Grave War Read online

  “Can you at least tell us where whatever catastrophic event you’re counting down to occurs?” I asked Kyran, nodding to his hourglass.

  He only gave me that irritating grin, not answering, and I all but growled under my breath. Then I stood so I could snag another piece of bacon from the platter that had ended up just a little out of reach, making me stretch for it. Nandin, who was sitting directly across from me, snatched my hand out of the air, his warm fingers hard where he gripped my hand.

  The sudden movement brought most of the people at the table to their feet, Falin’s daggers appearing in his hands, though he didn’t raise them. A truce was in place, but the dark look tugging at the Shadow King’s face as he stared at my hand was more than a little frightening. He rose, leaning over the table to peer more closely.

  “Where did you get this?” he demanded.

  “Uh. I think we covered the consort ring already.” I mean, it had been an extended conversation.

  Nandin shook his head in one sharp movement. “Not the ring. The key!” He flipped my hand over, making my charm bracelet glimmer as it twisted around my wrist where it showed just above my glove.

  “What k—” I cut off abruptly as my gaze landed on a small ornate key dangling beside the other charms from my bracelet. I blinked, frowning at the silver key. “I . . . I’ve never seen that before.” Where the hell had it come from? It was more or less the same size as my other charms, but how had it gotten there? And when?

  Without releasing my arm, Nandin lifted his other hand and poked at the small silver key. His finger passed right through it, as if it wasn’t there. I just stared.

  “Did your father give it to you?” he asked, his dark gaze pinning me to the spot.

  “No—or at least, I don’t think so?” But he had grabbed my wrist when he collapsed. It was possible, but . . . I frowned and reached for the odd key. Where Nandin’s finger had passed through it, the silver metal was solid to me, warmed by my skin, and seemed to buzz lightly with magic.

  My frown deepened, and I closed my eyes, trying to suss out as much as I could with my ability to sense magic. The key faintly hummed with the magic, so light I wasn’t surprised I hadn’t noticed its addition to my charm bracelet. It didn’t feel spelled like a charm, though, more like the small shape clasped between my fingers was magic, the signature both familiar and strange all wrapped up in one. It reminded me of Faerie. And yes, my father.

  I opened my eyes. How . . . ? It had to have been when he grabbed me. Unless, maybe Faerie had put it on my bracelet? The same way Faerie had magicked the consort ring on my finger?

  Everyone was staring at me, and Nandin still gripped my wrist. His brow furrowed hard as he studied my face.

  “You mentioned that Caine was attacked. I tried to contact him last night but was unable to. I think you need to tell us what happened.”

  Yeah, it was past time to elaborate on that story. I gave a small tug on my wrist, and the Shadow King released me. He didn’t sit, though, but continued looming over me.

  My mind flashed back to that moment in my father’s office, when he’d collapsed to the floor, blood seeping from a hole in his chest. I winced, the memory stabbing at me, twisting my stomach, making my heart pound. “I . . . I’m not sure he . . . I doubt you could contact him. I don’t think he survived . . .”

  A warm hand encircled mine, fingers squeezing mine gently, offering comfort. I tried to give Falin a smile, but it felt feeble. I did squeeze his hand back, making no attempt to break away from him. Taking a breath that seemed to tremble in my chest, I related the story of how my father had collapsed, bleeding, before vanishing, and how I’d searched but couldn’t find any trace of who or what had attacked him. A single tear, hot and treacherous, slipped down my cheek as I spoke, and I squeezed my eyes shut.

  “That’s not possible,” Lyell said from his spot at the table.

  I shot a glare in his direction, but my gaze stumbled over Brad on its way. Shit. I hadn’t even considered that he was in the room. And I’d just detailed our father’s death. Brad’s hood was up, his head seemingly hanging low, so I couldn’t see his expression.

  I bit my bottom lip, shaking my head. “I’m aware it’s impossible. I must have missed something. I just don’t know what or how.” I turned to Nandin. “Do you have any ideas?”

  The king shook his head, but he wasn’t looking at me. He was staring at my wrist again, where the small key hung like a charm from my bracelet.

  “Do you know what it opens? Does it open something? It feels like magic and Faerie.”

  Nandin collapsed back into his chair and made a sound that was almost a laugh, except it was dark, and a little scary.

  “Finally,” Kyran said, removing his feet from the table and standing. Then he began shoveling food in his mouth like his plate would be ripped away at any moment and he was in a rush to eat as much food as possible.

  I ripped my gaze from Nandin long enough to frown at the strange nightmare kingling. Then I looked from Falin to Dugan. They both looked as confused as I felt.

  After a moment, Nandin nodded, the movement hard and definite. “Yes. I know what it opens. We need to get moving.”

  “Sire?” Dugan asked at the same time Falin said, “Where?”

  The Shadow King didn’t answer immediately, and Falin turned to me. “Wait. How is your father involved? He’s human.”

  I cringed. “He’s not. I don’t know how he was living in winter territory, but he is definitely fae.”

  Nandin, already stepping away from the table, glanced back over his shoulder at me. “We need to hurry. Girl, I hope you can actually use that key.” He let his gaze travel over everyone gathered at the table. “Change of plans. We’re headed to the high court. It’s time to wake a sleeping king.”

  Chapter 30

  The high court.

  I scrambled after the Shadow King, Falin to one side, Dugan at my other. I could hear the others behind me as we reached the doorway to the hall. How long had I been trying to reach the high court? Falin had no idea how to even contact the High King, but my father had apparently slipped me a key to the damn court?

  “Is that where it happens—whatever it is—the high court?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder at Kyran. “Or do we just go wake the High King and he becomes a major player in whatever you’re counting down to?”

  The nightmare kingling only grinned, his steps jaunty as we hurried through the icy halls.

  “Don’t waste your breath,” Dugan told me, throwing a dark look at Kyran. “He’s not going to answer, and if he does, it will only be with riddles.”

  “You two don’t like each other much,” I said, starting to breathe hard from the pace Nandin was setting. We weren’t running, but I was pretty sure we could classify the speed as a jog. I couldn’t help but notice that neither Dugan nor Falin was breathing any harder, but I could hear Rianna panting not far behind me. Brad, with his child-length legs, was running.

  Dugan considered me a moment and then shrugged. “There are only twenty years between our ages. In Faerie, with our long lives and low birth rates, that means Kyran and I pretty much grew up together, the only children in the court at the time. We spent most of our youth as contemporaries. And as rivals. But Kyran never took after his father much.”

  There was a lot of significance in that last sentence. I glanced from Dugan to the Shadow King, noting their similar armor and remembering their near-identical fighting style. Dugan was prince of the shadow court. Not an inherited title. One given to him because he’d earned it, and the king trusted him to take the court one day, planned to hand it to him.

  “And you are like a surrogate son to Nandin.” I whispered the words, not wanting them to carry.

  Dugan nodded, his expression giving away nothing. Then he turned and studied my face for a moment. “If we are being personal, may I offer some friendly
advice?”

  I cocked a questioning eyebrow but nodded at Dugan.

  “I know that you care deeply for your king,” he said. Beside me I sensed Falin tense, and I knew he was listening very closely to this conversation. “You may even believe you love him.”

  I just blinked at Dugan, hoping he’d say whatever it was he wanted to say before this got weirder and more awkward.

  “If you have not accepted the consort title yet, then I suggest a careful contract. One with defined limits and ways out. The summer royals also once loved each other. You see how that turned out for them.”

  He didn’t wait for me to respond, but with his advice imparted, he gave me a small bow and then increased his pace until he caught up with Nandin. I blinked at his retreating back. I knew what he was getting at. The King and Queen of Summer appeared to hate each other and it had divided their court. I paused, my steps faltering until Falin reached back and took my hand, urging me on again.

  “We can cross that bridge when we get to it,” he whispered, though he was glaring at Dugan’s back.

  I nodded, because he was right. There was no point talking about it now, not while we had so many more important things to focus on. And yet, now that Dugan had said it, I found myself thinking about it.

  Either my slower pace or Dugan’s absence gave Kyran an opportunity to catch up, his long jaunty steps bringing him to the spot at my side that the prince had vacated.

  “He’s a jerk, you know,” he said, nodding to Dugan.

  “It was logical advice.” I wasn’t sure why I was defending him, but I couldn’t deny the logic behind his words.

  “Since when are emotions logical?”

  I frowned at Kyran, which did nothing to dim his seemingly unwavering grin. Or was it a gloat? I glanced at the hourglass. The sand seemed to be falling faster now, as if the quicker we moved, the more we hurried on the event it foretold.

  Kyran just continued to grin, a bounce in each step. “What an epic tale we’re weaving—if enough of Faerie survives to ever tell it. A quest to save all we know. Kings, outcasts, changelings, a planeweaver. A planebender.” He glanced around, his gaze moving over Lyell and Maeve. “Those other fae too,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Oh, and a cursed barghest.”

  I glanced at Desmond. “Cursed?”

  “You didn’t know?” Kyran made a hmming sound under his breath, though it sounded more amused than inquiring. “I’m not so sanguine about bringing a barghest on this quest. You do know they are omens of death, right?”

  I wanted to ask him more—not about the omen of death, but about the curse, because I was fairly certain Rianna was in love with Desmond based on the one time I’d seen them together when he was in his human form. That had been during a revelry, when rules of Faerie tended to be friendlier: taboos lifted, grudges temporarily forgotten, and maybe, curses broken. I’d often wondered why he always remained in his doglike form. Maybe this was the answer.

  There was no time to ask, though. We stepped through the winter doors that led to the clearing between courts, and Nandin finally stopped, turning to face me.

  “Time to use that key, Alexis,” he said, beckoning me forward to the very center of the circle between the doors.

  I frowned but walked up to him, glad of the very solid feel of Falin’s hand clasped in mine. With my free hand, I unclipped the key from my bracelet. I stopped when I reached the middle of the clearing, turning a tight circle as I looked around. I’d been in this small grove several times before, and I’d never seen the door to the high court—I’d even asked after it the first time I came here and had been told there was no such door. Now I looked around, once again seeing the doors to the seasonal courts as they transitioned through the year in an unending loop. Between them, light filtered through the trees. A lot of light. Only one single path of shadow remained. That was a bad sign.

  I saw no other doors. Certainly no secret door I’d missed on any other visit.

  “Where is the door to the high court?” I asked, glancing at the Shadow King.

  He grimaced, turning a full circle, and then frowned at the packed ground under his feet. “Here, I would think. The seasonal courts are the outer wheel of Faerie. Light and shadow the spokes. And the high court is the center, the hub from where the rest of us rotate. So here, in the center, seems like the right place.”

  “You’ve never been to the high court either, have you?”

  He gave a small, derisive laugh. “Few have. But unlike most anyone else here, I have spoken to the High King and his representatives. Your father is one of his emissaries. Did he tell you how to open the door? Give you any instructions?”

  Emissary of the High King? That might explain a few things. Unfortunately, he hadn’t even told me he’d given me a key, let alone how to use it. Though . . . he had mentioned something was key, hadn’t he? What had he said? I closed my eyes, trying to remember his exact words. My heartbeat sped up as I mentally stepped back into those moments, again seeing my father bleeding from an unseen attack.

  “Blood.”

  “What?” Falin asked, frowning at me.

  “He said that blood was the key. His blood.” Shit, how was that supposed to help? Though, I did have some of his blood. The soiled gloves. They were probably still in my purse . . . which was in Falin’s bedroom or maybe library. I hadn’t seen it since I fell asleep last night. Damn it. I glanced at the hourglass on Kyran’s staff, feeling time was literally running out and now we’d have to backtrack.

  My whirling thoughts must have been apparent because Nandin cleared his throat and said, “To state the obvious, his blood runs in your veins.”

  Oh. Right.

  Brad stepped forward. “Then I could open the door?” His hood had fallen at some point during our brisk walk and his young face was flushed from exertion, but his eyes shone as he spoke, his excitement evident.

  Nandin looked away from him and Dugan seemed to find something suddenly fascinating with the ridge of his knuckles. It was Kyran who spoke up with his blithe tone.

  “You share blood with your sister, but she blooded true and you’re a changeling. You might be able to use the door. But I doubt you could open it.”

  Brad deflated, his features falling as his gaze dropped to the ground. I glared at Kyran, but he only shrugged and cut a meaningful glance at the hourglass.

  Time was short, I knew that. Still, he didn’t have to be cruel.

  I placed a hand on my brother’s shoulder. I remembered him being so tall when I was a kid, but he was far shorter than me now. It was still so weird to have found him. His lips pressed into a thin line before he shrugged off my hand and moved to stand beside the Shadow King.

  That stung. Brad and I had always been close, but a lot of time had passed. More for him than me, apparently, even though he looked so much younger. I didn’t have time to sort that out. Later, though, definitely.

  If there was a later.

  I grabbed my dagger and peeled off my gloves. Then I pressed the point of the dagger into the tip of my finger. A small drop of blood welled, and I rubbed it onto the key, just like I would if personalizing a spell. The whisper of magic ringing through the key increased in volume, and my blood swirled over the surface. Then the small smear of red sank into the odd metal.

  I looked around. Nothing in the clearing had changed.

  “He didn’t give you any more instruction than ‘blood’?” Dugan asked.

  I frowned at the key, shaking my head. “He kind of had a gaping chest wound at the time. There wasn’t a lot of opportunity for instruction before he vanished.”

  I wouldn’t have guessed the group around me could frown any harder, but they proved me wrong. No one said anything—what could be said? I returned my attention to the key, wiping another drop of blood onto the strange metal. Again it sank into the key’s surface. The magical
whisper pressing against my skin again increased, but nothing in the clearing changed. My blood clearly had an effect on the key, but not enough. I could feel something inside the key waiting, but the few drops of blood I’d given it hadn’t roused the magic.

  “Maybe it just needs more blood.” I hated blood magic.

  Repositioning the dagger, I moved it over my palm, already wincing even though I hadn’t made the slice yet. Falin’s hand closed around my wrist, pulling the dagger edge farther from my skin.

  “Let me do this. I can provide the needed blood.”

  “You use twin blades when fighting. I don’t think you should slice up your palm.”

  We stared at each other, neither backing down, my wrist—and the dagger—caught in the iron vise of his grip. Kyran cleared his throat, stepping forward.

  “I do believe our planeweaver is the only one who can open this door,” he said, nodding to me, and for once there was no sarcasm or mocking notes to the movement. “After all, she is the one descended from the high court. Now, we should be quick about it. Time is slipping away.”

  He shot another meaningful glance at his hourglass, and my own gaze followed. At least two-thirds of the sand had fallen into the lower globe now, the sand seemingly falling at an ever-increasing rate.

  “How much time is left?” I asked, trying to judge how long it would take for the last third of sand to fall, assuming, of course, it didn’t change speed again.

  Kyran shrugged. “I’d suggest hurrying.”

  I met Falin’s gaze. He held my wrist locked in place for one more moment, and then with a frown he released me. He didn’t step back, but stayed close. I expected his hovering to annoy me, but I realized, with more than a little surprise, that it didn’t. I liked having him nearby and knowing he cared.

  I dragged the blade across my palm, opening a decent-sized gash. Blood immediately welled in the long cut, and I closed my fist around the key, pressing the blood into the metallic surface, letting the key drink as much as the magic desired.