“No. No more requests.” I’ve played that game before and lost. Badly. “You’ve had your price. Now you owe me answers.”
Her smile grows. “I ask for no price but this: Seek the prophecy that speaks of a savior who will break Unseelie. Read the true prophecy. And then come and find me if you wish to know more.”
No matter which way I twist the words, I can’t see a trap. But I know there is one. “You’re trying to use me too.”
“Aye. But I will admit it openly. A queen will walk this realm, Iskvien. She is coming, and all the world is aquiver with the promise of her awakening. She will right ancient wrongs. She will bring peace to the lands and tear down an entire thicket of lies. She will renew that which was broken and return glory to those who had it stolen from them.”
“I am not… I am not that queen.”
She merely tilts her head and considers me. “No. You are not that queen. Though you have the promise of it. But we shall see what the future holds. Read the prophecy. That is all I ask.”
“And the crown?”
“Once there was a prince,” she says. “A power-hungry male who wanted to cast down the queens who ruled over him. He despised the yoke of Maia’s name. He raged against the injustices he saw as keeping him from his rightful throne. He had three sisters—all younger—and all of them ahead of him in line for the throne of his kingdom. And his hunger grew. Not just for the throne his mother sat upon, but for the thrones of all who ruled.
“He slew his sisters in a bloody coup. He took his mother’s head and placed it on a spike atop his city walls. And then he turned his attention to other powers—other thrones. But the queens are tied to the lands, and so he knew he would have to seek a dark and dangerous power in order to overthrow them.
“He went north and he made a bargain with a creature there who had the gift of metalworking. Halvern the Dwarf made the five great relics; the Sword of Mourning; The Shield of Victory; The Mirror of Betrayal; and the Armor of Lorendil…, but some say the Crown of Shadows was his greatest feat.
“Bring me a fallen star and a thousand souls, Halvern said. I will use the star’s metal to forge the crown and the blood to quench the metal. And so, the prince trekked far and wide to find a star, still burning from its flight through the heavens. And he gathered a thousand souls and led them to their doom.
“And Halvern produced his finest working: A crown so dark and bloody that it could smite any who opposed the one who wore it. A crown that could shake the lands themselves and crack the fault lines that quivered through them. A crown that could drink at the magic of the lands—the source of the ley lines powers—until they were dry.
“The king ruled for a thousand years, and though the earth trembled beneath his touch, he held power over it. He sent thousands to his death camps and conquered kingdoms all across the continent. He yearned to rule them all. And though great armies fought, they fell, one by one, until a single kingdom stood against him.
“And the princess who lived in that kingdom went to her father and said, ‘Kneel, father. Kneel before him, greet him with open arms, and then send me to end him.’ For she was beautiful and brave and cunning. And she knew that the king would see her face and demand her for his bed. And when the treaty was signed, she went to him with a knife in her boot, a smile on her lips, and murder in her heart.
“But she had not counted on the king’s power. Nor had she counted on his cruelty. ‘Because you have knelt,’ the king told her, ‘you shall serve with my dogs.’ And he had her chained and leashed to his throne. He took her knife. And he took her body. And he took her pride. But he had not counted on her fury. Hatred brewed like a seed in her belly, and even as she submitted, even as she screamed and begged for mercy, she plotted his ruin.
“Power grew like a seed in the princess’s heart. She was fae, and while she had not yet been consecrated to the lands, she could feel it crying out beneath her, desperate for an end to this tyrannical king’s rule.
“She made a deal with one of her enemies—another young female who had been captured by the king for his harem. They slit the king’s throat while he was asleep, thinking his death would bring them glory, and her enemy used the king’s blood to bind the princess to the crown. But the king had worn the crown for so long that he was not entirely mortal anymore. He crawled onto his throne as the throne room shook and burned, his crown in hand. He set it on his head, even as the princess fought him for ownership of it.
“The Crown of Shadows is sentient, and the princess knew she could not hope to win it by force. It feeds on the emotions of its wearer and gnaws at their soul. And the king was old by this stage, a shadow of his former self. So she offered the crown something that it hungered for: She offered it a new host to feed upon. A heart full of bloody vengeance. And a soul that craved power. And the crown accepted.”
The oracle falls into silence, her dark eyes locked upon me.
I can barely breathe.
Why would the Mother of Night want such a thing?
I don’t realize I’ve whispered the thought aloud until the oracle replies, “Because the crown was created to feed upon the power
