Page 20 of A Crown So Cursed
Málik shrugged, a world-weary gesture. “I believe it had more to do with the balance of power than the circumstances of our exile, although that is the story told and retold.”
She stared at him, waiting. “Explain.”
He fixed her with a pointed look, as though measuring how much truth she could bear. “After the Ending Battle with the Sons of Míl, we did not come here to find the Underlands unoccupied. It was teeming with creatures, and none at peace. Trolls, spriggans, korreds—all vying for dominion. Our arrival turned the tide for the trolls.”
“So the trolls are our allies?” she asked, uncertain, the words tasting strange on her tongue.
“Our?” he echoed, with a smile that was half shadow and half challenge, and for a moment, Gwendolyn couldn’t find her answer.
“Most,” he allowed, when she did not reply at once. “Not all. When we first arrived, we took up near the Lake of Fire. That Slemish area was predominantly theirs—hard won, so I am told. On the other hand, this area we are now settled in belonged to the Púcas—creatures friendlier to our plight.”
“By plight, you mean the exile?” Gwendolyn asked.
Málik nodded, silent for a moment, as though measuring the weight of her question.
“Our decision to relocate returned the Slemish lands to the trolls. They wanted it—always have—and by then, we were all weary of the constant tremors.”
“And the relocation was your father’s suggestion?”
He hesitated, the pause stretching long enough that Gwendolyn wondered if he might not answer. But at last, he spoke. “No. My father never wished to leave the Lake of Fire, nor the adamantine to be mined there. He was the one who drove us from Hyperborea to seek the precious alloy—fevered, obsessed, he turned the whole of your mortal lands into a pit of mines, desperate to find the promised ore. In truth, it was a blessing for our kindred to be exiled, and to find it here.”
Our, he’d said, and the word brought a smile to Gwendolyn’s lips.
“It was Aengus who bartered the deal with the Púcas, offering them protection in return for this land.” He exhaled, the sound drawn from deep within. “That is why I sided with Aengus over my father. I never condoned the taking of those lands. That was the root of all our troubles.”
“What became of the Púcas?” she asked.
Málik shrugged, the gesture heavy with old sorrow. “A volatile illness ran its course—left the Púcas unable to shift form. That was their doom. One by one, they were hunted and slain by spriggans.”
Gwendolyn looked up at him, brow arched. “And yet, you once told me spriggans did not exist?”
“I did.” His mouth quirked, almost a smile, but not quite. “No doubt to placate you. But it wasn’t a lie—spriggans were believed extinct. They haven’t been seen here for millennia. Once the Púcas were gone, so were the spriggans. I do not know where Aengus found the army he sent to the Druid village.”
A shiver ran through her at the memory—Devil’s Walking Sticks, bristling with thorns, fierce and merciless. Not Fae, she thought, but something older, wilder—a race born of the world’s primal bones. The thought of seeing one again made her skin crawl.
“So… what is her name?”
“Who?”
“Shewho would like to be queen?”
“Lirael,” he said without feeling. “Silvershade. Her father is my High Lord Minister, and by now, I warrant he’s taken his grievances to the Shadow Court.”
“For his daughter’s sake?”
“For his own. To be clear, if he could have wrested my throne for himself, he would have done it. He does not have so many confederates as he believes—merely enough to make my life difficult. His daughter was the only chance he had to gain support of both the Seelie and Unseelie Courts.”
“Can he prevent us from wedding?”
Málik stopped abruptly, turning to face Gwendolyn, his expression sober. “No,” he said. “As I’ve said, words are binding. Vows even more so. I’ve already declared my intention, and I meant it with every fiber of my being. There is no one but you, Gwendolyn. There has never been anyone but you, and I will love you equally in any form you bear.” His hand lifted to her cheek. “I love you,” he said, and put to rest any fear she had over his regrets. There was such heartfelt emotion swirling in the depths of his silver gaze. How could she ever doubt? Gwendolyn felt the warmth of Málik’s palm against her cheek, and the world seemed to narrow, its focus sharpening to this single, intimate touch. His words, resonant with commitment, echoed within her, stirring a tempest of emotions she’d struggled to keep quiet. Her heart thumped wildly within her breast.
Málik smiled, a faint upturn of his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “There is only one way to end our union,” he reassured. “It is to finish me…or you. This is why I must entreat you to remain within Tech Duinn…unless you are with me…or my guards.”
The surrounding gardens suddenly seemed less enchanting. But her fingers sought Málik’s, threading through them as though to anchor herself against the storm she sensed gathering. “I will be vigilant,” she whispered, and he drew her close.
“My father warned me about your Shadow Court,” she said. “He told me they would never accept a human and Fae union.”
“It is true,” he said. “But come!” And then he took her by the hand, pulling her along.
