Several Days Earlier

  “You’re sure?” I asked.

  Sans took a minute to light his pipe before answering, taking several puffs and letting the vapors curl into the air. “More or less.”

  We weren’t in the inn, but I knew it was close. The old crossroads bore a rickety sign mostly concealed by creeper vines, the letters faded beyond recognition. They almost resembled arcane runes, if you looked at them just right.

  My jaw tightened. “Sans, I need you to be sure.”

  The necromancer threw me a withering look. “I can’t be sure about things like this, not unless I get a chance to study the subject, put practicals to theory.”

  “Not possible,” I said flatly.

  “Then I repeat,” Sans said with a shrug. “It’s just theory. But yes, based on what you’ve said, I think this drow elf probably functions as a Chthonian Nail.”

  I absorbed that for a moment before mustering a reply. “Damn. I was hoping you’d tell me I was wrong.”

  “Your theory is sound,” he said. “If the drow’s spirit is ritually bonded to Draubard, and if she’s as powerful as you say, then we’re talking about energy on an order of magnitude that could pierce through the barriers between the surface and the Underworld. It’s not much different from what I can do with ghosts, only guardians like this — holy spirits — their souls resonate on a certain…” He waved his hand as he searched for words. “Frequency, I guess. Normally it would function as a key, unlocking each layer of protection in turn, but if a practitioner knows what they’re doing…”

  “They can force that key through every layer at once,” I said.

  Sans nodded. “It’s not good for the key, I’ll tell you that. It—”

  “She,” I corrected.

  Sans rolled his eyes. “You know elves only take male and female forms based on preference, right?”

  “She,” I said more firmly.

  “Right… Well, it’s not good for her. But if you don’t care if your Nail remains intact after the job’s done, then yeah, you can just brute force your way from one spot to another.”

  “Like how the Credo tried to use their god last winter,” I said.

  Sans nodded. “These magics are surprisingly delicate. Usually, the kind of barriers we’re talking about stay firm through obfuscation. Would take a god to make a rock-solid phantasm that’ll last more than a few seconds.”

  “I think that’s the kind of power we’re talking about,” I told him frankly.

  “Hm.” He took another puff on his pipe. “Well, it’s much more efficient to create countless overlapping layers of phantasm. That’s how faeries and even demons guard their sanctums, and Draubard works much the same. But that means parts of it can be brittle, and if you pick just the right point to slam a sufficiently powerful Nail into it…”

  “The whole thing could unravel,” I said in realization.

  “Not just any Nail would do,” Sans continued. “There are other factors too, like time and place, the orientation of celestial bodies. All those things influence the way od flows through the world. But the proper ritual materials are key to this sort of work. Literally.”

  He lowered his pipe and leaned forward. “I’ll tell you straight, any necromancer worth his salt would want to get his hands on this prize you’re chatting about. It could open any soul sanctum anywhere.”

  “And none of them will,” I said in a low voice. “Right? I don’t dislike you, Sans. I would rather we not be enemies in the future.”

  He shivered. “Right. No thank you. I’m not that hungry for power, Hewer, though many of my ilk are. It’s sort of a hunger, you know? Not dissimilar from what ghouls get afflicted with.”

  “…That explains a lot about why most of you occultists never seem to learn any lessons.”

  Sans snickered as he pushed off the tree he’d been leaning on and walked past me. “The Magi aren’t any different! They are what us bottom feeders aspire to become, after all.”

  As I chewed on what he’d confirmed, Sans paused and glanced back at me. “You know Caleb is going to try to kill you, right?”

  I nodded. “I know.”

  “He won’t do it immediately,” Sans continued in a casual tone. “He’s got his honor, that one. He’ll wait until he’s sure it won’t cause trouble for anyone at the inn, but one day he’ll try for you.”

  He paused a moment, then gave a lazy wave over his shoulder. “Not my business. Good luck to you, Hewer.”

  “And you, Sans.”

  Tall Carreweir

  Day of the Queen’s Grand Ball

  Amelia Hare and Finn Nu did not arrive at the city in time for the celebration alone. The streets of the region’s capital were packed with people. The citizens and peasants from the countryside crowded the streets, kept at bay by statue-faced guards as they watched the Blood of the Houses march on to the palace.

  The nobility came by the score, by the hundred. They came in handsome coaches escorted by knights mounted on the best chimeric stock. They came on pavilions carried by tamed ogres, or dressed as ancient warriors on the backs of chariots. The heraldry of a hundred and more noble clans streamed over the crowds, blowing in the same wind that carried favors thrown by the onlooking commons. Citizens, watching from the windows of buildings on either side of the central avenue, tossed bouquets of roses to the knights. Laughing children sat on the shoulders of their fathers to get a better look at the parade.

  It was an eruption of color, cast in the bright spring daylight that set the spires of the Herald’s Palace to blazing. So different from the brooding stormclouds of the Fulgurkeep.

  And over all of it flew the black vessel of House Ark.

  “It does not seem like a fortress of evil, does it?” Emma, who was also the Lady Maeve, said from inside the coach. Her hunting cat curled on her lap, its eyes closed in apparent sleep.

  “Evangeline was popular with the commons before she killed Lord Randal,” their cleric said as she glanced through the window at the cheering crowds. “These people probably don’t know what’s been going on in the countryside, and the Houses respect strength. Rumors of vampirism are only gossip until one sees it with their own eyes, and it’s not the first time that sort of slander has been weaponized. Even the Empress has been accused of being a sorceress, a vampire, and worse by her enemies.”

  “I imagine many of them intend to use this opportunity to see their new monarch for themselves,” Finn Nu’s sister agreed.

  “The festivities are set to begin once the lesser moon has risen,” Erthri said. “It will be full tonight.”

  “Ominous,” Maeve noted. “So we’re all sure of the plan?”

  Erthri nodded. “Ser Hendry will go with Sister Lisette and rendezvous with Olliard and his apprentice. Lady Amelia has already sent word to him. Penric will blend with the castle’s servants and act as our eyes and ears, while the three of us shall enjoy ourselves.”

  She said those last words with a small smile and took her husband’s wrist. Finn Nu smiled warmly back. He’d been distracted by the cheering crowds. Such things were a balm to him, and he longed to be out in the open air, waving and letting them see his face.

  “Is he going to be alright?” Maeve asked. “He doesn’t seem to be hearing us.”

  “He is deep within the dream,” Erthri said. “We will pull him back, when it is time.”

  Carreweir was fashioned of many interlocking layers separated by the waters of the great moat, much like the spiraling layers of an onion. Deep within these, at their center, the nobility of the Bannerlands were filtered through the bridge dividing the palace from the rest of the city. The sinking sun cast a golden blade over the artificial lake, catching them in its eye as they passed through the gates and were ushered on by smiling servants dressed as winged seraphim into the grand foyer.

  Everything gleamed in shades of ivory and argent. The pale stone of the castle had been set with marble in the foyer and great hall beyond it, the floor a bright mosaic of blue and yellows in rose-patterns well suited to the sunlight shining through the open windows set on the room’s western face.

  The Herald’s Keep had changed hands many times over the centuries, and each owner had left their mark. There were obvious efforts at recent restoration in that time-lost hall, including crystal chandeliers lit with a dazzling array of auratic color.

  The colors of each family who’d chosen to attend the Queen’s celebration hung from the columns, with her own Ark set on a stretch of cloth above the mezzanine balcony, large enough to double as a ship’s sail. A herald, dressed like the other servants as a white-winged angel, announced the guests in turn as they entered. When he called out the name of Amelia Hare, acting Lady of Estival Bawn and mother to the heir of House Brightling, the room fell into a brief, nervous hush.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “They all think I’m a fool for coming here,” she said to Finn Nu, who stood with his wife and sister at her back.

  “Better a fool than a coward,” he told her bluntly. “They all expected you to hide from the Queen inside your keep. Now they will not know what to expect.”

  “Entertainment, I am sure.”

  Amelia kept her head high as she passed into the throng of nobles. Some of them gave her nods of respect, while others looked amused. One group parted ways, giving her room to pass through them. More than a few kept their distance, ignoring her completely.

  “You can tell who wants to court the new queen’s favor,” Maeve said dryly. “So quick to leave their own to the wolves.”

  Finn Nu laughed, drawing attention from some of those lingering nearby. Then it was his turn to be announced. The herald pronounced his and his wife’s unusual names with precision, reading them off his list.

  “Another test passed,” Maeve said. “What now, brother?”

  “The Queen has not yet made her own appearance,” Erthri noted.

  “And she won’t,” Finn Nu said as he looked to the balcony. “Not until the moon rises, I think. For now, we have time to mingle and scout the field.”

  His amber eyes passed over the throngs of Banner nobility. Many were looking back at him with curiosity, no doubt bemused by the presence of a barbarian from the distant southern wilds in their midst. He cut a striking figure, in his fur pelt and sleeveless tunic.

  But he was hardly the most eccentric character present. During the Emperor’s summit in the northern capital, many of those who’d attended had dressed in the newest fashions, which tended to be more understated — robes, doublets, simple dresses in more muted colors burnished by tasteful jewelry.

  Here, however, Evangeline’s subjects had turned back the clock. Most of the nobles dressed in fashions decades out of style, if not centuries, displaying an abundance of gaudy colors and motifs. High, stiff collars were in fashion, and frilled gowns that forced those standing behind to pay heed to their feet.

  Not every woman wore a dress, and not every man wore coat and trousers. A woman dressed in a full-body red stocking that left very little of her athletic build to the imagination watched the Wyldedaler’s party as she sipped from an ebony cup. A maroon cape covered the left side of her body, and a metal choker enclosed her neck. She’d shorn her hair almost to the scalp.

  The outfits grew more outlandish from there, and more provocative. Maeve lifted her eyebrows at one woman whose corset left her breasts exposed, along with the diamond piercings on her nipples. She was chatting with a man who wore a loincloth of white silk, a cape to match, and little else.

  “We’ve gone back in time,” Erthri said in a thoughtful voice.

  At her companions’ questioning looks, the elf explained. “The theme for the night. The First Crusade, if my memory serves. I was very young then, little more than a child by my kind’s reckoning, but this seems familiar.”

  “Not a very modest bunch, were they?” Maeve noted.

  “Modesty has only been considered a virtue amongst your noble clans for a handful of centuries,” Erthri said with a knowing smile. “And only because Emperor Edvard gave your priests more power. The nobles of those days were proud and fell, even by your present standards. They cared little for propriety, only the projection of power and the pursuit of pleasure. They were drunk on the God-Queen’s blessings, which were more potent in those days.”

  A group of young men not far from the woman in the bodystocking were dressed not dissimilarly from Finn Nu himself, showing skin at their arms and legs and sporting fur and stylized leaves like they meant to resemble elven warriors.

  Or vampires. They’d even painted their lips red.

  “They are showing camaraderie with their bloodthirsty monarch,” Finn Nu noted. “Not the best of signs. I had hoped for more resistance from the Bannerfolk.”

  “There is fear in this room,” Maeve noted.

  “Yes,” Finn Nu agreed as his lionish eyes flashed. “I can sense it too. Let us sniff it out, my friends, and see who might be an ally. Best we have fewer surprises later, once the sun goes down.”

  Maeve caught sight of something on the far side of the grand hall and made a dismissive gesture. “You two go do as you will. I have my own business.”

  Before her brother could protest, the girl had glided off, her furtive hunting cat shadowing her. Erthri hid her smile at her husband’s consternation.

  “She can handle herself,” the elf said as she took his elbow in hand. “Let us do as she suggests.”

  “We should keep an eye on the Hare,” Finn Nu warned.

  “I am,” Erthri assured him. “So is Penric.”

  Finn Nu winced and rubbed at his temple. A band was playing a slow and cheerful tune that wove itself through the din of conversation. Likely there would be dancing soon, but many guests were still just arriving.

  Two guests approached Finn Nu and Erthri, a man and woman with matching costumes of red velvet and white silk that showed off equal amounts of chest and neck for both. They both also wore wigs, one black and the other white.

  “My my,” the woman said. She had startling violet eyes, a long, thin nose, and wore the white wig. By the blush on her cheeks, it seemed likely the goblet in her hand had been refilled more than once already. “So it is true! Someone brought an elf inside, and look at it! It has the pointed ears and everything. Look, darling, it’s practically glowing!”

  “You’re drunk, dear.” The woman’s husband sighed and dipped his head. “Apologies, good man, but my wife insisted on meeting your elf. I don’t suppose she’s real?”

  “Don’t be rude, dear!” The woman pinched the man’s arm. “Didn’t you hear the herald? He’s a lord! A lord!”

  Erthri traded a dubious glance with Finn Nu, who just shrugged before turning his smile on the pair. “I’m afraid we haven’t been introduced. I am Finn Nu of the Wyldedales, and this is my wife, Erthri. She is real, but you will have to take my word for it.”

  “Fascinating.” The woman’s blush deepened. “You lucky dog, she’s gorgeous! Darling, I want an elf for my next birthday. You’ll catch one for me, won’t you?”

  “As you wish, dear.” The man, in contrast to his gushing wife, had a dry affect. His eyes were a severe, solid black, making it impossible to distinguish iris from pupil. They looked empty, somehow.

  Both of the strangers had odd accents. They almost sounded like—

  Finn Nu shuddered, drawing curious looks from the pair before Erthri interjected. “How do you know that I am not the one who caught him?”

  The noblewoman gaped at the elf a moment before bursting into high, peeling laughter. “Oh, I thought this night would be droll! I did not know they could speak! Even its voice is lovely.”

  “You are both from the continent,” Finn Nu said in a reserved tone as he recovered from his fit. “I thought there were elves there?”

  The nobleman answered with a faint smile. “Not the sort you’d take to parties, I’m afraid. I am Loveless Marcion. This is my wife, Selene.”

  It was Erthri’s turn to shudder. “You are the Duke of Kell.”

  Marcion’s expression took on a tinge of amusement. “Yes, lady elf, that is correct. You know me?”

  “I know your name. My father spoke of you once.”

  Duke Marcion hummed, while Finn Nu frowned. Kell, a faint voice within him thought. That’s the place that Olliard took his surname from.

  And Finn Nu thought, who is Olliard?

  He focused his attention on the pair. “You’re both vampires. How are you out during the day?”

  They were barely masking it. The air around the couple had a cold edge, and they made his skin crawl. Erthri was hardly reacting any better.

  Loveless Marcion arched an elegant eyebrow and sipped from his goblet. “That’s the thing about curses, isn’t it? They are just spells.”

  “Not that I enjoy it,” Selene said with a heavy sigh. “But I hear the party isn’t set to start properly until the moon rises, so I shall endure.”

  “So Evangeline seeks to court her kindred in other lands,” Finn Nu said darkly.

  Both of the vampires stared at him blankly a moment, and then Selene burst into another peel of laughter. It was not a wholly sane sound. Many nearby guests drew back from them. Marcion smirked, ignoring the unsettled mood around their small group.

  “Her kindred?” Selene said, still giggling. “That runt?”

  “I doubt you would be here if she had naught to offer you,” Erthri said in a quiet voice. “I hear the continent grows more hostile to your kind with every passing year. The mortals have learned how to slay you.”

  “Mortals are always learning,” Marcion said dismissively. “And forgetting. True, the foolish and the immovable find themselves falling prey to the sheep. Who knows if this child will prove any wiser?”

  He glanced to the black ship hung above the stairs.

  “She is very bold!” Selene said with a snicker. “Less than a year since her rebirth, and she thinks to build a kingdom. Oh, it’s just so fresh!”

  “So you’re both just here to see how it all plays out,” the Wyldedaler said.

  Marcion shrugged one well-muscled shoulder. “More or less. Evangeline has drawn notice from certain powers beyond this corner of the world. It remains to be seen whether she shall earn her place amongst them, or be lost in the tides.”

  Finn Nu felt eyes on him. He had felt it since he’d walked into the hall, but this attention felt different from the crowd. Directed.

  The herald called out more names. The band kept playing. Finn Nu grimaced again and reached a hand up to his left eye.

  “You may want to attend to your mortal,” Loveless Marcion said to Erthri. “I’m afraid his glamour is starting to rebound on him.”

  She glared at the vampire, who only smiled and sipped his wine. Just then, the band started playing a different song and the mood in the hall changed.

  “Oh, I love this one!” Selene took her husband’s arm and tugged firmly. “Let’s dance, Love.”

  “Very well. I do hope you enjoy your evening, lady elf, Lord Finn Nu.”

  He bowed to them and the pair moved off into the crowd as people began to shift across the hall, partners being chosen for the evening’s first dance. The Dusk Dance, it was called. Another old tradition.

  Erthri squeezed her husband’s arm. “Are you well?”

  “I feel strange,” Finn Nu said. His face was pale.

  Erthri sighed and said, “Best to bring him back, Vicar. We can’t afford to have him confused.”

  The pelt on Finn Nu’s right shoulder seemed to grow warmer, one eye flashing with inner heat, and he slumped. His wife caught him, supporting his weight easily despite their difference in apparent mass, and—

  —I blinked down at Erthri. It took me a moment to remember it was Tzanith behind those solid black eyes as I steadied myself. “Did I really just let Emma wander off on her own?”

  “She will be fine,” Tzanith said with a small smile. “I had hoped to let you ride the masque until it was time to confront our host, but you were experiencing friction. I told you not to fight it and trust us to pull you back.”

  “I wasn’t fighting it.”

  Had I?

  “It won’t last much longer,” Tzanith told me. “But the surface disguise should remain intact as long as you need. You’ll have to avoid drawing too much notice.”

  “That one saw right through it,” I said and glanced in the direction Marcion of Kell had gone.

  Tzanith pursed her lips. “I don’t think he will tattle on us, but we will watch him. That one is a meddler, but I doubt he has any loyalty to Evangeline.”

  “Who is he?” I asked.

  “An alchemist. Long ago, he made himself half immortal and became that creature you just met.”

  “He knows I’m wearing a glamour,” I said. “Should we deal with it?”

  “He is very dangerous,” Tzanith said. “But I would not concern yourself overmuch. There will be others in attendance who have clothed themselves in glamour, perhaps even some of my own kind.”

  She gave me a light smile. “We are always at events like this one. It’s tradition.”

  I sighed and relaxed. “At least we’re inside the castle. That was the disguise’s main purpose anyway.”

  I’d been lost inside Finn Nu for days. What had caused me to start pushing back against the spell? It hadn’t just started on a whim.

  “Marcion and his consort are not the only ones of their kind present tonight,” Tzanith said. She nodded to a spot nearby. I saw that woman with the skintight clothing standing there. The way she moved within the crowds reminded me of a lion stalking through cattle. Now it was pointed out, I could tell she wasn’t human.

  “Can you tell how many?” I asked. My powers weren’t reliable just then.

  Tzanith shook her head. “More than the three we’ve seen. The nightborn are beginning to come out of hiding. They are here to see Evangeline.”

  The question was, were the creatures of darkness here to pledge to the Vampire Queen, or to see if she would fail?

  Either way, our circumstances had just become far more dangerous.