Night's End (5 page)

“Subtle, but enough to tell us that we are within their territory. Purple is the color of the shamans' magic. I warn you, they may bow to the Queen and King, but they are beyond all laws save a very few. They live within their own world. Do not anger them. While they would not harm you, their cooperation is vital for our continued existence in this realm. While your heartstone brought the Court back to life, the shamans make that life habitable.”

As he finished speaking, we came to the end of the tunnel. What waited beyond was impossible to see because a veil of energy stretched across the opening. Shimmering like the aurora, the rays streamed across the passage.

“Here we are, then.” Grieve turned to me. “This will be your first time meeting them, though trust me when I tell you, they have followed you since birth. Lainule and Wrath told me that they were instrumental in setting up the circumstances of both your and Rhiannon's conceptions. While the shamans are not like the Wilding Fae, I advise you, my love, do as you do with the Snow Hag. Think before you speak.”

“No jokes or snark, I take it?” I had a habit of mouthing off when I felt threatened, and it had fucked me over more than once. When I'd ascended to the throne, I had come to a swift realization that my days of free and easy speech were numbered. Everything coming out of my mouth would have to be thought out and planned in order to avoid rumor and to avoid stirring the waves. A mistake now could lead to far more than hurt feelings—one wrong word and I could start a war. End an alliance. The more power I'd gained, the more restrictions I found myself under. It was a sobering realization.

If this keeps up, in years to come, I'll be locked in an ivory tower.

Ulean whistled past.
But Cicely this is what it means to be the Queen. And yes, you will find your world narrows, even as it expands. The higher you climb, the less your life is your own. One day you'll look back, and all the days before you became Queen will seem like a dream. A distant memory.

That thought terrified the fuck out of me, but I let it be. I turned to Grieve. “What do we do? Do we just pass through?”

He nodded. “Yes. But Fearless, go first. Check, bring up the rear.”

And so Fearless moved to the front and passed through the veil. I watched him go as the energy crackled and snapped around him, sucking him in. A moment later, Grieve stepped through, motioning for me to follow. With a deep breath, I obeyed.

Stepping into the crackling waves was like plugging my finger into a light socket. Even though I closed my eyes as I entered the veil, forked lightning played across my eyelids, spearing my vision. My skin prickled as a web of sparks danced its way across my body; it felt like a hundred stinging gnats. As my teeth began to chatter from the buzzing in my head, I stumbled through to the other side and was out. Grieve and Fearless were waiting for me. Check followed shortly after. It took a moment for my vision and hearing to clear, and I felt jarred, like I'd had way too much caffeine.

I looked around. “Are we in a secondary Barrow?”

Grieve nodded. “Yes, though this is still technically part of the Eldburry Barrow system.”

The chamber resembled a cave more than anything else, with walls that glistened like frosted glass. I ran my hand over them only to find they were ice. The illumination from within the walls cast a dim light through the chamber, silhouetting our shadows against the walls as we crept along in silence.

The room was large, with benches carved from the ice floes and frozen tables, and everywhere there was the feeling of stasis—as if time stood still here, even more so than out in the regular Barrow. I looked around to see if there was anyone in sight, but there were only shadows against the walls. And then I realized the shades were moving on their own.

Grieve motioned for me to join him at a circular table in the center of the chamber. Fearless and Check followed, taking their posts by our side. I kept my mouth shut. I had no clue what to do, and I'd discovered it was generally best to remain silent until I knew what I was dealing with.

As we sat there, the temperature dropped even further, and though I was wearing my cloak, a shiver of fear ran through me when the shadows stepped off the walls. They began to take form, the inky blackness falling away like grains of sand as a man—short and dark, with long hair caught back in a cascade of braids adorned with beads and feathers—stepped into sight. He was wearing leather pants with a fur cloak and bare chest. But the cold didn't seem to faze him, and he strode to the chair between Grieve and me, and sat down.

I remained silent. There was a palpable energy in the room that threatened.
Do-Not-Fuck-With-This.
By his shimmering blue eyes and the crackle of his aura, I realized that this man was one of the shamans.

Grieve inclined his head. I followed suit.

Check and Fearless bowed, looking anything but sure of themselves. I began to realize just how much power the shamans wielded in the Barrow. I may be Queen, but they were in control when it came to the inner workings of the magic that sustained this place.

“Thorn, at your command.” The shaman turned to me. “I am the Speaker for our council. I am also the Elder. Instruct me.”

I stared at him, unsure of what to say. First, he understood me and I understood him. I wasn't used to that with the majority of my people. Second, I realized that he hadn't spoken aloud. I'd heard him like I heard Ulean, in my core.

Stammering, I tried to figure out what to say—and how to say it. Should I speak aloud? Should I try to project my thoughts to him, or speak into the slipstream? But as I struggled, once again a whisper-light touch ran through my thoughts. It was nothing like when Kaylin had intruded into my mind, which had felt very much like an invasion. This . . . This was cautious. A gentle hello, very respectful.

A moment later, Thorn spoke aloud. “I know what you fear. I know what we must do. We will begin with the King and your guards.” He stood and motioned for us to follow him.

Hesitantly, I obeyed. Grieve swung in stride next to me, with Check and Fearless behind us. I wondered if they could guess what was happening—and if they could, how they would feel. Would they hate me for what was about to happen to them? Or accept it as their duty? The shadows on the walls were standing at attention now, watching as we passed. Ulean followed at the rear.

I whispered to Grieve. “What would happen if Check or Fearless tried to run?”

Thorn turned and, without missing a beat, said, “The Watchers would come off the walls and rip them to pieces. As they would your King if he tried to avoid our summons.”

Grieve leaned close. “He searched your mind and saw your need. We must all be tested in order to assure your safety. Once the Queen—you—gave the order, the shamans are bound to destroy those who try to avoid your ruling.”

“They took my thoughts as an order?” I blinked.

“The Fae Queen's will is law, whether it be in word or action. Or thought. They heard your need and are responding. They live to serve you . . . and will die in your service.” He reached out and gently stroked my cheek as we followed the shaman. “As do I. And as I will.”

His touch was like fire, sparking off a flush of desire that raced through my body, setting off a deep, gnawing hunger. I pushed back my need. This wasn't the place, but when we were done, I needed to fuck him, to press skin against skin and feel him thrust deep, drive himself into me. While I'd always been sensual by nature, ever since I'd returned home, my sex drive had taken an exponential leap. Every step I took, every movement, every touch, seemed to trigger me off.

We veered into a side passage that forked to the right, and Thorn stopped in front of a door. He whispered something under his breath, and as the door opened, he ushered us through into a softly lit chamber. Here, a circle of chairs surrounded a raised bed. Well, it wasn't exactly a bed, but instead was a raised, padded bench covered with a fur cloak, reminding me of the place in which my heartstone had been created. Another row of chairs lined one wall.

He motioned for us to sit in the chairs against the wall as a group of men and women filed through a door on the opposite wall. They circled the bench and took their seats. Thorn motioned to Grieve.

While I had never seen this rite performed—for there was no doubt this was a full-fledged ritual—Grieve obviously had, for he silently stood and walked over to the bench, where he lay down. One of the women sitting in the circle rose to cover him with the fur blanket then took her seat again.

The shamans reached out and joined hands, creating a ring around Grieve. One of them began to hum, his voice low and resonant. The rest joined in, one by one, until they were weaving a rhythmic, sonorous tone that threatened to draw me deep, drag me under the waves. As I began to follow the thread of music, I found myself in a long tunnel. In the light that blinded me from up ahead, I could see the shamans standing, only they were once again the dark shadows they had been on the walls. They surrounded a brilliant indigo form, and I knew it was Grieve hiding beneath that glowing light.

The music began to swell into a tide, a wave that rolled far out in the ocean like the beginnings of a tsunami, biding its time before its inevitable march toward the land. It loomed over Grieve, rising up like a great shadow—roiling waves ready to crash down on him and drag him under. I could feel his fear. The wolf on my stomach whimpered, cowering down, as it watched the wraithlike ocean descend. And then, as our link tied us together, I began to feel his pain as the storm broke, ripping into his mind, tearing it to shreds with a whirlwind of questions, a flurry bombarding him as the shamans sought their answers.

He let out a long scream as they rammed into him, penetrating deeply, tossing aside every block, searching every hidden nook and cranny of his mind. They stripped away the covering to every recess protecting those private shadows we all have. I tried to break free, not wanting to intrude, not wanting to see something that I might never be able to forget.

But then, as I jockeyed for my footing, I found myself roughly shoved to one side. As our link was severed, I went reeling back into my body, slamming into myself so hard that I fell off my chair. Dazed, I allowed Check and Fearless to lift me up and help me back to my seat.

Grieve was convulsing. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he was foaming at the mouth. I struggled to go to him, but the guards held me down. He was in pain, in horrible, terrible pain, and I realized this was the most intimate of intrusions, forcing into his very essence. The shamans were raping his mind, ravaging him to shed light into every corner, uncover every secret nook.

Crying, I watched, helpless to stop them.

Check leaned over. “Your Highness, do not weep. Show no emotion. This must be done in order to ensure the safety of the Court. To ensure
your
safety. His Lordship understands this, and volunteered to do it because he cares for you. Do not fear. Do not cry. Don't make his sacrifice meaningless.”

Bleakly, I looked up at him. “You and Fearless will have to undergo the same ritual. Do you understand this now? There's a spy in our midst, and we have to find out who it is.” Perhaps I shouldn't have blurted it out, but I couldn't face watching anyone else get roughed up who might be innocent.

Check nodded. “And so will all who come into contact with you in any capacity. And, my Lady, while it hurts, we understand the nature and necessity for this pain. The good of the Court and the good of the realm come before our personal comfort. For your sake, and the safety of all, we willingly submit, so that we might avoid having to submit to a far more dangerous force.”

Fearless nodded, and then did something that surprised the hell out of me. He reached out and patted my hand. As if realizing he'd just made a gaffe, he pulled back, but his eyes still crinkled with kindness, and the feel of his cool skin on mine managed to calm me down.

I turned back to watch Grieve. He was shaking now, though the convulsions had calmed down. Even from the outskirts, I could still feel the racking pain that raced through his mind. Helpless, knowing this was one of those horrendous duties that I would have to face again and again, I forced myself to watch. As I did so, Ulean fluttered around me.

This is your life. This is your destiny. You must wrap up your feelings and fears and tuck them away in a box. During times like this, you must learn to observe and let be what must be. Grieve will survive. Your King will be all right. Will he remember the pain? Yes, as will everyone who undergoes this rite. But it will not harm them, unless they have dangerous secrets to hide. And then . . .

And then . . . and then if he
had
something to hide, a terrible choice loomed before me. If Grieve was my betrayer, he would die, and I would be forced to make the decree. The thought of having to condemn him to death sent me into a cold sweat. Even if he was the spy plotting against me, how could I offer him up for execution? How can you order the death of someone you love, even if they deserve it?

You will do what you must, because you are the Queen of Snow and Ice. This is what wearing the crown means, Cicely. You face terrible possibilities, and you must learn to stand in your decision without flinching. You will do what you need to, because you must. It is as simple as that.

Simple? No. But true? Yes.

I caught my breath, struggling to inhale. As the shamans continued to rip their way through Grieve's mind, I waited. Counting the seconds. Counting the hours. Time was mutable, and I lost track of how long the session went on. My emotions had become numb, and the tears stopped as time rolled past. But, just when it seemed it would never end, the energy spiraled up, away from Grieve, and vanished in a wisp of smoke.

Thorn turned to me. “He is loyal, heart and soul. He is not your spy and has not betrayed you. Nor is he likely to.”