Memory's Wake Omnibus: The Complete Illustrated YA Fantasy Series (84 page)

The dragon dipped suddenly and Memory felt her stomach float up into her throat.

“How are you holding up?” she asked the dragon, hoping her voice, or at least thoughts, carried over the rushing winds for him to hear. “Are we okay for a landing?”

“Tired.” The single word reply held a depth of emotion, the weariness of centuries.

Memory placed her hand on the dragon’s neck, wishing she could do more for him. They soared toward the ground, lurching roughly through the air, and Memory tightened her thighs to steady herself.

The dragon skimmed over a vast boundary wall, a shimmering fence of glistening black crystal woven like tangled tree roots. It seemed to sing as the air from their flight trailed through it. Reaching the inner courtyard of the castle, the dragon spiraled, slowing his descent as the unseelie fae in the area dashed for cover.

They landed hard but stable. As the disturbed dust cleared, all around them Memory could see black-eyed faces peering up in awe.

“You’ve made a big entrance, that’s for sure,” Will whispered into Memory’s ear.

“Nice way to make an impression,” Memory agreed. “I only wish we had some kind of plan from this point on. I’m basically walking right into a trap. As usual.”

“Just be yourself. Save your friends. It will work out.”

Memory grunted an unsure agreement then threw her leg over the side and slid down off the dragon in what she thought was a remarkable display of not falling on her face.

The dragon’s head was close by her as she turned back to see Will and Shonae follow her off its back. She smiled softly to the huge beast. “Thank you.”

The dragon’s head dipped ever so slightly, and he poised to take flight again.

His wings were even more tattered than before. They were riddled with tears and holes, his scales were dulled and flaking and she knew he had cost himself much of his life by flying them through the night the way he had. Sorrow filled her, but before she could say anything else the dragon pushed down his wings and lifted into the sky.

Whispers blended with the sound of the dragon’s flight. Hushed words buzzed around Memory and her friends as they stood in the middle of the grand courtyard, right on the steps of the Unseelie Court’s castle, surrounded by curious onlookers. Two humans had come to the court on the back of a dragon, accompanied by a young unseelie fae. Strange things were afoot and everyone wanted to know what they meant.

Memory looked up at the castle and tried to draw on her well of courage and found it almost dry, already consumed from constant use.
Shouldn’t it get easier, being brave? Why do I always have to dig deeper?

The castle itself was similar to the Seelie Court, if anything more organic and flowing in its lines and design. Darker colors were used, but they made a rich, warm impression rather than the haunted house of terror Memory had been expecting. But she knew that the terror lay inside.

She forced her feet to move, and to the main entrance they went.

Guards met them. The tallest of them stood in their path, a fairy gold spear held firmly in his hand. He, and the dozen guards behind, all wore the same high gloss black armor as the soldiers who had stolen her friends away, but this lot wore no helmets. The leader’s long white hair fell to his waist, and his skin was gray as ash.

The knight narrowed his eyes, his silver tipped lashes veiling the pools of black below his eyelids. “We’ve been expecting you.”

“Then where is the red carpet?” Memory said.

The smugness dropped from the knight’s face as he tried to interpret her reaction and phrasing.

Memory squared up her fingers to frame the dark fae’s face and squinted through at him. “And that look on your face is exactly why I love saying stuff like that. So, are you going to let us in?”

The knight hesitated. Not in a way that seemed confused, but a way that seemed torn, and troubled, and made Memory’s stomach bubble. “Human queen,” he said in a hushed voice. “You should return home.”

“Let them pass!” The deep, regal voice called from behind the crowd of guards.

Nyneve appeared, and the men parted to make way for her. She strode through them, wearing a dress encrusted with thousands of diamonds, as though she were glistening sea-foam on top of deep black water. The shimmer of her dress and the shimmer of her lightly scaled, silver skin blended perfectly so it was hard to tell where the close fitted bodice ended and her flesh began. The skirts, though, billowed around her strong frame and trailed in a long train behind her. With her hair like nighttime flowing all round, she seemed to be the very embodiment of the starry sky.

“Your Highness,” the men muttered in rough unison, all taking a knee.

Nyneve looked darkly at the head guard who had showed hesitation at allowing Memory and her friends to enter the court.

“They are here by invitation of one of our own, or so it would appear.” Nyneve’s eyes raked over Shonae, who trembled and tried to press herself into a corner. “They are to be allowed entry.”

“They tricked me into compliance. They carried iron,” Shonae stuttered.

“Iron,” a knight said, disgust written on his face.

Nyneve raised her chin slightly. “Yes. The iron. You cannot be allowed to bear it into the court, you must understand.”

Memory reached instinctively for her knife in her belt. Without iron, they would have no protection at all, but what good was it to her now, truly? She could not fight her way with iron through every dark fae in the land to save her friends. It didn’t protect them the first time.

Memory gave a single nod.

Nyneve waved for them to follow, and they walked into the long entry hall and to a small room to the side. “Leave your iron here. You can rest your thoughts, knowing no fae will be able to touch it, move or steal it, lest they be burned.”

Memory and Will placed their iron artefacts onto the table. They met gazes, shared a worried look, and turned away.

“Hurry now,” Nyneve said softly. “Your friends live, but they suffer. You must act quickly. You have the right to declare or accept a challenge from the monarch, to prove the innocence of your friends and remove their Brand.” She waved them back out of the room, then followed, gown flaring around her.

Out in the long arched hall, Nyneve took the lead again. The walls were like dark mirrors, reflecting her, Memory, Will and Shonae as they sped along the corridor.

“A challenge? What kind of challenge?” Memory half jogged to keep up with the long stride of the Amazonian unseelie princess.

Nyneve slowed as they reached a wider section of hallway which met a huge door, or more like gate, made of woven silver vines and elegant heart-shaped leaves. She touched it softly and it began swinging open. “Trial by combat,” she said.

Memory’s heart lurched into her throat. The gate opened into a gargantuan domed room, filled with monsters of every form and shape. It felt as though someone had opened up a compendium of fairytale monsters and let the beasts spill from the pages into real life. Minotaurs and trolls, gaunts and green skinned crones, banshees and crooked, twisted, dark winged harpies. Memory tried to see them with fresh eyes, tried to see beyond their physical appearance and judge them without bias, but all she could see was monsters. Monsters, every one of them. Because they were here in Finvarra’s court.

The chamber was formed of the same mirrored dark crystals as the rest of the castle, but within them sparkling shapes and clouds of color moved, like nebulae in space, adding color and light to the darkness. In the center of everything was a raised dais where grand seats were formed from crystalline tree roots that met in a thick, twisted trunk that held the largest throne of all—Finvarra’s. He sat there, within the hollow of the sparkling tree whose branches spread up, up, twirling into the high ceiling as though it was what held aloft the very roof.

The creatures in the room squabbled and gossiped, argued and drank. The race of news was already spreading through the room and Memory heard whispers of her name, and “dragon” in the chatter.

As the gates swung into their fully open position they clanged against the wall, and then all eyes in the room were upon Memory.

Finvarra sat in his throne like a tumble of fallen branches, his body a mess of wiry limbs, sharp angles, and rough, ancient skin. He looked down at Memory and extended his arm, curling a sharp clawed finger at her to beckon her to him.

Shonae tugged at Memory’s sleeve, cowering by her side. “As Finvarra has grown more cruel and twisted, so has he attracted the worst of the fae into his court. I fear we will not walk free from here again.”

Memory walked in anyway. The dark fae moved apart, creating a path for her. She could see something in their all black eyes as they watched her. Hatred? Or could it be fear?

As the crowd cleared, backing to the edges of the room, Memory saw something far worse.

Eloryn. Roen. Erec.

Memory went cold and stiff all over, as though she’d died many hours ago and rigor mortis had suddenly set in.

Her friends were all bound in heavy webbing that wrapped around them and held them in place, dangling from the branches of the throne tree like living piñatas. Live sport for the amusement of Finvarra and the wider audience.

Memory knew better than to look at them for too long but she couldn’t look away. Eloryn’s body shuddered with small, sharp breaths, her skin a ghostly gray. Roen had blood crusted along his upper lip and chin, matching the dull red of the Brand on his forehead, and Erec sagged toward the ground, apparently lifeless. All of them had anguish written large in their expressions.

Is it the Brand torturing them, or has it been Finvarra and his court?

Memory wasn’t sure, but she could see Finvarra was using them as an amusement, hung there on display. The crooked smirk as he watched her approach built hatred inside her she almost couldn’t contain. Every terrible thing he had done to her, to her friends, to the people of Avall, made the magic inside her burn like a white-hot star. The magic he had put inside her. The scar he, as Providence, had cut into her chest as a baby itched and stung. She felt the pain she could see on her sister’s face.

The ground trembled beneath her at each step she took. The room fell into total silence and for a moment, the smirk fell from Finvarra’s face. She wanted to run at him, screaming and clawing and slicing with the iron blade she no longer had.

Will slipped his hand into Memory’s and squeezed tight.

“Deep breaths. Stay in control.”

“Thank you,” Memory whispered to Will.

Side by side, they reached the base of Finvarra’s throne. Nyneve, who had escorted them in, broke off from them and stood on the dais at her father’s feet.

Memory swallowed, trying to wet her dry mouth, then spoke. “Finvarra, as queen of the humans, I come to seek the release of my people and the removal of their Brands.”

“Hrm, only a small request then?” he grumbled, half a smile on his lips, baring the sharp teeth behind. A few unseelie fae around the room chuckled along with him. “These humans were a surprise gift to me from my people. They were found wandering uninvited in my lands, and attacked my men with iron.”

Surprise gift? Your men ambushed us!

Finvarra continued, his words mixed with a mad chortling sound. “The Brand on their faces is proof of their crimes. I have every right to do with them what I will. Why would I ever release them?”