Page 142 of Promise of Darkness
“She was taught by a master.”
“She was taught by a monster.”
“She was taught by a sorcerer who is owned by the Horned One.”
Isem. Angharad’s pet sorcerer.
Of all the truths I’ve learned today, this one is the most shocking. My breath catches. My mother’s working with the Unseelie. While I might imagine her casting the curse, this…. This is beyond betrayal. If anyone were to discover proof of her actions, she’d be overthrown. Not even her alliances with the Queen of Aska and the Queen of Ravenal would protect her. Even they would not tolerate this.
I must have driven her mad.
“It has the truth now, sisters,” the Threadweaver whispers, turning her blindfolded eyes upon me. “Now what will it do with it?”
Kill my mother, and I’ll have an end to this wretched curse.
Or find someone more powerful than she to overturn it.
But who has that sort of power?
I’m not lying when I say my mother is one of the most powerful fae in the Seelie Alliance. Queens are tied to the land and wield its power.
Thiago might be strong enough, but he’s not a spell worker. Nor are any of the other queens. Armed with both the land’s power and Isem’s sorcery and cursework, my mother would be well-nigh invincible.
The Shadowbinder touches one last droplet of blood to her lips, and then gasps.
“What’s wrong, sister?” The Dreamweaver demands. “What has it done?”
“It is not what it has done, but what it will do,” she hisses.
I stare between them. “What will I do?”
The Shadowbinder inches closer, her stark eyes hungry. “You will break the world,leanabh an dàn.”
Leanabh an dàn.
My heart freefalls into my feet. There had been a suspicion, earned the day we drove Angharad back at Mistmere, but I’d never yet let myself entertain the possibility. I couldn’t.
And I don’t have the time to contemplate it now.
My hand goes to my sword. As far as prophecies go, it’s a wretched one.
“You will unleash chaos and ruin upon your people.”
“You will bring about the end of Unseelie.”
“What shall we do, sisters three?” whispers the Dreamweaver.
The Threadbinder edges closer to me. “Kill it and save the world.”
“Eat it all up and forestall ruin,” says the Shadowbinder.
“Bury its bones,” the Dreamweaver whispers, “and never let them see the light of day.”
I wave the torch, backing toward the caves. “Stay where you are. I paid the price.”
“But you never bargained for safe passage out of here,” says the Dreamweaver with a leer as she lunges toward me.
I whip my flames into a protective circle with my magic, sweat dripping down my face. The Morai shriek and scuttle backwards, but I don’t have the strength—or the skill, to fan my flames.
