Thief of Dreams Page 5

  Fuck. The bridle!

  I swiftly lean forward to loop it over the creature's horn. It's barely tangled around the unicorn's muzzle, but the second the virgin's hair touches its flesh, it calms.

  "That's it, big fellow." I can hear other horses crashing through the trees now. We're about to have company, and a new thought occurs.

  Why not have some fun?

  There's only one way into this trap, after all.

  I wheel the unicorn around, and to my delight, Princess Ismena is the first to come crashing through the glade.

  She screams as we charge, forced to blunder sideways. I catch a glimpse of her face as I bow mockingly. Then we're past, and this time, it's my turn to lead the hunt.

  7

  "And here I thought you were uninterested in winning my company," Prince Keir murmurs with the faintest of smiles as he shows me to my seat.

  We're at the top of the tallest tower in the castle, overlooking the sea far below.

  Someone's set up a small table with a pair of chairs, and candles weep fat globules of wax on every surface. If I close my eyes and focus, I can hear the crashing of the surf.

  "I am... uncertain, as I said. But I cannot abide losing, either."

  Especially not to spoiled princesses.

  "Ah." He eases my chair in as I sit. "A conundrum indeed. Now you're trapped with me for the next few hours."

  "At least the view is nice." There's a moment of silence, and my gaze shoots to his, recognizing the faint smirk there. "I meant—"

  "I know." He leans back in the chair, one wrist resting on his propped-up knee. "No woman can resist me."

  I roll my eyes. "This one can."

  "You do wonders for my ego."

  "I'm sure you're more than capable of stroking it yourself."

  Oh, gods. My mouth just won't stop. He laughs as I bury my face in my hands. "Are we still talking about my ego?"

  "Yes."

  "Forgive me for noticing, but for a court-raised lady, you're shockingly inept at flirtation and social niceties."

  "Greenslieves is somewhat lacking in courtiers," I say weakly. And the lands of the Forbidden even more so. "To further show my ineptness, may I ask you a question?"

  The prince pops the cork on the bottle of elderberry wine and gives me a magnanimous nod. "You may. Whether I answer it or not is up to me."

  "Why now?" I demand, resting both elbows on the table as he fills my glass. "You've spent three thousand years locked away in this Other World, only to suddenly decide to Summon a bride? I won't believe three thousand is your lucky number. And if you were merely interested in scratching an itch, I'm sure there's an abundance of nubile fae women in this world."

  "A costly answer. How about I trade you? A secret for a secret?"

  It could be dangerous.

  The fae cannot lie. While my wraithen half saves me from being held to the truth, if Keir is given any reason to suspect I'm not telling it, then the results could be deadly.

  "As long as you go first," I murmur, sipping the wine.

  "There's that issue of trust again."

  "Something we both share," I point out.

  He leans back in the chair, oozing grace. "I'm not searching for a bride. I'm searching for my mate."

  I nearly spit the wine across the table.

  The Great Goddess of the Cauldron gifted her fae children with both a promise—and a curse. For every fae, there's another soul out there, waiting to be joined to theirs. A truemate. Another half.

  Fae males are offered a glimpse of their future mate during their adult rites. A spelled object will show them a clue of their mate's identity if the Goddess of the Cauldron is kind enough. It may take a century—or dozens—to find their other half, but fae males are territorial and possessive, and they never stop looking.

  But if the other half of your soul dies, then you'll spend eternity wandering and feeling restless.

  As I hack and cough, I can't help noticing the amused smile he fails to hide. He's enjoying this lack of decorum—or perhaps, enjoying the fact he's shocked me.

  "Mother of Mercy," I mutter, burying my face in the napkin. "You're serious?"

  "I looked into the Cauldron many, many years ago, and while I wasn't shown her face, I was shown the constellations in the sky that would herald her appearance." He points to the comet on the horizon. "The time is nigh. I have waited thousands of years for this moment."

  "And now you need to work out which one of us it is."

  "I had my seneschal consult the seer. Certain bloodlines showed promise according to the astrological signs of their births."

  Thank the Goddess.

  My birth date won't be on that list.

  "Don't breathe a word of that to the others, or there'll be more blood in the hallways." To be wed to this dark lord offers a wealth of opportunities, but to realize you could be his mate? "Unless… unless someone has already started. You don't think the Wyrdwolf had anything to do with this?"

  His smile fades. "Let us talk of other things tonight. Let my guards deal with the nightmare."

  "In other words, don't worry my pretty little head?"

  "Is it pretty?" He savors his wine, his golden eyes watching me. "I hadn't noticed."

  "That's because it's up here," I reply, pointing to my face. "And you've been staring at other parts of me tonight."

  Keir's eyes light up. "One can hardly fail to notice. I thought I was supposed to stare?"

  I tug at my neckline with a growl. The gauzy lace is the color of seafoam and almost as insubstantial. I have to admit it stole my breath when Soraya hauled it out of the trunk, but the neckline dips between my breasts, meeting right at my sternum, where a knot of golden braid hugs my ribs. I've seen less skin at a fleshmongers. "It wasn't my idea, all right? This was what… the maids packed for me."

  "Your maids have exquisite taste."

  This isn't how the night's supposed to go. I was supposed to throw him off the scent after last night. Be rude, perhaps a little surly. But it's so easy to slip into a faintly flirtatious undertone with him.

  Perhaps that's because I'm not the only one who's showing more skin than expected.

  Keir has a liking for flowing robes that leave his chest and stomach bare. This one is midnight blue silk, and it highlights every golden inch of his skin. The fae are beautiful, and there's no dearth of exquisite males in the Alliance courts, but there's something unearthly about him that captures the eye—and my breath. Something a little dangerous.

  "And you?" he murmurs, as the servants bring forth a series of silver-domed platters. "You claim you're only here to fulfill your father's promise, and have no interest in being chosen unless you're certain of my heart. Unless... there's already a claim upon yours?"

  "No claim."

  "But you're still wary."

  "Would you believe it's you?" I reply as a half dozen plates are set on the tables between us. "Or is that simply impossible for a male of your… esteem?"

  "It's a pity," he replies. "Because you certainly entertain me. And no, I won't believe it's me. You've never met me before this Summons. You have no reason to dislike me."

  "Perhaps I simply don't enjoy having my chain jerked." There's some truth to the words. "Coming here wasn't my idea. The idea of debasing myself at your feet simply so you'll notice me leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Then there's the fact there are over twenty females here, baying for your attention, and you're certainly not discouraging it."

  "How else am I to find the right one?"

  "You were going to kiss me last night, weren't you? Before the screaming started. Tell me: How many of the other princesses are you planning to kiss?"

  "As many as it takes," he admits. "It's how a male knows."

  I stare past him at the stars. "I know the idea is irresistible, that there's someone out there who was made just for you. But how will your mate feel when she knows you've been flirting and kissing other women just to find her?"

  "You have a cur
ious view of fae nature."

  My cheeks flush. It's true. The fae are amorous, and share their affections with many. Sometimes at once. I've never met a prudish fae, or one who feels uncomfortable in their skin.

  Even in the Court of Shadows, debauchery is the name of the game. I've been witness to more orgies than I could have deemed possible.

  But something about the concept strikes me as wrong.

  "Perhaps Greenslieves is more backwater than I thought," I say softly, turning my attention to the food. "This looks lovely."

  "I thought that if you didn't enjoy the company, you'd at least enjoy dinner." He's watching me again, as if making a dozen silent assumptions.

  As I ladle a small amount of shellfish onto my plate and drizzle it with sauce, I cannot help thinking the opposite.

  The company itself is quite intriguing.

  And it cannot afford to be.

  "So?" Soraya demands as soon as I'm back in my chambers. "Have you learned anything from the prince?"

  "Yes." I slip out of my gown and tug on the nondescript black leathers I usually wear on a job. "I applied the thumbscrews and he told me exactly where the Dragon's Heart is. Easiest job I've ever been on."

  She stares at me flatly. "We're wasting time."

  "You may have noticed the legions of guards out and about today," I drawl, sliding half a dozen knives into various sheaths about my body. "If we knew where the Heart was, it might be a good opportunity to use the distraction to steal it. But we don't. Which means we both need to keep our heads low. I don't tell you how to assassinate someone. Don't tell me how to do my job. Father gave me the lead on this. I don't particularly want to have to tell him you bungled it through sheer impatience."

  She flops on the bed with a snarl. "We're so close. Don't you want your freedom?"

  Every damned day. "Of course I do."

  But he's only offered it to one of us.

  A nervous itch trickles down my spine. I wasn't overly bothered at having Soraya at my back, but the thought she might be here for her own purposes is a little concerning. Maybe I'll have to watch her a little more closely once we discover where the relic is. "How was your day? Find the treasury?"

  "It's that enormous building across the rose gardens. They've got crews of twelve guarding it. I pretended to flirt with one of the guards. Didn't even have to kill anyone."

  "That's a first."

  Her eyes flash fire. "I'm saving my knife for later. If anyone gets in my way, I'll make it nice and bloody."

  I don't say it, but I know my name is on that list.

  "Then let’s go examine the treasury," I murmur, turning toward the door. "Twelve guards? That doesn't seem like enough to guard something precious."

  "That's because you haven't seen them yet," she replies. "I didn't say they were fae."

  8

  Soraya's right.

  Twelve guards aren't enough for a treasury that houses one of your most valuable relics.

  Unless they're beastkin sentries.

  Half-animal, half-fae, I thought they were all exiled during the wars, but they're the actual living remnants of the Unseelie court. Some wear horns and goats legs, others have the head and teeth of a jungle cat set atop a muscular human torso, another looks like he wears the head of a bull.

  "Cauldron’s piss," I curse under my breath, as we scan the building. "Getting past is going to be a nightmare."

  They'll smell me for sure.

  "But you're the best for this job," Soraya protests mockingly. "I'm sure you won't bungle it."

  Sisters. You can never trust them to return various aspects of your wardrobe, but when it comes to repeating the words you threw in their face, their memories are impeccable.

  "I'm not going to bungle it." I squat in the shadows as I consider the task. I'm going to have to move swiftly, even as I Sift. And hope there's no more beastkin inside. "Wish me luck."

  "I'm sure you won't need it," she replies with an evil smile.

  Fine. I draw the half-mask that's slung around my neck up over my nose and mouth, and haul my cloak over my hair. "If I get caught, then I'm throwing you to the wolves."

  "Wouldn't expect anything else," she replies, though there's a hint of fondness there.

  And as I Sift, I almost catch the faintly whispered, "Good luck," that leaves her lips.

  The enormous columns that ring the treasury doors are full of shadows. I land with a blink, and then I'm reaching for the thin line of shadows beneath the main doors before the nearest guard can even turn his head. The hardest part about Sifting is that you can only travel as far as you can directly see.

  Inside.

  Blink. More columns, more guards, more shadows.

  Blink. Blink. Blink.

  I finally find a ledge to rest upon as I blur back into mortal form. Sifting can be tiring, and it's hard to see your surroundings when you're veiled in shadows. From up here, I get a bird's eye view of the treasury's inner chambers.

  The inside of the building is lit with softly glowing fey lanterns. I expected piles of riches, ancient treasures and artifacts, or perhaps a long line of vaults where all Prince Keir's precious little baubles are locked away.

  It's just a single enormous hall—which is fucking empty.

  What mockery is this? I nearly explode in frustration, but then something catches my eye.

  Set right in the middle of the room is an enormous mirror. I Sift across the floor, barely daring to alight upon it before I'm gone again. But no alarms ring through the building at the touch of my foot, no wards suddenly cascade down, trapping me....

  I try again.

  And one last time, just to test the security surrounding the object.

  Nothing.

  The light from the lanterns barely reaches the dark mirror. Its surface is a sheen of pure obsidian.

  A strange, possibly cursed object, locked away by itself in a heavily guarded building. Oh no, this isn't suspicious at all.

  It’s surrounded by a gilt-edged frame with ancient runes carved in it. I circle it curiously. Dark mirror.... Why does this sound familiar?

  There are spelled mirrors that can show you your heart's desire or your worst nightmare. Mirrors that can tell you how beautiful you are. Mirrors that can show you your enemy's most dangerous weakness.

  But which one is this?

  I study the runes. The symbol of aarwain means desire. But yaarwen suggests to beware.

  And ruh means to see.

  But to see what?

  "Show me the Dragon's Heart," I whisper hopefully. "Show me where it is."

  The mirror's opaque surface transforms, and suddenly I'm staring at an image of Prince Keir. He leans over a basin of water, his chest bare as he scrubs at the stubble on his jaw. No male should look like such utter perfection, and I can't help noticing the way the towel wrapped around his waist dips dangerously low.

  Stupid fucking mirror. I push away from it.

  But then the urge to look back is almost dangerously compelling. I'm not intending to do anything of the kind. I need to get out of here.

  But the next thing I know, I'm standing back in front of the mirror.

  "Show me my soul-trap."

  A faint silvery light appears, deep in the heart of the mirror. It slowly swims closer, that amorphous sliver of my soul trapped behind spelled crystal. My father wears it around his throat, but his features are a blur. I haven't asked to see him, only the soul-trap, so that's all it shows me.

  I have no way of knowing how long I stand there. I'm vaguely aware of the flickering of fey lanterns. Of the ache of my legs, locked into place.

  But all I can see is my truest desire.

  Sweat beads on my forehead as I struggle to break the mirror lock. I know what this is now. The mirror's the bait. A Dark Object spelled to trap anyone who glances into it, until the guards do their next rotation. It will show you anything you want to see. All you have to do is look into it.

  Just don't expect to escape it.

/>   Cauldron's piss.

  How am I going to get out of here when I can’t even look away?

  "Show me the Dragon's Heart," I repeat, my fingernails cutting into my palms.

  Once again, Prince Keir comes into view. He's slinking toward a wide, tiled bath that looks somewhat akin to the one off my chambers. Steam curls off the water, and he's lost the towel.

  Help. I do not need to know that.

  But something else captures my attention.

  The mirror blurs the edges of the view, thank the Goddess, or I'd be staring right at the Prince of Dreams's most valuable possession.

  Instead, the view is focused on his chest. Granted, it's a lovely chest, but the charm that lies against his sun-kissed skin winks in the light, and my breath catches. Maybe the mirror wasn't lying with that first image.

  Maybe it's not showing me Keir, after all?

  It's a primitive piece of jewelry, and I've seen him wearing it before. Carved in the shape of a claw, it's the length of my index finger and made of solid gold.

  Amongst all the marble and gems that exists in this court, it fades into insignificance.

  But where else does one hide a valuable relic?

  Right in plain sight.

  Slipping it off Keir's neck without him noticing its loss is significantly more difficult than breaking into a treasury. This is the cursed Prince of Dreams, after all. But now I know why there's been no hint of magical relics in his palace or in the treasury.

  Now I know where it is.

  I just need to break the mirror lock.

  Easier said than done.

  I know what the runes say now: Beware those who look into the glass, for your true desire will trap you.

  Somehow I need to break the chain.

  "Show me the creature who killed Lady Altrea."

  The mirror resists. It wants to offer me fortunes and futures. It wants to trap me with gold and gems and hints of Prince Keir's bare flesh.

  Don't I want to see my mother?

  Don't I want to see my fae relatives?

  It could show me.

  All I have to do is ask.

  The thoughts are not my own, and the second I even think about my mother, I see a face forming in the heart of the mirror's black depths. A face I cannot afford to see, because then I'll never be able to look away.