The Crown of Oaths and Curses (The Mortal Fates #1)

by J. Bree

Airlie did all of this herself during her first pregnancy, preparing for a baby she was so sure would live. Her fate had instilled a confidence in her that had defied all logic.

It makes sense to me now, why she chose to fall pregnant and the long months she spent ignoring everyone’s concerns as she built a nursery for her unborn baby.

Roan had gotten rid of everything during those first weeks of their mourning. Airlie couldn't bear to look at any of it, and so he took the clothes and blankets down to the orphanage, telling the women there to dispense them to anyone in need.

Two hundred years ago, the witch left her home. Through our mind connection, I’d felt her terror and aching sadness, though she never told me what happened, no matter how much I tried to get her to confide in me. Something had happened to her, and she’d fled on foot, walking for days with her brother while I searched the kingdom desperately for her.

She grew up in the forest of madness. It’s been called that for more than a millennium, far longer than I’ve been alive.

Any high fae who dared to cross the threshold of those trees would lose themselves there. If they made it out alive, a madness had taken root in their minds far more terrifying than the brief clutches tha...

The victims never recover. The only high fae to have walked into the trees and left again sound of mind, that I know of, is Roan. We were attacked by a horde of witches, and he took an arrow to the chest before being separated from the rest of us in the melee. I was sure he was dead, and after hours of searching for him, we found him ...

She doesn't relent, calm as ever. The unflinching way she stares at us all sends a ripple of irritation down my spine. She knew all along that her magic was strong enough to get past our defenses, and yet she played her game with us, to what end I still can’t guess.

The moment the door shuts behind them my cousin turns on me, his lip curling as he snarls, “So we're just going to let her wander around the castle as she pleases now?” My temper finally boils over at his pig-headed insolence. “She destroyed the iron door of her cell. There isn't much we

can do, short of cutting off her head and forsaking my fate all together.”

It strikes me that Airlie hasn’t told us his name yet, but until Roan gets here to see him, I won’t ask. Names are important to the high fae, a tie to family and the Fates, and to ask about it now would be a great insult to them both.

She’s clean and confidently prepared for the ride ahead of us. It was easier to think of her as a mindless, raving witch when she was filthy, but now I’m struck by the quiet beauty of her.

There’s no finery or fussing necessary to make her shine; if anything, those things would be a detraction. No matter how hard I fight against them, the Fates have wisely chosen me a mate who will make me question everything.

Make sure it’s known that to speak of Airlie, her son, or anything that has taken place today is to die.”

I was riding better than Pemba in less than a week, better than Hanede in a month, and Stone was a very smug instructor until I bested him as well.

I risked my fate to leave the dungeon and help the princess. They're all now very aware of the magic that lies in my veins—not the true extent of it but the potential—and Prince Soren could choose to delay our union until he’s satisfied I’m not a danger to his people, an impossible task to achieve.

The idea of missing the ceremony at the winter solstice and this entire debacle stretching out for another year or more makes my skin crawl, but I did it to get that baby out alive. I broke the curse so no more children would be lost.

Why would I leave him now to an unknown future and in the care of a race who ...

Only his obvious affection for his cousin and that baby keeps my mouth shut as we take the slow journey through the snow.

Tauron scoffs under his breath. “I knew you were lying. Anything to get out of the cell.” It's a struggle to hold my temper. I have to be careful not to give them any reason to believe I’m one of those raving witches they described, but I have long since let go of the little girl who listened blindly to those with authority around me, trusting what they said to be true simply because they were in power.

I sat in that cell because I chose to, not because I had to. I stayed there as a form of penance, one these people would never understand, not even with their own experiences of war.

I make note of dozens of plants that would be of great assistance not only to the princess but the people within the village. Their poor conditions hover in my mind, and I know exactly how delicate this meeting is going to be.

The damage done to the earth and the consequences of the war are a stark reality I can’t ignore.

Tauron mutters under his breath, “They're too primitive to speak the common tongue. It could take hours for a translator to arrive, and we don't have that long.” I glance at each of them, a frown on my face, before I sigh. I shouldn’t be surprised to find out that Prince Soren doesn’t speak the languages of his own kingdom, especially with the derision on their faces every time the word goblin passes their lips.

The princess and her son are in good health and could wait for however long this mess of a meeting takes, but I’m not patient enough to endure it. Speaking in the goblin tongue, I call out, “Prince Soren is here to see the Goblin King at his invitation.”

“You are not to speak on our behalf.” Prince Soren doesn't even stop to question my abilities or thank me, he just turns in his saddle to snarl at me.

I’ve never held this high-fae prince in lower regard than I do now, my opinion of him reaching the deepest pits of Elysium the moment those words slip from his mouth, uncaring of the hundreds of thousands lost to such actions across the ocean.

I turn to Prince Soren, but he ignores us both, confident his cousin can reel me into line as he watches the goblins move around at the top of the tower. A few of them disappear, but they don't come out of the door at the bottom of the tower.

He doesn't deserve my help and, as far as I'm concerned, he deserves every bit of the Goblin King's taunting. The derision in the princes’ tones when they’ve spoken of this male was enough to reveal to me their prejudices.

The Goblin King nods slowly before looking around at the lush land he stands on. “I don't think the earth dies everywhere, Prince, only where the high fae rule with arrogance. Your kind have forgotten much of what it means to be a caretaker of this kingdom.”

The censure in his voice is clear, no matter the language he uses. Even with the translator softening his words, there's no denying he’s appalled by them all. The Goblin King studies our group with a sneer on his lips, only this time his gaze catches on me.

His eyebrows rise slowly, incredulously, as he snaps, “A witch amongst the high fae. Have you brought her here as a threat to me?” Before the translator has the chance to relay the information, I bow deeply to the Goblin King, ignoring Tauron’...

“You're here with a high-fae guard to collect herbs from my lands? This is most unexpected. What is your name, witch, and what coven do you hail from?” A smile tugs at my lips, even as I try to smother it. He's the first high fae to ask me that since I returned, a show of respect and a good sign for this conversation. “I am Rookesbane Eveningstar, Mother of the Ravenswyrd Coven.”

His face slackens in shock. He takes a single step forward before he sees the ripple of unease among my group at his approach, that they don't understand what we're saying

and see his approach as a threat. Prince Soren is probably assuming I’m conspiring with the king, but before I can offer him any ...

“A Ravenswyrd witch? You're the Favored Child returned.” Unable to fight it, a grin spreads across my face. “You speak to the trees? I’m delighted to hear such a thing, Your Majesty! I hoped someone was still listening to their stories after my brother and I left for the Seelie Court. It's a rel...

She stopped translating our conversation to the group when she heard my coven’s name, the Goblin King’s shock making her cautious.

You can take as much of the thistle as you can carry, but only you. The high fae have found no favor with the goblins and will get nothing from me. Tell me, witch, are you being held against your will? Let me offer you sanctuary here among my people. Ravenswyrd witches are always welcome on goblin lands.”

I bow again deeply, ignoring Tauron’s furious muttering as I reply, “Thank you for such a generous offer, but I returned to the Southern Lands to follow my fate, and I must now stay with the high fae.” His brow furrows, his gaze tracing over my group once more. “Your fate demands you stay with them?”

“My fate is Prince Soren. He is my mate, given to me by the Fates themselves, and our union will end the war. I have no option but to stay with them.”

There’s nothing that we can do as the witch charms the Goblin King, speaking to him in the goblin tongue while the translator remains silent at his side. She continues to bow to him and smile, the picture of a gracious guest on his land. He doesn’t look away from her as she speaks confidently, never

slipping on the harsh and monosyllabic language. His eyes

hold more respect in them now than they ev...

He has offered such congratulations to the honorable Rookesbane, as well.

My skin crawls at the very idea, but it's clear that the Goblin King has taken a very specific liking to my Fates-cursed mate, his eyes sharp as they watch my reaction, and I nod sharply to her as though signing my own death contract.

The witch doesn't speak a word as we ride back through the living territory and past the fae flowers, an echo of the beauty our kingdom once held.

She doesn't attempt to harvest any of the other plants that catch her notice, her gaze tracing over them all, but when we finally approach the patch of milk thistle she spotted on the ride in, she pulls her horse up short and dismounts to begin picking bushels of it.

The sneer on his face has lifted, nothing but a calculating sort of curiosity left behind as he watches her work. She doesn't simply tear the plant out of the ground or break off the stems. Instead, she murmurs quietly under her breath in the old language, a reverent thanks to the Fates for providing exactly what Airlie and the baby need in such abundance, for leading her to it and giving her the skills to find it.

She prays to the Fates that the plant will do exactly as it needs to, that the baby will grow and prosper, that he’ll be safe and healthy and loved, and Airlie will flourish alongside him. I feel the magic in the air, the way that she wraps these healing words around the plants to preserve them as she takes a bountiful harvest with such care.

There’s a calm sort of confidence in her as she moves about the task, the exact sort of healer you’d...