Page 146 of Crown of Darkness
“If you were going to gamble my wife’s life on such a statement,” he said coldly, “would you throw the die?”
Eris hesitated, but she finally nodded. “Yes.”
And Thiago closed his eyes and surrendered, though this time, he’s not going to allow me to risk this without him.
The eve of Imbolc dawns.
And with it my mother’s spring celebrations, in which the entire aristocracy of Asturia will be invited into Hawthorne castle to celebrate. It’s our best chance to get close to the crown.
It’s our only chance.
Finn and I slip into Asturia by way of the Briar Keep Hallow and make our way toward Hawthorne castle. We hitch a ride with a drayman carting wine, and the slow pace makes my skin itch, even though I know it’s for the best.
Imbolc is one of Asturia’s most widely celebrated holidays—when summer slays winter. Every town and village we pass is setting up poles on their village greens, but the castle is where the grand celebrations will be held.
“Ready?” Finn murmurs as the drayman turns his mules toward the castle.
We call farewell as dusk starts to fall and slip from the cart before turning into the woods. Once there, I strip out of my woolen peasant gown and haul on the silk dress I had tucked in a bag hidden under my skirts.
The dress is the color of a bitten plum, though it lightens through the skirts until the very hem is almost silver. A feathered mask covers my face, and Thalia found an auburn wig for my hair. Every inch of me is bedecked for a festival, though my leather boots reach midthigh and there are two daggers sheathed in them.
I feel ready to face my mother for the first time in my life. Not as a beggar or a child desperate for her attention, but as a survivor. As someone who has something to protect. She won’t take my love away from me, not this time.
And she won’t ever get her hands on the child I’m sure is within me.
Minstrels stroll through the forests, plucking chords on their lutes as they tune them. A pair of winged demi-fey hang feathers in the trees, wearing miniature versions of red and gold livery. The air of excitement hangs in the air.
Imbolc was always my favorite holiday.
“Are you in?” Thiago murmurs, his thoughts sliding over mine like a gloved hand shielded in cool leather. He and Eris hide within the woods several miles north. Close enough for them to rescue us if anything goes awry, but not too close for someone to feel the resonance of their fae magic.
Finn’s magic is strange enough that he doesn’t feel like fae, and my connection to Evernight vanished the second we arrived at the Hallow. While some of my mother’s guards might scan the resonance of their guest’s magic, I was counting on the fact that I’ll only rate as someone of middling talent.
“Nobody’s questioned us,” I reply, tucking my arm through Finn’s elbow. “The guards scanned us from a distance, but whatever part of me was born in this court must have felt familiar enough that no alarms were sounded.”
Finn takes my hand. “Are you ready, my love?”
His eyes twinkle, and I know he’s merely teasing me—just as I know Thiago can hear every word he utters through our mental link.
“I’m going to kill him,” whispers a dark voice in my head.
“Stop being so territorial,” I whisper back. “And get out of my head. I need to concentrate.”
The fae of my mother’s court already dance beneath the trees of the royal hunting preserve. Music hums through the air; the harps my mother favors spilling soft sounds even as bards sing of cruel hearts and poisonous kisses.
“This way,” I tell Finn, pushing him into the shadows of the trees. “If my mother follows her usual routine, she’ll be by the lake. We’ll skirt the banquet tables and enter the castle from the queen’s wood while she’s distracted with bringing in Imbolc.”
I know the ritual.
Imbolc brings the start of the lambing season and stands between the summer and winter solstices. Bonfires are lit throughout the forest, and all the guests wear masks and heavy cloaks.
One of the fae guests will be crowned the Prince of Winter, and another will be crowned the Prince of Summer—forced to duel to represent the clash between seasons. Summer will win, of course, and then the Queen of Summer will be crowned by my mother—though of course the crown she is gifted with is the Crown of Summer, and not the Asturian royal crown.
No, that will be locked away in the castle, which means this is our best time to strike.
The castle will be lightly guarded. My mother will be distracted by the festivities, and I know her well enough to know that the smile she grants the new Summer Queen will be tight and jealous. She won’t let the night’s queen out of her sight, because my mother prefers all attention to be upon her.
It’s a temporary honor, of course, though the Summer Queen will bless all of those who have married between seasons and kiss the foreheads of numerous babies.
