The Wraith King (The Rise of Northgall, #1)

by Juliette Cross

The first day, she would not stop weeping, so he rocked her in his arms and let her grieve. The second day, he offered her water in his large cupped palm, and she drank it. On the third day, he offered her bread from his hand, and she ate it. “What is your name?” he asked her. “Mizrah,” she answered. Her name was a word in an ancient tongue that meant both misery and vengeance. Vix smiled. “It is a strong name for a strong spirit.” Mizrah stopped weeping. On the fourth day, and every day thereafter, she fell more deeply in love with Vix. He devoted his life to her, warming her dark soul. Together, they begat many children—the demons of fire, earth, shadow, and beast, spreading their magick into the world.

“One day, my love, Lumera will pay for her betrayal. Her people will not shine so bright. Her descendants will fall, and ours will rise. Then will enter your reign…the era of night.”

And so this story has been told to the dark fae children, to the generations of night, as they wait for their turn to rule the world.

where my wings had been cut from my body.

I lay still, mourning the loss of my most precious gifts—my fae power to heal and my beautiful wings. That seemed the purpose of those foul creatures—ripping magick from every light fae they found as punishment for merely existing. Hatred and a sick kind of satisfaction had reeked from their hollow eyes as they’d tortured me.

“You are the destiny. You are the dark lady.” Her dialect was perfect Issosian. “You are for him.”

dungeon beneath Näkt Mir.

My father, the Demon King of Northgall, held court a few stories above this wasteland of death and bones. His courtiers, the most appalling sycophants adorned in leather, lace, and malevolence danced to his every tune somewhere above me in his throne room of obsidian and glass. He kept me, his only son, as his prized prisoner in the deepest, darkest pit of his realm. No one cared. No one would come for me.

Ever since Father’s treasured oracle Vayla envisioned that I would one day usurp him and take his crown, I have been kept in this filthy, maddening hell. The only reason he let me live is because Vayla warned that if he killed me, or even gave the order, then he’d pay with his life. I wondered what he’d done to Vayla for her prophetic vision of his demise. He’d have not taken kindly to such news.

The warded bars blocked my magick, but I felt it sizzling under my skin, itching to be used, whispering through my blood. During the past fortnight, I’d felt a sudden quickening of powerful energy through my veins. The melodic refrain told me my time was almost here.

The two hulking bone-keepers were clad in leather tunics, their ears severed. Their tongues were as well. My father spoke to his guards through mind alone and kept them deaf and mute to any order but his own. They wouldn’t hear the anguish and despairing cries of their captives, only the demonic voice of their king.

“I was caught near Dragul Falls.” I stopped suddenly, scowling down at her. “What in all the hells were you doing so close to the palace?” Her violet eyes widened, but her gaze remained steady and calm. “I was looking for something.” “Something so important it was worth losing your life?” I snapped. “Yes,” she answered coolly. “Alone?” She dipped her chin in a stiff nod. I shook my head on a sigh. “Stupid girl.” She turned her face toward the path.

“Stop it, Baelynn! You’re hurting him!” The male fae held her back with both arms, his rage furiously aimed at me as a guard of at least twelve fae males uniformed in blue and gold armor appeared out of the shadows. A royal guard of Issos. “Hurting him?” The one called Baelynn shouted, now holding Una by the shoulders and inspecting her with a fearsome expression. He visibly flinched when he saw her wings were gone. “We must get you home, sister,” he hissed quietly. Sister? My mind reeled. She was the royal princess of Issos, Tiarrialuna, the only daughter of Connall Hartstone, High King of Lumeria. I knew this because it was drilled into me by my father to know our enemies and know them well. “Not before you help him,” she yelled. Tears streaked down her face as she tried to free herself from her brother’s grip. Tears for me? A strange charge rippled through my flesh as I knelt in the snow, pulling the arrows from my body, one by one. “He captured you, Una. What are you saying?” “He freed me, Baelynn. I would have died without him.”

One of them with dark blue wings and black hair stepped forward with a gold cloak and draped it over her shoulders. He gripped her shoulders and whispered softly, “You are safe now.” She nodded, as if she knew him well and welcomed his comfort. The small exchange tore a hole open inside of me, one that wanted to devour and maim and crush. My lips curled back, revealing my fangs, which the black-haired fae noticed.

For whatever reason, the god Vix gave me the strength to break my father’s wards and fulfill a prophecy he tried to prevent. Now more than ever, I knew my rightful path. A soft voice and fair eyes flickered across my mind. I blinked it away. Peering over my shoulder, I eyed the pinnacles of Näkt Mir jutting toward the winter sky, then I turned back toward the woods and walked on. Vayla was right. My path was resolute and sure—to take my father’s throne.

FIVE YEARS LATER

But I simply couldn’t remain holed up when news came that yet another light fae was in the throes of the Parviana Plague. My own father was in his sick bed and had not spoken for the past seven months.

For the thousandth time, I wished I had my healing magick so that I might help him. Or at least try.

“I’ll send someone from the palace to check on him as I can’t leave very often.” I stood, offering him what compassion and reassurance I could. “Hopefully, we’ll have a cure soon.” That old bitter reminder that I’d once been close to finding the cure stung me hard. I’d also nearly died for it.

The killer who’d just killed Aven’s father spoke in demon tongue, which I knew well. He wiped the bloodied flat of his blade on his hide trousers.

“Look at her,” he said, his voice a menacing rumble. “No other moon fae female with a face like that and wings the color of night exists in all the kingdoms.”

Min fluttered her wings and flew at him, going for his eyes with her nails. “No, Min, don’t!” I screamed. The killer turned and shoved his long blade straight through her stomach with frightening ease. My knees buckled and bile rose up my throat as he jerked his blade free, and my dearest friend crumpled to the floor. I didn’t make a sound as she stared up, mouth agape with shock, the light in her eyes fading.

He sneered in my face, his orange eyes feral and mean. “Best save the foreplay for your new master, sweetling.” “Let’s get moving, Erlik,” called one of the others. “True enough.” His fanged grin sent prickles along my skin. “King Xakiel is anxious to meet you.”

The Borderlands. I’d flown over them once before when I had wings that worked. When I’d foolishly flown into Northgall territory to try to find the cure for the plague to help my people.

“Will King Xakiel give her back when he’s done with her, you think?” “He plans to send pieces of her to her father, one at a time until Connall surrenders Lumeria,” said their leader. “We know our sire’s appetites. He’ll spoil her thoroughly for the marriage bed first. They may not want what’s left of her once they finally sign the accord.”

“No, my lady.” His voice was hard and cold, a merciless whip. “You’ll pay for starting this war. And before we send your pretty corpse back to your family in Issos, you’ll end it.”

“They went far into Lumeria, into Issos itself, to capture a prisoner.” My entire body went rigid. I knew before I asked, “Who did they go to capture?” “Princess Una, King Connall’s daughter.”

“She’s just a child,” I grated through my teeth. Hava frowned. “She is a woman grown.” When I’d taken her from the dungeon of Näkt Mir, she’d been only a slip of a female youth.

“No,” I said so coolly while my body burned, my magick smoldering hotter. “Tomorrow morning, we’re going into Näkt Mir and take her first. Then we will use her to gain the allegiance of both Northgall and Lumeria.” All eyes swiveled to me in silence. “It’s time for me to take my throne.”

“Princess Una,” he said with gravity. “Come with us.” I wondered briefly if this would be the march to my death, my pulse thumping in my throat. As I promised myself, I held my head high and walked straight-backed through the open door. There were three others, all hooded, waiting to escort me. One of them stepped beside me on my left—taller than the others—but he didn’t look at me or say a word.

All dark fae were descended of the demon god Vix and appeared in various likenesses of him.

A jolt of magick hummed from my left. I glanced at the guard, but his head remained bowed in deference to his approaching king.

His ice-blue eyes with pupils slit like a serpent’s raked me with calculating interest. I wondered why his were different than most wraith fae, recalling that I’d seen similar eyes before.

I lifted my gaze, voice quivering as I replied, “I will never kneel at your feet. You are not my king.”

The guard removed his hood, then raised his long, curved sword gripped in both hands. I gasped, recognizing his face at once. He stepped between me and the king who finally found his voice. “Gollaya.” “Hello, Father.” His deep timbre was steady and sure and deadly. “Vayla was right.” Then he swung his sword with swift precision and force, slicing through the throat of King Xakiel. Blue blood sprayed, and courtiers screamed, but I stood there in shock, watching the king’s head topple to the stone floor.

My bloody blade in one hand, I raised the other toward my father’s second, Erlik, the one who I hated the most, who had personally thrown me into my cell below Näkt Mir years ago. He was swinging his sword down on one of my allies. “Etheline,” I whispered. Fire surged from my palm like an arrow of flame across the room, hitting Erlik before his sword hit his target. He instantly burst into flame then fell to the floor in a pile of blackened bones and ash.

“I am Gollaya Verbane, son of Xakiel, rightful heir to the throne of Northgall,” I proclaimed in a clear voice. “Pledge fealty now and you will be spared.”

Finally, I looked at her. By the gods, she was radiant. A woman grown, Hava had said. That didn’t proclaim nearly enough about the light fae female standing tall and proud before me, surrounded by her enemies.

Gods, I wasn’t prepared for how fucking beautiful she’d become. Her wide violet eyes searched mine, her throat working nervously as she swallowed. Before she could open her mouth and say a word, I bent, scooped her over my shoulder, and strode for the door.

But when I invaded Issos, I wouldn’t use an army of wights. Nor would I use my power over flame. I had another plan altogether.

I stared across the pit at the cell where I’d been kept, where my father had put me and warded the bars to keep me in. Then I smiled at the bent bars that I’d forced open when my magick had returned to me in an avalanche when I’d seen a small moon fae girl being tossed into the pit. She’d been the catalyst for my magick to surge and return to me. And her capture again had been the spark to set my plan in motion to finally kill my father. Refusing to contemplate that for long, I continued down another corridor leading off of the pit.

“Keffa?” My voice was hoarse with emotion as I wondered if the thin, pale gray fae peering up at me with one orange eye could possibly be my former mentor and dearest friend from so long ago.

The wraith fae with two horns, his head shaved on the sides with a long, braided tail down his back stepped inside. Pullo was his name.

Gollaya. A shiver trembled down my body. I’d never known that the young wraith fae who’d saved me from certain death in that dungeon had been the lost son of our enemy, King Xakiel. The Prince of Northgall had saved me from that dungeon.

My wings fluttered at my back at the memory. When they had grown back, I’d believed it a miracle of the gods. Lumera was shining her divine light upon me. But as they unfurled—at first the deepest purple giving way to black as they dried and stretched bigger—I knew I’d been cursed. Besides being the shade of the palace where I’d been tortured, they were useless. I could not fly.

Along one entire wall, a giant tapestry hung. It was filled with sprites and nymphs and bursting with flora, all in lovely shades of green, gray, and blue. There was a female skald fae—one of the sea fae who lived in the luxurious blue waters of Morodon—sunbathing nude on a rock. Her beautiful green hair hung over her porcelain skin and down the rock into the water. Her webbed feet dangled in the transparent water, one of her webbed hands rested on her rounded belly, the other arm bent beneath her head. In the water, a male skald fae watched her, his entire body and half of his face hidden beneath the surface. Only his dark, expressive eyes and his blue hair curtaining sharp cheekbones could be seen. He worshipped her with that gaze. I thought it a strange tapestry for a dark fae bedchamber, though it was beyond lovely.

I still couldn’t reconcile that the young-looking fae who’d saved me from that dungeon was the lost heir of King Xakiel. And that he’d cut off his own father’s head. Bile rose up my throat with the memory of it. Not that I mourned the king. He’d been battling and killing my people for years now. And it was obvious he’d had foul plans for me. Perhaps, Gollaya would be more open to a treaty and an end to this war. I remembered the brightness of his eyes as he sliced through his father. It seemed more than revenge or wrath that lit his face. It was more like joy that had flickered across his expression.

When I asked the one called Pullo how long I’d be kept prisoner here, he seemed surprised I spoke their language. That was probably because I spoke it so well. When I’d returned home, I’d worked earnestly to learn and even practice it with one of our ambassadors who frequently had to travel to Northgall. Perhaps the gods knew all along that I’d be brought back here. But for how long this time?

She was tiny, by far the smallest dark fae I’d met. Her skin was dark gray, her two slender horns curled prettily back over fine black hair that was cut short and close to her dainty head, little wisps hanging over her forehead. Her pointed ears stuck up rather long, out of proportion with her delicate features. She also had black leathery wings stretching tall from her back, but thin and elegant. Even petite, she had a fine hourglass figure with a tiny waist. She was dressed in black form-fitting trousers with a red overskirt and a black top that formed to her breasts and ribs, all with ornamental silver stitching. Her clothes appeared more like what a warrior might wear to a formal ceremony, the craftsmanship absolutely magnificent. But the most wondrous thing about her was her beautiful, wide red eyes with dark, long lashes and her bright smile with tiny fangs. She visibly vibrated with excitement. “Hello, Princess,” she said in demon tongue. “Can you understand me?” I nodded. “Pullo said you could speak our language. How wonderful, for I never learned high fae myself. I am Havallah. I have the great honor of being your lady’s maid here at Näkt Mir. You will have others to tend to you.”

“You may call me Hava, if you like. My friends call me Hava. I am so, so, so very happy to finally meet you.”