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Started reading
January 15, 2024
These masks”—he tapped on his—“are the result of a surge of it that occurred during a masquerade forty-nine years ago. Even now, we can’t remove them.”
“It’s not a disease—not a plague or illness. It’s focused solely on magic, on those dwelling in Prythian. Andras was across the wall that day because I sent him to search for a cure.”
Someone stood behind me—perhaps two of them. A faint sniff and a quiet giggle issued from far too close.
“We also dance with the spirits under the full moon and snatch human babes from their cradles to replace them with changelings—
Prythian was ruled by seven High Lords—perhaps this she was whoever governed this territory; if not a High Lord, then a High Lady.
It was a creature that should not be in these lands. We call it the Bogge. You cannot hunt it, and you cannot kill it. Even with your beloved ash arrows.”
“Because when you look at it—when you acknowledge it—that’s when it becomes real. That’s when it can kill you.”
“They are cared for—they are fed and comfortable.”
It began with a cauldron.
“The seven Courts of Prythian, each ruled by a High Lord, all of them deadly in their own way. They are not merely powerful—they are Power.” That was why Tamlin had been able to face the Bogge and live. High Lord.
“I am a member of no Court. I am older than the High Lords, older than Prythian, older than the bones of this world.”
“Across the violent western sea, there is another faerie kingdom called Hybern, ruled by a wicked, powerful king. Yes, a king,” he said when I raised a brow. “Not a High Lord—there, his territory is not divided into courts. There, he is law unto himself. Humans no longer exist in that realm—though his throne is made of their bones.”
The noise hadn’t finished echoing before the naga went flying off me, crashing into a tree so hard that the wood cracked. I made out the gleaming gold of his mask and hair and the long, deadly claws before Tamlin tore into the creature.
“Lucien is the youngest son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.”
moment, and I could almost feel the sorrow before he said, “Lucien fell in love with a faerie whom his father considered to be grossly inappropriate for someone of his bloodline.
“I claimed Lucien as my own—named him emissary,
“When the ships sank, the creditors circled him like wolves. They ripped him apart until there was nothing left of him but a broken name and a few gold pieces to purchase that cottage. I was eleven. My father … he just stopped trying after that.”
“Don’t feel bad for one moment about doing what brings you joy.”
“There you are. I’ve been looking for you,” said a deep, sensual male voice I’d never heard.
