Page 133 of The Night Prince

My feet slam onto cold checkered tiles, and they crack beneath my feet. I’m in the Church of Light and Sun, only the wilderness has taken it. The stone altar ahead is coated with lichen, and a crescent moon shines through the domed roof. It’s pale light puddles on the mosaic of the sun.

Vines burst though the ground and curl around my ankles. They snap from the walls and hold my arms outstretched. More of them snap down on my back, and I’m jolted forward. I bite down my scream and taste the copper tang of blood in my mouth.

But I didn’t sin.A version of my voice whispers through the foliage, stirring the leaves.

Your mother was a sinner.The High Priest’s voice echoes around the church.And you are a sinner too. Do you want the Sun Goddess to be angered?

What of my anger?

For so many years, I had thought I deserved it. I thought I was a sinner. I thought it was my fault that I was beaten. It was not my fault. Men wielded their power over me because it made them feel big, when I was so small. That was their choice, not mine.

The whip cracks down, and dark laughter fills the air.

I raise my chin, defiant.

I yank my arms toward me, and the vines fall to my feet. They uncurl from my ankles, and wither and decay until they’re pools of thick darkness. I clench my fist, and sap runs between my fingers. The tiles crack and crumble around me. I raise my head to the glass dome.

Enough.

I’m falling once more.

I land. My skin pulls taut on my arms, and there are hundreds of hooks piercing me and holding me upright. I try to scream, but my mouth is sewn shut. I’ve been here before, in the palace’s throne room. Once again, I’m a marionette, controlled by a hand I can’t see. My father’s golden throne looms over me on the dais ahead.

The invisible puppeteer is using the control handle as usual, and I begin to spin.

But I’m not a puppet. I’m not a pawn in the games of kings. I’m not someone to be controlled by others, to marry cruel lords for my father’s gain. I can pull strings, too. I see them now, threads of power that glow like moonlight. They reach outward from my chest.

I pull my arms free, and the hooks tear through my skin and turn my white dress crimson. I pull the strings from my legs and my feet. The music grinds to a halt. Blood drips down my body. When it hits the floor, the puddle grows and creeps through the room.

I rip my sewn-up lips apart.

The wooden cross-brace hurtles from the ceiling, and the courtiers scream and scatter as it crashes onto the tiles before me. The floor shakes, then crumbles.

“Enough.”

I fall.

I land in a heap on the grass. The moon is full in the cloudless sky. It paints the lake by the nearby cabin silver. There are two figures sitting at the bank. A woman and a small child, around three years old, nestled into her side. Both have long red hair that brushes the ground behind them. My heart clenches. I push myself up and walk toward them. Unable to stop myself, I run. The grass tickles my bare feet and dandelions whisper between my toes.

“Mother?” I say.

“The moon is beautiful, isn’t she, little one?” she says, and something erupts in my chest. It aches, yet it’s warm. Tears spring into my eyes. I had forgotten what her voice sounded like, the musical cadence, the lilt of the Snowlands.

“Yes,” I say, at the same time as the small child beside her.

My heart cracks, because it’s not the adult version of me she speaks to. I don’t think she can hear me. I try to walk around her. I try to see her face, but the scenery turns, and I end up facing her back once more.

My mother sighs. “There is so much I need to tell you. So much you’ll need to know when you grow up. Yet I’m running out of time.” She leans back on her hands, and her hair tickles the grass. The small version of me snuggles into her side. “I hope you remember these times, and you remember me fondly.”

The small girl yawns. My mother hums the same haunting melody I hummed to Blake when he was in need of comfort, and the young version of me begins to gently snore.

“The Snowlands were at war when I was promised to your father. An alpha known as the Shadow Wolf had gained a loyal following. He devoted his life to the God of Night, and he was looking for the key to Night’s prison to free his master. My grandmother—the alpha of our pack—could not risk him finding me.”

“Why?” I breathe.

She looks down at the small sleeping babe at her side, almost as if she spoke. “It’s in our blood, little one. Passed from generation to generation down the female line, getting stronger as each branch of our family tree grows.

“My grandmother believed that the next generation would be powerful enough to either release the God of Night or to defeat him. She feared the alpha would force a child upon me, and then sacrifice her to free his master.” She shakes her head as darkness spreads its roots through my veins. “So my grandmother struck a deal with your father. Your father would support us in our fight against the Shadow Wolf, my grandmother would provide Wolves to help him fight his war in the kingdom of Rema, and I would be his wife to secure the alliance. Your father seemed kind, when she met him to discuss the terms. She thought I would be safe. I thought I would be safe.”

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