Shadow Rite (The Queen’s Fayte Book Three) by D.D Croix
// Chapter One
Fingernails struck the edge of the alabaster throne like knives striking flint. Tap. Tap. Tap. That insistent rhythm drew my attention to the throne’s occupant and her inscrutable sapphire stare.
Who was this woman?
Not an earthly woman, to be sure. No human had flesh so smooth or so pale it practically shimmered. A moment shook loose from my foggy mind. This creature, whatever she was, had torn a hole between our worlds and dragged me through it. Only someone like Druansha could do that, or someone like Krol.
A slight tilt of her head confirmed my suspicion. Long teardrop ears poked through that silky curtain of snow-white hair. She was what the Fayte Guardians called an Ancient One. A fae.
Her fingernails, sharpened to points like tiny blades, tapped their impatience again. I shifted for a better view, but an icy cold stone pressed against my cheek.
Wait… why was I sprawled upon the floor?
In my confusion, another memory emerged. I’d been with Lucas and the other Fayte Guardians. The Converging Ceremony had been underway in Balmoral Fayte Hall, or what was left of it after my battle with Krol, when this ethereal figure appeared in the mist. She’d spoken, but what had she said? I sat upright and pressed my temple. Something about the Brightlands. Something about me.
It’s time for you to answer for your crimes against the Brightlands.
She’d delivered those words with the same vexed expression she wore now.
“Good, you’re awake,” she sneered. “Guards, get her to her feet.” She snapped those preternaturally long fingers, and two armed guards standing with others along the room’s perimeter stomped to my side. They aimed iron spears at my face.
I scrambled to my feet. “The weapons are hardly necessary.” The words scratched over my coarse, dry tongue.
Where was I? A quick glance around revealed narrow windows slashed into glassy, opalescent walls that glowed with soft, white light and soared up to a single, crystalline point. Was this the Brightlands, as she’d said? Was this the palace I’d glimpsed from the Gray Woods?
Guards and attendants filled the sprawling room, with the throne at its center. No other chairs or tables or furnishings of any kind cluttered the floor, but upon the walls hung tapestries like those in the Fayte Sanctums. These, however, depicted a single figure, the one perched with feline grace upon the throne.
Her long, willowy limbs reminded me of Druansha, but the others weren’t like her at all.
The guards were of a stockier build with bulbous noses, long beards, and arms and legs as thick as trees. I towered over them as if they were children, but their portly bellies and the crevices around their eyes suggested otherwise.
I tried to ignore them and adjusted the Fayte robe that covered my simple cotton dress and tugged at my gloves. Everything was still in its proper place, which was a comfort. Instinctively, my fingers found my Faytling, still hidden beneath the robe and my bodice. Carefully, and as discreetly as I could, I worked it out from beneath my collar.
The movement earned me a jab of the spear. “Stand still when Queen Rhilasa speaks to you.”
I scowled back at the guard but held my tongue.
He pulled the weapon back, but his sneer was a warning. Don’t try it again.
On the throne, my captor’s upper lip twitched with amusement. “Never mind the stone. It won’t help you here.”
How smug she was. Still, I pulled my hand away from my Faytling and addressed her with as much courage as I could muster. “I demand to know why you’ve brought me here.”
She laughed. “Did you hear that, everyone? Jane Shackle, the human beast who killed my son, your dear, beloved Prince, says she demands answers. Tell me, human, is that fear that makes your voice tremble?”
My fingers curled into fists. “You had no right to bring me here. Take me back.”
She touched her chest and feigned surprise. “Take you back? Why would I do that? Are you afraid to die here, so far from your home? So far from those you love?” That saccharin smile vanished, and she was once again staring daggers at me. “Do you think my son wanted to die so far from his home and those he loved?”
So, it was true. This was the Brightlands Queen, the mother Krol had been so eager to please.
From the row of guards behind her, I heard a cough and the clearing of a throat.
The woman leaned back and sighed. “Do you have something to say, Azender?”
Someone stepped between two husky guards, and I had to blink twice to be sure my eyes weren’t deceiving me. He was an astonishing figure with a thick sweep of gray hair styled into a pompadour over his left eye and bushy gray whiskers that covered his cheeks. From the waist up, he wore an elegant white doublet with a shimmering deep-blue cloak flung over one shoulder. From the waist down, however, his goat legs were clad only in thick, gray fur. “My Queen,” the faun said, “I was only wondering if I might offer a suggestion.”
She pursed her lips and bent her fingers like talons on the armrests. I expected an angry outburst, but her tension slipped away. “Fine,” she said. “You may approach.”
The creature straightened his velvet sleeves and stepped up to the throne, his cloven hooves making a quiet tap against the stone floor. When he reached her, he used a small footstool to speak into her inclined ear.
As he whispered, her mild irritation became curiosity. “Something new for the collection? Yes, perhaps you’re right.” A wicked gleam sparkled in her eye.
Shadow Rite: The Queen’s Fayte Book Three was released by Fine Skylark Press on July 21. You can learn more at https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B095L32YW1.
D.D. CROIX is an award-winning author who writes delightfully dark fantasy with hopeful and bright ever afters. In her books, you’ll find magic, mystery, and a touch of ancient Celtic and Victorian history. When she isn’t plotting mayhem, she drinks tea, obsesses over her Fitbit steps, and counts her lucky stars. www.DDCroix.com.
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