Page 3 of Prince of Night and Storm
THE PRAYERS OF DUST
And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,
Which, as they kiss, consume.
—Romeo and Juliet,Act 2, Scene 6
Three Weeks Before the Midnight Ball
Ancient, arresting grief snatches my breath as I enter the cemetery. Staggering, I let myself fall to my knees and press my forehead to the damp ground, digging my nails into cool soil.
I've never felt something like this.
Not when the sleeping Prince killed my mother in the House war, not when Lord Baroun used me as bait to lure my brother into a trap. Certainly not when High Lord Embriel Gauthier, son of the Prince and my brother'sbest friend, lay dying in my arms, his blood soaking my lap and turning his pale hair scarlet, vengeance ashes in my mouth.
Irises of the purest cerulean had stared up at me, old affection in his eyes.
“Don't blame yourself, Aerinne,”he'd murmured.“But don't hide from the consequences. Power wielded without consequences creates waking nightmares. The Dark Fae never learn.”
His eyes will haunt me until I take my last breath. I'd targeted him, killed him in revenge for my mother and brother.
Killing doesn't bother me, but that? That was murder. The weight of the secret drives me mad from waiting. The day the Prince returns to living and discovers what I've done, I expect no mercy.
All warriors hope for a quick death; I doubt that will be my fate.
I swipe tears from my cheeks and glance up, frowning, then push to my feet and close the distance to my mother's grave.
Streetlamps flicker. On, off, as if the hybrid solar, gas, and magical grid helping support Everenne is overloaded. Fear uncoils in my gut. That invasive tidal wave of grief…what Fae could propel a psychic emotion of that strength across an entire city?
My abdomen clenches, stomach roiling. He’ll know as soon as he wakes his only son is missing and presumed dead.
Darkan? I need you.
There’s no response, only silence, the silence he maintained for weeks after Embriel died.
Letting out a breath as I kneel at my mother's grave, I murmur the prayer, the light of a half-moon shimmering over her headstone in Faronne District's cemetery.
“If any Ancients still answer the prayers of dust, let the blood and tears I've shed be enough.”
As it has a hundred times before, my iron blade bites into my skin. There’s a brief line of fire before my partial humanity quells the iron poisoning, then my blood drips down.
Grant us victory in death’s stead; Faronne will endure.
Are you there, Dark angel? Please.
My lips twist. Darkan might be a figment of my imagination, an aspect of my personality split off to help me cope with the trauma of war, but I don't care. When I reach for him, invisible arms circle me. When I call him, he comes. Some days his acerbic tutelage drives me insane, and other days his calm wit keeps me from the brink.
If loving him means I’m loving myself, I’m good with that. If loving him also means I’m insane…I'll join the billions of other crazy people on this planet.
I stand. I’m a fool to think anyone might hear?—
A noiseless percussion of power picks me up and throws me against a nearby tree, shaking the trunk until leaves fall down around me. At my back, the subtle hum of streetlamps outside the stone walls of the cemetery dies. If we'd allowed cars in Everenne, they would have stopped as well.
Silence. Awful silence, then the impression of a tearing veil, a wrathful being stepping fully into this Realm. Sharp, focused awareness.
A gaze turning toward me.
Seeking.
