Den of Blades and Briars: A dark fairy tale romance (The Broken Kingdoms Book 7)

“This won’t take much time,” Yarrow said once we entered a quaint dwelling dug in one of the knolls.

Inside reminded me of a small apothecary. Green and blue bottles filled with potions and herbs. Dried lavender and sage hung from rafters. And a table in the center with a mortar and pestle in front of a beeswax candle.

“Sit.” Yarrow held her belly as she sat in a chair lined in furs. “I am skilled with cantrips and old runes. Some do not consider it true glamour; I disagree.”

I believed cantrip and herb glamour to be real, weaker, but real. Still, there were poisonous herbs aplenty in the Court of Serpents. It was wiser to stroke the fragile feelings when I did not know what Yarrow had planned. “I am wholly impressed by the art of runes and herbs. It takes such deliberate measurements.”

“It does. Rites are intricate and powerful. This is simple enough, but the shield against you is about to drop. Are you ready?”

No. I wasn’t, but I nodded.

Yarrow dipped her long first finger into the mortar, painting the tips in a red dye. Next, she flipped my palms toward the rafters and painted a rune of knowledge on each one. She hummed under her breath as she worked, grinding herbs and blossoms, pouring in liquids and powders until a murky brown concoction filled the bowl.

Again, Yarrow dipped her fingertips into it, then dragged them over my face, down my eyes, forcing me to close them.

“May the Norns let you see.”

The room was cold, like a constant north wind blew. I used my fingertips to feel my way down a dark corridor. Under my touch the stone was damp and slimy, like moss on a river rock. Mutters bounced off the walls. Harsh, sharp, deadly.

I followed them, my heart racing. At the end of the corridor there was a flicker of a light. The voices grew louder. Around the bend, the corridor opened to a stone archway. The floor of the room was covered in straw and held a reek of sour sweat and piss. Bars were on the windows, and from outside it was clear the room was dug in the earth. The walls were made of mud and clay and rough wooden planks.

I touched the side of the arch and peered in.

My heart shot to my stomach. A man was tethered to a chair. His limbs were long and lean, a warrior’s build, and his dark hair fell in damp curls over his brow. Along the side of his neck was a fine line tattoo of a raven’s head. But I knew, somehow, I knew beneath his tunic one wing would be inked across one side of his chest, then around the back, the other wing would paint the shoulder.

He was bloodied and beaten, but his dark eyes were alive with the fire of hate.

The hair raised on my arms.

“You saw what he did,” a woman hissed. She came into view, golden hair loose over her shoulders. She was slender and dressed in a simple woolen gown. I couldn’t see her face as she kept her back toward me. “You saw what he did to our sister.”

“I saw.”

I drew in a sharp breath. A face I saw only in my memories stepped into view on the other side of the woman. Riot. His chestnut hair was pulled back, the sides of his head were shorn, and runes tattooed his scalp and neck. He’d always kept his beard trimmed, but it was unkempt on this night. It was speckled in blood.

My brother was tall, like Ari. His body had not been as broad, but he carried himself with a strength unmatched.

With the back of one hand, he struck the man across the face. When his prisoner leaned forward, Riot gripped his jaw. “You know I will destroy you, don’t you?”

The man laughed, his teeth bloody. “You may try, but my power is as great as yours now.”

Riot grinned. There was nothing kind in it. “I suppose we’ll see who fate favors in the end. But I will take back the power which does not belong to you.”

“Do this,” the prisoner snarled, “and you know what happens. I will hunt you. I will hunt all of you. You will never know which face I am wearing.”

I knew him. A shifter in a way, like the Skald said. A fae who could steal the likeness of others. Glamour he took too far, glamour he manipulated into something else, something dark.

Riot gripped the man’s bloody hair. “You may try, Davorin.”

I froze. Davorin.

Memories flooded my head like two armies on a battlefield. One held the good, the laughter, the moments where I was certain I’d fallen in love with my brother’s greatest friend. He’d been so handsome, so desirable. He knew battle strategy, he was loyal, his body was like stone. Courtiers hung across him like mantles, but from across the hall he always looked at me.

A smirk always tugged in the corner of his mouth. Like we shared a secret.

Then, on the other side, I remembered everything else. All the stains that sullied the good. His cruelty, his hands that stung my skin, his desire to break me as a test of my fealty. The way he took pleasure stripping me of all my dignity.

I’d given my heart to a monster.

“Anneli.” Riot faced the woman. “It’s written?”

The woman nodded. “His fate is sealed. You’ll be nothing but a scourge, Davorin. A shadow with no strength.”

“Until I am not, My Queen,” he said, laughing. “All things you do are temporary. I will take back what I am owed.”

“Then, I shall make sure it is hidden in a way you cannot understand.” Riot said nothing else before he rammed the point of a knife into Davorin’s chest.

The screams were chilling. They dug into my skin like a new layer of flesh I’d never shed. Light shone beneath my brother’s hand. Blood fountained from Davorin’s chest. The lines of the raven mark on his neck looked like silver starlight, until they snuffed out to bloody scars.

Davorin slumped over when Riot pulled back his knife and dropped something into his palm.

“You will die at dawn, brother,” Riot said, voice rough.

“Oh, I do not think this tale will go how you expect.” Davorin chuckled darkly, his chest soaked in blood, his neck, his lips. “As your curse over her dies, so too, will mine.”

I let out a soft gasp when his eyes locked on me in the shadows. As if the vision could see me straight on.

His lips moved, but the voice was in my head.

Little raven, I’ve waited for you to remember. Your knowledge is my strength. Every piece is, at last, in place. When the moment is right, we’ll meet again, my love.

I stumbled out of the chair when the vision faded. Yarrow was grinning with a bit of viciousness, tapping one of her rune chips on the table.

“Ah, the last tether has snapped at last,” Yarrow said.

“Tethers? Gods, what have you done!” I cried.

“Removed the last of the shadows keeping him weakened.” Yarrow leaned over her table, looking into the red dye. “There are still steps to take, but the path is set. It will unfold now.”

“You . . . you knew I had to know his name. My knowledge is his strength. Why would you do this!”

“To level the battlefield.” Yarrow selected a new vial from a basket. “It was always said when the blood heir returned for the heirloom, a battle would begin, but it would give the heir an advantage. What a dull thing. My glamour reads spells, my dear. I saw every intricate detail pertaining to your curse, your past, your shield. I knew how to even the score.”

“Why would you even the score when a monster is on the other side?”

“You think the foe a monster, but certainly not everyone did. This will make for a much more diverting game.”

“It isn’t a game!” I screamed at her. She only knew of Davorin, not his power, not what he was truly capable of. I did. I knew it all. He could be anyone, and if his strength had returned, if my brother’s banishment was faded, our world was at an end.

I had to get to Ari.

“Uh-uh.” Yarrow clutched my arm. I swung at her, ready to snap her fingers one by one, but she blew a cloud of dust in my face.

I coughed and choked, backing away.

“You will tell no one the truth of why I did this.” She smiled sweetly and took a linen cloth to wipe the dye from the runes on my face and palms. “Oh, come now. Don’t look so surly. If fate is in your favor, you have nothing to fear. If you truly wish to rise victorious, then you’ll do what the heirloom requires of you to take it. You’ll still have a slight advantage.”

“Should I bleeding thank you?”

“I would not mind it.”

I made plans to slaughter the woman. “He will destroy us.”

“Then I suggest you do your part and find your missing power, my dear.” Yarrow frowned when I clenched my fists. “I see you still do not see my side.”

“I’ll never see your side when it could destroy the isles.”

“So frustrating.” Yarrow sighed. “Very well, let us return, and we shall explain what is needed to get the other half while you pout.”

I fought the urge to kill her as we abandoned her spell caster cottage. Whether it was the powder she’d blown in my face, or if I was too frenzied to consider starting a war with the serpents, I did not reach for the knife in my boot.

I did keep a distance until we returned to the canopy. Ari and Hawthorne drank from horns, both watching the revel, saying a few words here and there. At the sound of our approach, Ari looked over his shoulder.

He shot to his feet and had his hands on me before I think he even realized it. “Are you all right?”

“No.” I clenched my jaw. I could not say the truth of why Yarrow had done this, but I planned to tell him she was no friend once we were alone. With each attempt my tongue felt as though a hundred pins jabbed the center. “But I . . . I will survive. We need to take what we came for, by any means.”

I took his hand, unashamed. Ari studied me, concern written on his expression, but he didn’t pull away. He squeezed my palm in his.

I faced Hawthorne who greeted his wife with a wet kiss that was more licking than anything.

“The heirloom. Hand it over.” My voice was stiff, sharp. I didn’t care.

Yarrow pinched her lips. “What poor manners.”

“You offend my wife,” Hawthorne said, threading her fingers with his.

“And this dallying offends me.”

Ari lifted his brows, a small grin hidden in the corner of his mouth. I took a bit of solace knowing I amused him.

Yarrow shot her gaze to her husband. “Hawthorne.”

She behaved like a child, and I had little patience for a woman who took and took and when she could not take, she hid behind the power of her man like she had no strength to draw her own sword.

Hawthorne took her bait the way a fish takes the line and straightened his back. “Ambassador—”

“I know what you will say,” Ari said, his tone firm, demanding. Like a damn king. “But I agree with Saga. We do not have time to dally. There are lives at stake.”

Lord Hawthorne enjoyed games as much as Yarrow, but he was also a leader. He knew whatever was spreading could risk his court. With a sigh, he slouched against the back of the chaise.

“I see your point. There is a task that was set for the heirloom. It cannot be given until the task is done. Are you willing?”

“We will do anything,” I said through my teeth.

Ari tightened his hold on my hand and nodded. “Agreed.”

The blood feather had been what Riot had carved out of Davorin’s chest. The power of the isles. I knew the Lord of War would decimate everything should he claim such power again. He needed me to take it for him. I had no doubt that was the moment Davorin meant, the moment I claimed my power, he’d return.

I’d need to do anything I could to make certain he died first. A thing I could not do without the bleeding feather. There was no other choice but to find where my brother hid it away.

No other choice but to reach it before a voice in the shadows.

“It was set in place that to receive the second half of the heirloom, the second heart must make a vow. One of everlasting honor, loyalty, and in my opinion, for added sweetness, love.”

“The second heart?” Ari shifted on his feet.

Feverish heat bloomed over my forehead. “I . . . I took the first piece, but on this journey there are two of us.”

“Ah.” Ari’s jaw pulsed, but he forced his clever smile. “Me. To whom shall I be vowing this loyalty?”

Hawthorne flicked his hand between us. “To the one who has come to claim it. Wonderfully simple since you are lovers. It should be no trouble.”

Ari cleared his throat. He looked at me. “All right. Saga, I vow to be honorable—”

“No, my dear Ambassador.” Hawthorne chuckled, propping his chin on his fist. “This is no trinket. It is an heirloom left for a blood heir.”

“Yes, everyone keeps talking about a blood heir, and I’ve yet to fully understand this when there are already many courts,” Ari muttered.

“It’s an heirloom for the power of the land,” I said, not ready to explain I was the blood heir of a fallen royal line. One shock at a time. “That’s all it means, and Gorm believes it might show us how to heal this.”

“That’s one way to think of it,” Hawthorne said. “But this power was used by thrones, by crowns. It was the greatest of fated gifts. To hold such an heirloom cannot be done by a half-hearted vow. One made like a spare thought. This was designed to be taken by the truest vow one can make. The vow of a lifetime.”

I couldn’t breathe. My head spun. Blood rushed too swiftly to every limb until my fingertips tingled.

Ari seemed as frozen as me. At long last he blinked. “Are you . . . are we speaking of marital vows?”

Hawthorne looked at us like we were both the most foolish of folk he’d seen. “Of course. The heirlooms are rings for a purpose.” With a glance at Yarrow, he kissed her palm. “There is no other vow as deep as two lovers joining their hearts for eternity.”

“There are many ways to vow,” I said. “Rites. We could vow loyalty through a blood rite.”

“It is not enough.”

“Not enough for you,” I snapped.

They were imbeciles. Devious imbeciles. Obsessed with love and passion, I had no doubt they would die before they let us free of here without doing as they asked.

“I did not set these rules, though I wholeheartedly agree with them. Rites can be broken,” Hawthorne went on. “To break a lover’s vow is the worst betrayal.”

“I do not see the issue,” Yarrow said. “If the lore is to be believed, the second piece would be received only after hearts were open to love.”

I recalled Gorm’s odd question about the awakening and my willingness to love again.

I hadn’t anticipated it would end up in me taking vows.

Yarrow smiled at me. “We will perform a vow ceremony for you. You know how important this is, don’t you my dear?”

Blood drained from my face.

“You are too kind, Lady Yarrow,” Ari said, a bit of a strain in his own voice, “but I would not dream of asking such a thing of you.”

“Nonsense,” said Yarrow. “It will give us an excuse for a revel at the morrow’s sunset. I shall make it so grand, I assure you.”

Ari chuckled nervously. “It sounds wonderful, but—”

“If you are determined to continue your journey, this is the stipulation,” Yarrow said. The woman finished with such a hiss, I half expected her to turn into a serpent right then. “We are not here to upset the fates.”

A growl tightened in my throat. Yarrow had no qualms tempting fate by releasing whatever barrier Riot had placed between me and Davorin. Now, the Lord of War could find me no matter what form, no matter where I stood in the isles. But I could not find him. I could only guess what face he wore.

Hawthorne grinned when he looked at me. “What say you?”

Hawthorne had us in a trap, and somehow, he knew it. If we refused, we did not get the second match. But if we did—then I would be taking vows with Ari.