Shadow Cursed by May Sage Page 0,18

way to Whitecroft Hall. It’s not like any of us have a mission. The lords and ladies are in constant meetings, arguing the best ways to use the information I came up with.

I’m restless, and the only thing soothing me is her. She’s the worst kind of poison, a drug I can’t help going back to though I know it’s killing me.

Vlari is hardly calmer. I’ve updated her on everything I know. She has her ideas about our next logical course of action.

War.

Right now.

Without preparation, without seeking the elemental stones, without worrying about the usurper, without a scheme.

“I’m just saying, worst-case scenario, we lose. All the folk are dead. The land has been razed. At least they won’t be stuck here, suffering a slow death.” She sniffles. “I should never have locked us away.”

I grin. “You’re bored.”

“Terribly.” She pouts. I never knew she was quite this bloodthirsty.

“I must be dreadful at entertaining you.”

She eyes the book in my hands meaningfully. “It’s not about me, though. We need to do something. I should wake up.”

She’s so, so cruel. Hearing her say those words hurts more than a knife to the chest. Because she can’t, and won’t.

“If you do, the dome will fall. The scouts patrolling around us will notice right away, and there’ll be an army on its way here within the hour. If you do, there’s no stopping our destruction.” I hate that I have to be the voice of reason. “We need to be ready.”

She sighs, defeated. “Read me another book? This one really is awful.”

I comply.

Four days later, I’m surprised to enter Vlari’s room and see a girl on the single chair. She’s brought a lute with her, and she plays our princess a cheerful song.

It occurs to me that I do know her—she’s one of the Thorns, Dekren’s younger sister, Mephesea.

I move to return to the door, but she turns to me, abandoning her instrument. “Don’t leave on my account. I’m about to go.”

I hesitate, not wanting to cut her visit short, but Esea is already packing up the lute.

“I didn’t know you played,” I say.

I have seen her many a time in passing. Her brother was my friend back when we attended school here, and we did stay in touch. He was a little indulgent for my taste, but I appreciated his easy laughs and easier jabs.

We lost him in the Shadow Peaks.

Vlari brought many among the court back to life, but there still were many casualties when the usurper attacked. The royal family. Many guards. And the boys who liked to hide in the shadow with a lover or two weren’t in the hall when Vlari used her power to revive our people.

Dekren may have survived it, but I’ve heard he was at court that day, and as he’s not with us, the chances that he might still be breathing are slim.

“I didn’t use to.” Her smile is filled with sorrow. “We’ve all had to fashion ourselves into something else, here.”

I find myself touching her shoulder as she passes me. “It was quite beautiful,” I tell her.

I see others in the next few days. Old acquaintances, strangers of low and high rank alike. A lord she saved in the halls. Though he never knew her, he tells me he comes and kneels in front of her every new moon, to thank her for the time she gave him. A chambermaid who used to polish the polar flooring of Vlari’s old home. Meda, once. Nero, twice. I do remind him he’s welcome at Ash if he ever fancies a bowl of gruel.

It is unavoidable that I’d meet the high queen, given how much time I linger in her daughter’s chamber, but I am never prepared. What am I supposed to tell her? What if she bans me from this room? I never know what to expect of Ciera.

I come in one day to find her brushing Vlari’s hair. My princess is dressed in a simple gown of blue gossamer, not unlike what my own mother could have worn on a special occasion. There’s no heavy, antique crown on the high queen’s head, and she wears little jewelry at all, save for a gold wrist band.

My eyes linger on the bracelet. I hadn’t noticed it before. I’ve seen ones just like it, though made of copper—on each of my parent’s right wrists. They’re seals, the kind that one exchanges in their bonding ceremony.

Most fae are long lived—some, entirely impervious to the passage of time. As such, our