Page 37 of Curse of Darkness
Stillness slides through his enormous frame.
But it seems I have said the magic word.
“As you wish,” he says. And then he laughs. “But beware of betraying me. I’ve had a taste of it once, and I will not suffer it again.”
* * *
The first stepover the threshold ignites a tingle in my veins. It shivers over my skin like water, and then it’s gone. The door shuts behind me, and both of us stare at each other as we listen to the Erlking’s footsteps retreat.
“You have me intrigued.” Blaedwyn’s lip curls. “But I’ll warn you that my curiosity has limits. What do you want, little queen?”
This might be the most dangerous gambit of all.
But with Evernight surrounded on all fronts, I have no choice. Blaedwyn’s territories abut the horde lands from behind. She’s made her peace with the goblins—a wary one if anything—but she’s still the only knife at their back.
And I am done playing nicely.
There is nothing I won’t do to get Thiago back. Nothing I won’t risk in order to save those I love.
Now I have a goal, a direction, it’s like all that weight has sloughed off.
I am playing the game now.
And that game leads directly to my mother.
Blaedwyn is just the first piece of the puzzle.
Sweeping out the long spill of my cloak, I take a seat opposite her, summoning every last hint of arrogance I can muster. The only way to deal with a starving wolf is to become a wolf yourself. “I want you to swear allegiance to me for the terms of a year and a day.”
Blaedwyn’s eyes pop wide. “What?” But she’s swift to recover. “And why would I do such a foolish thing as offer my fealty to another queen?”
“Because”—I point out, pouring each of us a glass of wine—“I’m the only one who can set you free from the Erlking and reinstate your crown. He owes me a boon. What is a year and a day of fealty to a near-immortal?”
Those cattish eyes narrow. And then she smiles and accepts the wine as she purrs, “I’m listening.”
* * *
The hall isfull of revelry when I return.
“You owe me a boon,” I tell the Erlking. “And now I have come to claim it.”
The music fades. The dancing stops. Heads whip toward me. Breaths catch in chests. And the Erlking’s tapping fingers still on the edge of his throne.
“So I do,” he murmurs.
I step aside, and the former Queen of Malagath strides into the hall.
She refused to come down until she’d put herself back together, and now she wears a capelet of black and dark green feathers bound at her throat with a heavy gold necklace. Black feathers have been glued to the skin around her kohled eyes so that she looks like she wears a mask, and gold glitter glints on the bridge of her nose and across her upswept cheekbones.
There is no crown—the Erlking claimed it when he captured her. But in this moment, Blaedwyn needs no crown.
It’s clear that she is a queen, and as she stalks toward us, her eyes locked hotly upon him, no one can be left in any doubt that she rules this room.
I need to work on my walk if I’m to ever have an ounce of her self-possession.
The Erlking sits forward, half prepared to launch himself toward her before he stills. Maybe some ancient sense of preservation warns him. His gaze cuts toward me, and he’s no doubt thinking this is the first time Blaedwyn’s left the protection of her tower since he escaped the Hallow. A hint of threat dances across his expression: If we’ve concocted some sort of plot between us, then we’d best beware.
“Come to dance?” he asks, his eyes glittering as he sinks back on her throne.
