Page 100 of Crown of Darkness
The tombs have been walled away, but I catch a glimpse of the first of Evernight’s queens staring down at me, with three moons in the sky behind her. A golden halo of light gilds her raven-dark hair. Queen Laerah was the third of Maia’s daughters and granted the lands that make up Evernight, though it was called by a different name when she ruled it.
Evernight only came into use once the north was cursed to an ever-present twilight.
I’ve seen the same painting in Hawthorne Castle, though the painting there is of her sister Rosia, the original Queen of Thorns, and instead of a halo of light, she wears a glowing crown of thorns.
Next to Laerah is her daughter, and then her granddaughter, and so on….
I can’t help searching the faces hungrily.
In my mother’s court, we rarely spoke of the Kingdom of Evernight, unless it was with hate. I barely know any of my new kingdom’s history, and I can’t help mouthing the names of those ancient queens: Bardh, Aleyna, Grenweih….
We reach the end of the walkway, where Queen Araya’s tomb is enshrined, and Thiago’s footsteps slow.
This is the queen he served.
And the queen it’s alleged that he murdered—though he explained the truth of that moment to me. He was the first to find her, but believes one of her sons struck the mortal blow.
There’s a plaque on the wall, but unlike the other queens, a red velvet curtain covers her portrait.
“I ordered her portrait hidden away from the world,” he whispers, staring at the velvet drapes. “They say it’s further proof of my guilt but….” Shaking his head, he reaches up to reverently brush his fingers against the velvet curtain hiding the alcove. Little runes flare to life on either side of the curtains, chiseled into the stone themselves, but they fade when they recognize him. “I couldn’t destroy it, but I was tired of maintaining the illusion that shielded my face. Once the first generation of fae folk passed into the Bright Lands, I knew the chances of someone seeing the truth were slimmer. I let the illusion slip, inch by inch, century by century, until I could finally wear my true face, but there’s a part of me that wonders if someone will see her and know.”
“Your true face?”
He gathers the curtains in both hands and takes a deep breath. “It’s easier if I show you.”
Hauling the curtains open, he steps back.
Gilt lines the edges of the enormous portrait. A serene woman stands there, her hands resting on the battlements I recognize from the palace, and her blonde hair blowing back in the wind. A banner with the Rising Sun of Ceres snaps in the wind behind her, and golden rays of sunshine highlight every inch of her face.
I gasp.
She’s beautiful. Possibly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
Or perhaps I’m biased, because I recognize those green eyes and full mouth. The same finely cut cheekbones adorn Thiago’s face, and they share the same brows, though hers are plucked thinner than his.
What does this…?
“Queen Araya.” His fingers find mine. “The last ruling queen of Evernight. When she died, the wards shielding Valerian from the snow and the dark finally shattered, and now the city dwells in almost eternal darkness, for her light no longer warms the world.”
“She’s your mother,” I blurt, because there can be no other answer for the similarity between them.
His lashes shield his eyes. “Yes. Though my birth was a matter of secrecy and I was never formally recognized. The only one who ever knew the truth was her son, Arawn.”
His brother.
Who had gone to war with him over the throne when Araya died.
It all makes so much sense now.
He’d spoken of the two princes—Arawn and Emyr—but never with any kindness. They had blamed him for the queen’s murder, and he’d been forced to kill Emyr in his escape.
“How…. Why? Why was your birth a secret?”
“You know the answer to that, Vi,” he says, looking at me with his smoky eyes.
He’s bastard-born, but marriage lines are not vital when it comes to the fae. The Seelie kingdoms are matrilineal, which means mothers are always given first rights when it comes to any children they birth. Even if the father remains unknown, there is never any shame….
Unless….
