Page 58 of Crown of Darkness
“Some of the books bite,” she admits, flipping the pages. “And you don’t want to get blood on any of the spellwork contained within, or you might find yourself with some company you’d prefer not to keep.”
“Lucere?” I say jokingly, because I’ve read the mood of the court. “I’m fairly certain she’s hunting in the woods with my husband, so I’d say we’re safe.”
Imerys’s eyes go wide. And then she chokes on a laugh. “I was talking about daemons, though they might be preferable to my sister at times.”
“You don’t back her claim?”
“I back her claim.” Imerys places the book on one of the lecterns. She blows a lock of hair out of her eyes. “Don’t mistake me, Your Highness. I am loyal to my family. And I think my sister will make a powerful queen. But she and I do not always see eye to eye. Lucere is bold and wishes to prove herself a threat to be watched by the other queens. And princes,” she adds belatedly.
“She has to,” I admit, thinking of the state of the Alliance. “She’s found herself the bystander in a war that will sweep her up and use her, no matter which way she chooses to cast her allegiance.”
“She could abstain from war.”
“I wish we all could if I’m being honest, but I know my mother. I know her ambitions.” I see it all laid out in front of me. “If Lucere doesn’t bare her claws now, my mother will sweep her off the board. She’s wanted war for a long time, and I…” Regret sours my tongue. “I’m the reason she will use to provoke it.”
Imerys watches me. “If you could make your choice again, would you side with your mother?”
“No.” It’s not even a choice. “I love Thiago. And it doesn’t matter if I did not—Mother would have found some reason to cast off the shackles of the Alliance.”
Imerys stares at me for a long time.
And then she clicks her fingers, and a book floats toward her from the top shelf. “This one too, I think.” She places it next toMyths of Arcaedia. “As I said, they’re hungry. Will you do the honors?”
There are certain rules among the fae.
To give another your blood, hair, or fingernails grants them the ability to link a spell to you. If you’re powerful, then you needn’t worry, but that’s why we rarely cut our hair, and nails are tended in the privacy of your rooms where you dispose of them yourself.
It’s a rare curseworker who can wield the magic in your blood, but I’ve had more than enough experience with curses in my life.
And yet… to deny her is to tell her I don’t trust her.
I need the information in that book.
And more, I need to find some sort of alliance within Ravenal.
“Move aside,” I murmur, tugging the dagger from my belt and pricking my finger. I press the bloody smear on the cover of the book, where the leather—or what I hope is leather—absorbs it.
Golden light flares over the lock, and Imerys’s face brightens as she unlocks it and opens the book with slow reverence. Every page is yellow with age, and dark ink blots across the page like little spider scrawl. I can barely understand a word of it.
“Anduluvian was one of the first refugees from the home world,” Imerys murmurs. “She speaks the Old Tongue, so some of it is difficult to decipher.” Flipping through the pages, she pauses when she comes to a familiar rune.
A crescent moon, full moon, and waning moon superimposed over each other.
“The Mother of Night.” I swallow the lump in my throat. Just thinking of the creature I made a deal with sends a shiver down my spine, as if the mere thought is enough to summon her.
Another page. Another symbol. A triangle with a set of horns. “The Horned One,” Imerys murmurs.
The Old One that Angharad wants to use my blood to raise.
I shiver.
Each page reveals new symbols, some of which I’ve seen on the corresponding Hallows. The Dream Thief. Red Mag. Bloody Mara. The Frost Giant. The Green Man. All of them Old Ones that have been locked away in their prison worlds.
But then the pages keep turning, and there are other symbols.
A pair of half-circles joined together, like a child’s equivalent of a bird. Behind it is a full circle, which could be a full moon. I’ve seen it on the stones in Valerian, though I don’t know what it means or which Hallow it aligns with.
“You were right. There were more Old Ones.” Imerys’s fingers continue turning the smooth pages. “But only thirteen were ever captured. Only thirteen went to war against us.”
