest of the cities are conquered and you are destroyed, Ferelith will be crowned sovereign of all Vyronas, and I will sit on a throne at her side. Why would I not choose her?”

“You’re despicable,” I hiss. “A traitor through and through. I’ll see that you’re hanged for this.”

Archer laughs at my temerity, which causes his focus to slip a bit. Power rises within me, and Archer feels it too. He struggles to regain control, but I pull from the ley lines that run deep and wide through Kestevayne, ignoring the shadow magic that calls out to me to destroy him, and I fling it outward. It doesn’t just blow toward Archer—who goes flying and crashes into the throne—but it catches Ferelith in the back too.

She stumbles and whirls in surprise. As I turn on her, she punches a bolt of power straight into my chest that knocks the breath out of me and buckles my knees.

I bend in half, wheezing as my lungs refuse to inflate.

Ferelith flips the length of her dress back at one of the slits and pulls free a dagger sheathed at her thigh. She strides for me, and I wonder if this is it. Is she going to kill me here and now?

I’m vaguely aware of Archer picking himself up off the floor, shaking his head. At least I rattled the bastard.

As Ferelith draws closer, I manage to suck in a breath and reach deep for my magic. It’s weak and sluggish in responding to my command. Ferelith grips the dagger but rather than swing it in my direction, she drives the tip into the palm of her own hand where bright red blood wells.

I’m helpless to move as she advances and slaps her palm to my forehead, coating me with her body’s fluid. She then flips her hand over and presses it downward, and my body follows the motion, flipping and slamming onto the stone floor.

Ferelith flings her hand outward, and I slide in the same direction, helpless to stop my trajectory. She balls her hand into a fist when I reach the middle of the room, and my body slams to an abrupt halt as if I’ve run into a wall.

I groan as I roll to my hands and knees, attempting to push up. She slams her hand downward, and my body splays flat on the cold stone. It feels like there’s a weight on top of me, but I manage to turn my head so I can see her.

With her palm facing the floor, essentially pinning me down with her blood magic, she moves to set the spell book on a low table near the window.

“Archer,” she says as she stares down at the book.

“Yes, my love,” he gushes as he trots her way, hands clasped. He looks like an eager puppy as he skids to a stop at her side.

Ferelith glances back at me, then turns to face Archer. “I’ll need to figure out this spell book, and that will take time. I cannot focus on her to keep her magic quelled, so I need your help.”

“I’m at your service,” he says, and I notice for the first time that it sounds a little robotic.

As if he’s said that phrase a thousand times before.

Could he be under her control? It’s been widely rumored that she uses blood oaths to control the masses. Did she take control of him and make him an unwitting accomplice?

I want to find an excuse for Archer’s traitorous behavior, but I also know I’m grasping at straws.

“Lay five pyrite stones around her,” she instructs, flipping her other hand over. The rocks appear on her palm. They’re rough cut, the color of dull brass. “Create a diameter of at least ten feet.”

“As you wish,” he replies, taking the stones.

Again, robotic sounding, but she’s clearly the alpha in this relationship. Maybe she has him trained and not under mind control.

I attempt to move, but I’m still held flat by her power. I try to pull on the darkness inside of me but it’s quiet and I can’t feel it. My situation is dire and I scream mentally inside my head, Amell… father… I need your help.

The words seem to bounce around and echo off the inside of my skull and I’m not confident they went anywhere that Amell could hear me.

Archer walks around me, and I’m only able to lift my head to follow his movements.

One stone is placed above my head, a good ten feet away, the next one off to the side at the same distance, and my arm flings out toward it as if being pulled by its power. Archer moves to my feet and as he places the stones, my legs stretch outward toward them until they ache. On the other side, the last pyrite is laid, and my arm shoots out, as if attracted to a magnet.

The stones have me splayed out on the stone floor, and I turn my head to see Archer walking back up to Ferelith, an eager expression on his face. “What else might I do for you?” he asks.

Ferelith leans in and places a chaste kiss on his lips. Archer’s eyes flutter in rapture.

Before he opens them, she has her knife unsheathed and the point pressed under his jaw. Archer doesn’t move, merely stares at her in adoration.

“Turn and let your cousin see you,” Ferelith instructs, and he does as bid. Ferelith moves with him to keep the knife in place.

Bringing her gaze to me, she says, “This is absolute power, Thalia. Archer has been a good little lapdog for me, but I’d easily spill his blood to further my cause. His blood sacrifice will keep control over you while you’re my guest.”

“Guest,” I sneer, thankful my mouth is able to move. “I’m your prisoner, and I’d like to know what you’re going to do to me.”

“All in good time,” Ferelith demurs with a sly smile. “Rest assured, I have very important plans for you. You’re the final piece to my puzzle. But first, I need you leashed, and draining Archer’s blood will keep you firmly under my thumb. Those pyrite stones and the bit of blood I placed on your head won’t hold you forever.”

She presses the knife tip into Archer’s skin, and he hisses from the pain. A trickle of blood slips down the front of his throat, but he makes no effort to move away, even though she has no physical hold on him.

“As you can see,” Ferelith purrs, “he won’t fight me.”

“Please don’t,” I say, knowing that no matter what Archer has done, I don’t want him dead. Locked away in a cell forever, sure. But not dead.

“I’m curious as to the extent of your familial love,” Ferelith muses. “Would you trade your life for his, after his betrayal?”

“Yes.” There’s no hesitation, and it’s the only answer my heart can give.

Ferelith sneers at me. “You’d offer your blood willingly for this coward’s? For he surely wouldn’t do the same for you.”

The realization punches deep—she speaks the truth. But I stick to my morals and give a truth back. “I’d offer my blood willingly, no matter what he’s done.”

Ferelith tips her head back and laughs, the knife dropping from Archer’s neck. I sigh in relief but before I can empty my lungs, Ferelith lunges and drives the knife deep into the underside of Archer’s chin. The long blade slides upward, through his mouth and into the bottom of his brain.

“No!” I scream as Archer falls lifelessly to the floor. “Why would you do that? I offered my blood willingly.”

Ferelith saunters toward me, dropping the bloody knife. She playfully wags a finger. “Words can be tricky, Thalia. Especially when dealing with blood magic. Blood given willingly is incredibly powerful. It gives the other person power over the donor.”

“But I didn’t give my blood. You took his,” I point out.

“His blood is your blood,” she replies smugly. “It’s Clairmont blood, and you offered it to me of your own accord. Now I control you.”

“No,” I gasp, unwilling to believe such a thing.

“You may rise,” she says, and my body releases. “But you cannot walk out of the stone circle. You also will not be able to use your magic while in this circle.”

I test her word and push up from the floor. I call on my magic, trying to summon the biggest blast of energy I can muster. I even call again on the dark shadows within me, but they’re absolutely silent.

“Gods,” I murmur, staring helplessly at Archer’s body.

“If it helps,” Ferelith says, moving to the table to grab the spell book. “I don’t intend to kill you anytime soon.”

“What do you intend?” I ask.

“I will bleed you slowly and take your power as my own. With the Clairmont power, no one will be able to challenge me, and I’ll sit the throne without opposition. All other regions will fall into place and pledge allegiance. If they don’t, I’ll burn my enemies with just mere thoughts while I sit in my palace.”

I try again to summon my magic. Nothing but void.

Ferelith holds up the book. “Before I do that, though, I want to know what’s in this. It’s clearly ancient. Open it,” she commands.

“Open it yourself,” I snap at her.

“Are you refusing to help me?” she asks, a slow smile spreading. “Because I can make you do it. Or I can torture you for the fun of it, and then you’ll beg to help me.”

“I’ll never willingly help you,” I say, lifting my chin.

Her smile becomes blinding and she takes such joy in my answer that she almost looks beautiful from the inside out. “I hope you can tolerate a little pain, Thalia. I’d settle in. It’s going to be a long day for you.”