Page 109

Estrella

The doors to the ballroom were closed, probably sealed shut when we’d been more than fashionably late. Malachi led the way through the halls, approaching them without hesitation. The guards standing outside looked at him in confusion, stepping in to stop him just a moment before he crashed a hand against the heavy doors.

A burst of golden light flashed through the darkened hall at the moment of impact, thrusting the doors open. People who had lingered too close scattered, shrieking as they escaped the corpse that stepped into their midst.

Caldris followed after him, leaving me standing in the hallway and unable to breathe as I thought of what was to come. As I tried to channel the energy to don the mask I needed to wear for the performance I hadn’t asked for. Twyla and Nila had made themselves scarce, hopefully finding a way to blend in with the crowd so that no one would know of the role they played.

“Caldris, what is the meaning of this? Put him to rest!” Mab yelled, the command washing over my skin. I could practically feel the answering smirk on my mate’s face, the way he would smile back at her with the knowledge that he did not need to follow that order.

He couldn’t, after all.

Because Malachi was mine to command.

I let out a breath, loosing the power that lingered beneath my skin. It was like breathing, like letting out the part of methat was begging for release. The flames in the torches on the wall were smothered, dying out beneath the wash of power as I stepped into the darkened ballroom.

Only the light pulsing off my Fae Mark lit the room, making the gems on my dress and the diamonds of my crown pulse with warmth.

Light in the darkness.

Hope.

I raised a hand, drawing in a slow breath as I allowed the flames to return to each of the torches. One by one, starting with the one closest to me, they returned as I walked through the center of the ballroom floor. Caldris stepped to the side, moving out of my path as I approached the Queen of Air and Darkness.

Shadows and Starlight.

“I’m afraid he can’t do that,” I said, my voice humming. It was quiet, a subtle echo in the undertones of my words. “I am the one who raised Malachi from the dead, and as such, I will be the one to put him to rest.”

“Then do it,” Mab ordered, gritting her teeth as she studied the spectacle I’d made of myself.

I raised my chin, smirking slightly as I bared the corner of my teeth. Caldris moved to stand behind me, a silent sentry, and placed his hand atop my bare shoulder. I felt the moment my Fae mark sparked to life with the contact, that mix of golden glow and inky darkness illuminating my skin.

“No,” I said, my smile deepening alongside Mab’s scowl.

Her brow furrowed as her nostrils flared, her anger pulsing off her as she raised a hand. I couldn’t fight her when Caldris’s knees buckled slightly, and I felt him resist the urge to touch his heart.

The idea had been to make a spectacle. To give the courts something to whisper about. But I grew tired of whispers and secrets in the dark.

I wanted what was real.

I grasped the shadows pulsing off her hands, pulling on the threads attached to them as she fought to hold tight to the magic held within her grasp. I gripped those threads as I crossed them, watching her eyes widen as the bare glimmer of gold wrapped around her wrist.

“Someone taught me a lesson a long time ago, and I don’t think anyone has ever done you the courtesy,” I said, taking a single step forward as I pulled the threads taut.

Mab’s face twisted as the threads cut through her flesh.

They slashed through flesh and bone—pulling and sawing—until her hand dropped upon the gray stone of the ballroom floor. She stared at it in shock for a moment, blood pulsing off her severed wrist to puddle on the floor beside it.

“You should not play games with that which you cannot control, and you definitely should not toy with the Fates,” I said softly, ignoring the frenzied whispers of all who lingered in the throne room.

Mab stared at her wrist in horror, waiting for her hand to grow back. I hadn’t cut her with iron after all, so it should be something she could heal. Her face paled, her mouth dropping open into a silent scream. For all purposes, she should have been shrieking. Her pain should have been evident throughout the room.

One of her more loyal followers approached her side, raising her skirt and tearing off a piece of fabric from it. She wrapped it around Mab’s wrist, and I was gratified in theknowledge that it would normally have been Malazan who tended to her.

“Summon the witch,” the woman snapped, turning to one of Mab’s other minions. The other woman fled the ballroom, going in search of whatever witch she could find.

Mab paled as she looked around, realizing the implications of me harming her permanently. I hadn’t known it was possible, hadn’t known the threads could inflict permanent injury in the same way as iron, but something about it feltright.

As soon as she’d tended to Mab, the woman stepped forward, summoning Mab’s guards to surround us.