Shadow Cursed by May Sage Page 0,46

Your third born will be sent to the sea, raised among us, and wed into the Sea Lands."

I hate this. I hate every single part of this. He's trying to turn me into her. Into Morgana, who played with her children like she was their god, rather than their mother.

"An arranged marriage? I thought you didn't believe in them. I thought you said I was too weak for the sea."

He tilted his head. "I may have been mistaken, when it comes to you. But a child raised in the sea will be one of us. And you aren’t arranging a thing. Give me the child. The rest is up to me."

My ears are boiling.

I'm bargaining my unborn children? I feel sick.

But truth is, without his help, I may not have any child at all. I could die with the rest of Tenebris, fading with the light at the next sunset.

“Why the third?” I may never have three children. Plenty of fae aren’t blessed with even one, in all their years.

He grins, and shrugs. "I'm leaving you with an heir and a spare, landling. As I said, I'm not entirely heartless."

I would laugh if I could. "Not entirely. Just mostly."

The prince of the sea offers his hand.

I have no choice but to take it.

The Price

Vlari

My limbs are lighter and stronger on the way back, and the water that worked against me pushes me forward. When I forget to emerge for a longer time than should have been possible, I finally notice that I don't need to. I don't need to breathe.

“You and I shall be allies,” Lind had said, and he'd meant it.

I just have to hope it'll be worth it, despite the price I have to pay.

When I finally reach Whitecroft harbor, I freeze in shock.

Every single one of the seven halls built to house the courts has been destroyed. Whitecroft Hall stands alone and is entirely surrounded.

No. No, no, no, no. Mother, Father, Mera, Drusk.

Panic threatens to overwhelm my senses, cripple me. I swallow it, forcing myself to focus. I need to get into Whitecroft. Tired as I am, I don't want to risk attempting to force my way through—I can't hope to use magic against thousands and thousands of humans without someone managing to plant a dagger or an arrow in my chest.

My wings are tired; I can't count on their speed either.

I assess the rest of my abilities, and come up short. I don't think I can sass them into letting me get through.

But there's something else…

I've only been able to access it once, instinctively, without meaning to. Ten years ago, when Drusk was under duress at Hardrock, I did manage to blend into his Myst and appear close to him.

I'd be hard-pressed to tell exactly how. I was running, a sense of dread in the pit of my stomach telling me I needed to be elsewhere, or something terrible was going to happen. I entirely gave into that feeling, letting it consume me.

Right now, I'm managing my fear. Back then, I wasn't. I let it claim me.

I've changed in ten years. I may not have moved a single muscle, but my mind has grown, evolved, mostly because of my ability to think through things before I act. To talk myself out of irrational fear or panic.

For a moment, I need to revert to the old Vlari. The one who'd be crying, in pieces. The one who doesn't control anything at all.

My mother might be dead.

My father might be dead.

The few friends I have? Gone.

Drusk, my mate? Destroyed before he was even truly mine.

I let in fear and darkness, till I find it hard to breathe.

They need me. They need me. They need me now.

I feel the Myst caress my skin, wrap around me, and the next instant, I'm standing in the middle of the assembly hall Ciera converted into a throne room, my wet clothes soaking the white stone floor.

There's chaos all around me. The hall is packed. Mothers cry, hugging fae children, lords scream to the queen standing next to the throne, begging her to do something, anything. Attack, retreat, call for negotiations. At the windows, our archers launch volley after volley of arrows, and though each hits the mark, they barely make a dent in the pack of mortals attacking us.

Ciera stares in the distance, her green eyes cold. She's lost, powerless, and unable to deal with the pressure on her shoulders.

I barely pay her any attention, my eyes on one of the men