The closer I get to the palace, the harder it is to be back here. If these people knew it was me walking among them, how would they react? I don’t want to find out, I just want to get inside the palace walls. Better the devil you know and all that.
At last, the enormous palace is towering over us. Seeing my former home again after all this time stirs up mixed emotions. Memories of growing up here with Dev and spending time with my father comingle with the memories of feeling trapped by my mother and losing control of my magic.
As we approach the front gates, the imposing guards step into our path, their armor and helmets forged from Ember, as well as the longswords they draw from their hips and point in our direction.
“Come no farther! You have no business here,” the one on the left says in Faerish.
Responding in the old language, I say, “We need an audience with Queen Aine, it’s urgent.”
The guard scoffs. “The One True Queen doesn’t take audiences, everyone knows that.”
“She’ll take one with me.”
Both guards share a glance and chuff in amusement. Then the second one narrows his eyes at me. “And what makes you so special?”
I step forward and slip my royal presence on like a familiar old coat, then I drop my glamour. “Because I’m her daughter.”
THIRTY-FOURFINNIAN
I couldn’t understand a word being said in Faerish between Taryn and the guards, but once she revealed who she was, those two bent over so far they were nearly kissing their own assholes. I know she isn’t big on flaunting her title as Princess, but damn did she look hot doing it.
But that was hours ago. Now she’s agitated and pacing in front of the dais like a lioness prowling her cage.
Aine hasn’t deigned to meet with us yet, despite Taryn sending messages with multiple servants that we bring news of imminent danger to her crown and the realm. It’s a power move, making us wait. We all know it. But it doesn’t make the waiting any easier, especially for Taryn who’s dealing with a whole host of emotions being back here. We’ve been giving her space, choosing to sit on the chairs along one of the walls while we wait.
The interior of the palace is as impressive as the outside. The floor of the throne room is made of Ember, shimmering under the glow of floating chandeliers dripping with crystals that feature a tiny flame flickering in the center of each gem.
Vibrant tapestries decorate the walls, from the palest lilac to the deepest plum and every shade in between, all woven with golden threads depicting fiery landscapes and stories of the gods.
On the firestone dais, is the most striking decor in the room. An Ember throne, imposing in size and embellished with polished stones the colors of amethysts and sapphires of the mortal realm, and a plush violet cushion.
When Taryn saw it, she froze and swallowed hard. A wave of sadness hit her so hard I could practically feel it as my own. Then she’d whispered, “There used to be four.”
That was the only time she let the storm of emotions raging inside her show. Since then she’s been composed and all-business. Also all-pissed once we reached the second hour mark, and I don’t blame her. My natural instinct is to try and fix the problem, but this isn’t my court or my mother, so I’m deferring to Taryn.
A sound comes from the back of the room. The four of us shoot to our feet and step in front of a giant pillar blocking our view. Taryn joins us just as the ornate double doors swing open on their own, revealing the One True Queen of Faerie, Aine Emory.
Her beauty is ethereal with dark brown skin that appears to almost glow with an inner radiance and ebony corkscrew curls that frame her elegant face. She wears an Ember crown with the points shaped like flames. Her strapless gown matches her lavender eyes perfectly, the bodice a flawless fit with the bottom of the full skirt glowing in pulses like burning embers in a dying fire.
Still unused to seeing them on everyone here, I’m mesmerized by the sight of her wings. They appear larger than others, possibly a sign of her position among her people. As she glides down the center of the chamber, streams of light in deep greens and purples trail behind her before dissipating.
Seeing her now, I realize why Taryn needed to glamour herself as we neared Ildathach. Taryn’s skin tone is lighter—a mix of her mother’s darker complexion and her father’s fair coloring—but other than that, she could be the queen’s own doppelganger. She’d be easily recognizable, and news of the princess’s return would’ve spread rapidly.
As Aine passes us and climbs the steps of the firestone dais, we fall into a line facing the throne. At the last second, Taryn whispers, “Remember what I said. Let me do the talking, okay?”
I nod, the twins answer with their customary “copy that” but Dmitri doesn’t acknowledge his sister said anything. “Dmitri,” she hisses in warning, but he merely arches a brow in response. The vampire is obviously not willing to agree to anything he might not want to uphold, but it’s too late for them to quibble about it now.
Aine lowers herself onto her throne. Her poise is one of elegance and grace that contradicts the icy barrier she keeps up that hides her emotions, if she indeed has any. As her gaze flicks over her estranged daughter with a cool detachment, I’m not sure she does. There’s no warmth in her eyes at all. She barely even acknowledges Taryn’s presence before regarding the rest of us, and the obvious snub has my blood pressure rising.
Finally, she addresses her own flesh and blood. “Iníon,” Aine says as stiffly as her posture.
I recognize that word as daughter from what Garyth called Taryn. She meets her mother’s frigid look with one of her own, replying with a steely, “Máthair.” Not hard to guess what that means.
Aine’s brows raise on her forehead, appraising Taryn again as though reevaluating her initial impression of her prodigal daughter. She says something in Faerish, and I suddenly wish I thought to request a translator.
As though reading my mind, Taryn responds in English. “Before we start, I’d like to request we speak in the human language the Darks were forced to adopt after their exile. As they’ve had no use for the old language in the mortal realm, it’s disrespectful to speak it while in their presence.”
Aine opens her mouth, but Taryn cuts her off. “And, no, they are not leaving. They stay with me.”
Clearly unhappy her daughter predicted her solution, Aine sighs. “As you wish,” she says in English. “But I find it disrespectful that you brought exiled Darks here to begin with. And who is the other other in your little party?”
Dmitri steps forward, regarding the queen with a shrewd eye. “I am Dmitri Romanov, Lord of the Romanov Clan of Vampir. Taryn and I have been compatriots for more than four human centuries. She is my sister in every way that counts. Out of respect for your relation to her, I tell you this only once. I will eviscerate anyone who harms her. Even if that person is you.”
I step in line with him. “That goes double for me.”
“And us,” the Woulfes say, moving up.
Taryn huffs as she joins us. “What part of ‘let me talk’ did you guys not understand?”
“Enough,” Aine booms, her strong voice echoing in the large room. “Tell me of this supposed danger, and then you will all go back to your own realm where you belong.”
Her verbal barb hits her mark, slicing open the festering wound deep in my heart from being banned from my homeland. A lifetime of resentment bubbles to the surface, and I’m about to let her know what I really think of her, dungeons be damned, when my grandmother’s words flash in my mind.
The path to victory is not in combatting the darkness but in melding it with the brightest of flames. Only then will you be able to vanquish the oppressive light.
Translation: don’t make an enemy of the one ally we need.
Remembering that releases some of the steam in my head, so I bite my fucking tongue. Taryn looks over at me, her eyebrows rising to silently ask if I’m okay. I nod and tip my head toward her mother, signaling to go ahead and do what we came for.
