Stolen Shadow Bride Read online

  Stolen Shadow Bride

  Stolen Brides of the Fae

  S.M. Gaither

  For Grant—

  Because I love you even more than I love broody fae princes.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  Collect the entire stolen brides of the fae series!

  A Note from the Author

  Also by S.M. Gaither

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  A Bargain of Shadow and Sun

  There once were two princesses when there only should have been one.

  Two sisters conceived during a Hunter’s moon, just as their mother had been, and her mother before her, and her mother before her… and on and on it went, all the way back to the moment the bargain had been struck between the rulers of the human kingdom of Middlemage and the fae lands to the east and west of that kingdom.

  For generations—because of that ancient bargain— it had been this way: Always twins. Always marked. One by Shadow. One by Sun. One destined to stay. One destined for the fae.

  The one that stayed eventually became the ruler of Middlemage.

  The one that went away to the fae lands became…something else.

  The children’s fates were intertwined with that of their human kingdom and those neighboring fae lands; the first twin saw the rule of the Caster family and its bloodline continued, uninterrupted, while the spare child was given as a gift to one of those two fae courts, alternating between them with each new generation.

  For over a century, it continued like this, each set of twins a renewed and living, breathing symbol of balance and peace.

  But Sephia and Leanora Caster were different.

  They were marked as clearly as any before them: The firstborn, Sephia, was Shadow. Nora was Sun. Sephia was destined to stay and rule as Middlemage’s queen. Nora was destined to be stolen away by the Court of the Sun, as it was their turn, their privilege, their right to take her.

  This was the way the story had gone for so long that all other possible outcomes for the girls’ lives had been forgotten, cast aside.

  That is not how this story goes.

  It was more twisted than this from the very beginning.

  Sephia should have died, the doctors said, because she had been born with a heart too small and too weak to sustain her life. If she had been any other child—a normal human child not infused with the magic that had come about as part of that ancient fae bargain— then she would have died.

  There should have only been one princess who lived.

  But Sephia was not a normal human child, and so Sephia lived.

  And perhaps because of the shadowy fae magic that filled in the weak and empty spaces of her heart, she grew up wild and a touch wicked, and the people of the capital city of Ocalith rarely dared to speak ill of her unless they were clutching a cluster of verbena flowers or an iron cross for protection, and they averted their eyes and recited prayers under their breath whenever royal processions with her in them passed by.

  How? The people whispered in between their clutching and praying. How can a girl with such a shadowy heart become our peaceful ruler some day?

  Still, perhaps more disturbing than the heir was the spare. The younger sister, Nora, who had been born healthy enough, grew strange and sickly as the years passed. Her straw-colored hair took on the actual texture of straw. Her skin developed a grey tint to it, along with premature wrinkling.

  Elephant Princess, the cruelest of the village children hissed behind her back.

  And the fae magic that should have been Nora’s never manifested in any noticeable way.

  She should have held at least some dominion over the light and warmth of the natural world. Instead, rumors claimed that her eyes were truly pitch black—you’d see this for yourself if you looked directly into them—and that she didn’t sleep most nights, that she ate her meat mostly raw and bloody, that her hands constantly shook, that walking became increasingly difficult for her as she aged…

  There were those who said that Sephia— weak, half-hearted Sephia— had lived because she had stolen her younger sister’s magic. This was what had ruined Nora. What was slowly killing her, even.

  Nora knew better; her elder sister was her keeper, not her killer.

  But people outside of a family looking into it rarely understood the whole truth of things.

  They saw a quiet girl who looked strange, who did not have the magic and the beauty and the strength a princess should have, and so came whispers: The girl is ruined. What happens to us when we try to give her away, as the law demands? It could mean war. Our kingdom will suffer for it, either way.

  They would suffer, they reasoned, because the fae on either side did not take kindly to ruined gifts.

  As Sephia grew older, she learned of the brutal, terrifying sort of things that the fae did with gifts that they did not take kindly to, and her once-weak heart grew ever stronger with the desire to protect her little sister from those brutal things.

  And so, on the eve of their thirteenth birthday, Sephia began to plot.

  In eight years, the fae would come to claim Nora as a wife for their youngest prince.

  In eight years, Sephia would be ready for them. She would take her sister’s place. Somehow, she would take her place.

  And if the kingdom suffered for it, then so be it.

  Chapter 1

  8 Years Later

  Sephia pushed her way through the trees, clutching a bottle of putrid-smelling liquid to her chest.

  There were no birds flittering about. No rabbits scurrying nor deer bounding away from the crown princess’s frantic steps. The air smelled of honeysuckle and smoke and sea salt, all mingled together, all being carried in on an unnaturally warm wind that tingled with the faint energy of magic. The trees seemed to stretch and reach out for that wind as it brushed through them, as though trying to wrap the magic around their branches and keep it for themselves—

  All signs that further twisted up Sephia’s already anxious stomach.

  The Court of the Sun would arrive within the hour, she suspected.

  She ran faster. Across the rocky hills and through the massive forest that encircled the town of Ocalith. Past the shrines where villagers came to lay offerings to their fae neighbors. Over clear streams edged with ice. Winter had arrived earlier than usual this year, and Sephia’s feet felt partially frozen despite the warm winds of magic and the fur lining of her boots. Every pounding step stung.

  Finally, the trees around her thinned. She caught a glimpse of the afternoon sky, bright as a robin’s egg. A faint sliver of white was the only mark against the otherwise clear canvas.

  The moon.

  “It’s visible so early…” she muttered to herself.

  Another bad omen.

  As though the impending disaster needed any omens to herald it. Everyone knew it was happening. For months, it had been all the people of Ocalith could talk about.

  Sephia pushed on, making her way into the agreed-upon clearing.

  Just ahead, Nora was waiting for her beneath the sycamore tree that had often served as a center point of their childhood games. They had carved faces and words and wishes into the grey bark of that tree, fashioned knotted ropes and crude swings to hang from its sprawling branches.

  Na
na Rosa had been furious during the only occasion when she’d actually caught the two of them climbing and swinging from one of the highest of those branches; Sephia could almost hear the old woman’s shrill voice echoing through the clearing, even now.

  A fine thing it would be for one of you two to break your neck doing something so foolish—as if you don’t already worry your parents enough!

  Nora had stuck to the lower branches after that scolding.

  Sephia had found a way to climb higher, just to prove to herself that she could do it without getting caught.

  It had been four years since Nora had been strong enough to climb anything.

  But Sephia still occasionally helped her sister onto one of the lower swings, secured her hold on the frayed rope handles, and then sent her flying with a gentle push. There was something about leaning back in a swing, the sky rising and falling above you, hair dusting the ground…something that always made both of the sisters forget about their weaknesses and pains. About their obligations and the dangerous, uncertain futures that awaited them.

  Nora stood just to the right of one of those crooked swings now, wearing a dress the color of a calm sea. Her back was to Sephia. The train of the dress cascaded down, fluid and shimmering in the sunlight as though it actually had been fashioned from the blue-green waves of the Loral Sea.

  The dress’s delicate fabric and endlessly billowing skirts seemed out of place in this wild and frozen forest. But it was befitting of the future wife of a young fae prince—and there would be no time to go back to the palace before they met that prince.

  It would be impossible to fly while wearing that, Sephia thought, her gaze flickering to the swing beside her sister.

  She pulled her thoughts away from childhood games and swept a cautious look around the edges of the clearing. Then she stepped forward, making no sound until her boot cracked a fallen limb a few feet away from Nora.

  Nora spun around, clutching toward the small of her back. It was out of habit; she normally kept a dagger there. Her forest-green eyes were bright with a fear that settled quickly once she recognized her sister. Her gaze softened, and she pulled her hand away from her back as she asked, “You have it?”

  “Yes. Sorry it took me so long.”

  “It’s okay. We’ll just have to move quickly.” Nora’s tone was gentle, but the lack of her usual smile betrayed her true concern.

  Sephia breathed in deep, steadying herself.

  She would have obtained the potion she held long before now, but the witch she’d bargained with had insisted that it wouldn’t keep; the initial spell needed fresh blood, and it needed to be used within moments of adding that blood. They had considered taking care of this spell days ago, but the chances of their trickery being detected within their own familiar palace was too great.

  So it all had to be done at the last minute, here in the quiet and secret of the forest.

  It was not ideal.

  Their parents would no doubt have realized they were missing by this point. The procession would be gathering at the palace gates, preparing to head for Tala Nofa, that great pavilion edged with fluttering flags and towering statues—a space that stood as yet another monument to the bargain that had been struck over a century ago. They would all be readying themselves for the ceremonial Taking that would occur there.

  The king and queen would be livid over their daughters’ late arrival to such an earth-shatteringly important event. Reasonably so; it was offensive to be late, after all.

  And to offend the fae was to risk the lives and limbs of everyone within that royal procession.

  But it couldn’t be helped. Sephia had accepted this. They would just have to hurry back and try to smooth things over and minimize the damage.

  Quickly, quickly…

  Sephia clamped her teeth around the bottle’s cork stopper and yanked. The smell that wafted out was as potent as it had been in that witch’s house—like a cross between horse dung and vinegar with a hint of grass clippings.

  She was not looking forward to drinking it.

  But she didn’t hesitate. She pulled two small cups and two glass vials from the satchel at her side. Knelt down, placed these things on the partially-frozen ground. Distributed one-fourth of the foul potion evenly between the cups. Yanked the small hunting knife from the sheath hidden at her ankle.

  Her blade flew over her palm so quickly, so methodically, that she didn’t have time to flinch.

  Blood bubbled up over her skin. She scooped as much as she could into one of the glass vials, and then she wiped the remnants on a scraggly patch of grass, grabbed the still-empty vial, and stood to meet her sister’s gaze.

  “Give me your hand,” she said.

  Nora hesitated. Not likely from fear; she simply had a habit of taking her time with important things. They had always been this way: Nora was the calm inhale, the bracing breath before the storm. Sephia was the exhale, the wind that stirred the waves and pushed things—often violently— into motion.

  And it was Sephia that moved more quickly this time, too. She firmly took Nora’s wrist in her grip and pulled her forward.

  Her blade moved as fast as before.

  The blood oozed out to be collected. Once she was satisfied with the amount she’d gathered, she shook a drop from each of the vials into each of the cups. They landed with an oddly loud plop into the liquid.

  That liquid spell sizzled. Its scent grew more overwhelming. Sephia held her breath as she grabbed the cups and handed one to her sister.

  “Cheers,” Nora said with a nervous little laugh.

  They drank.

  The forest seemed to grow even more abnormally quiet as the liquid burned down Sephia’s throat.

  She blinked, and suddenly the color leached from the trees, from the sky, from the dress Nora wore. Deep shadows stretched over their surroundings—shadows that didn’t seem to follow any normal patterns, that were brought about by something unrelated to the cold sunlight. Sephia closed her eyes, hoping it would all be over with quickly.

  When she blinked those eyes open a few minutes later, she was greeted by the sight of… herself.

  No, not herself; this was now her sister, somehow.

  The spell had worked.

  “Incredible,” Nora whispered, her eyes trailing over Sephia’s transformed appearance. After a moment, her hands reached up and felt along her own altered face. “And I…do I…”

  “I put a mirror in my bag—your bag, now.” Sephia slipped that bag off her shoulder and handed it over. “See for yourself.”

  Nora pulled the mirror out, and Sephia stared at Nora as Nora stared at her new reflection. They had never been identical, and as they’d grown older they had resembled each other less and less, and so the changes were difficult to look away from.

  The young woman who stood before Sephia now was no longer straw-haired and green-eyed. Instead, she had Sephia’s own wavy, medium-length black locks. Her eyes were the palest shade of blue imaginable—like chips of ice, Nana Rosa had always said. Even the scar that ran along Sephia’s hand—the result of a careless bit of knife work during one of her many cooking lessons with Chef Talos—had been transferred in exact detail.

  Sephia’s stomach gave a little lurch.

  This was terrifyingly powerful magic.

  Worse, it was magic that she did not fully trust nor understand, despite the countless hours she’d spent studying and preparing for this moment. If she had not been so desperate to take her sister’s place, to protect her, then she never would have dared to set foot in that witch’s domain.

  Love could make one face all kinds of terrifying things, she supposed.

  For better or worse.

  That oddly warm breeze stirred the trees once more, reminding her of the fae magic that she needed to be more concerned with. That witch’s strange spell was over and done with.

  Now comes the hard part, and I need to stay focused.

  They undressed and then redressed in each other’s
clothing, teeth chattering and skin pebbling all the while. Sephia took great care to not let any part of the ceremonial dress trail through the dirt, to not scuff her shoes, to not let her cut palm drip blood on anything. She even took a moment to pull her hair into a neat bun and secure it with the pins Nora had brought along with her; Nora would never have appeared before any royal processions looking anything other than her best.

  And she was Nora now.

  She wrapped her cut hand in a thin bandage before slipping Nora’s delicate gloves on, and then she smoothed her skirts while the real Nora, looking enviously comfortable in Sephia’s own trousers and an elegant but simple coat, went back to studying her reflection in the mirror.

  “I know it isn’t the point of all of this,” Nora said. “It’s just nice to be beautiful for once.”

  Sephia frowned. “You were beautiful before.”

  Nora shrugged, a wistful smile playing across her lips, her gaze still locked on her new reflection.

  How strange to see my smile through someone else’s eyes, Sephia thought.

  “I still believe you got the worse end of the deal,” Nora insisted.

  “Hardly.” Sephia grinned. “This time tomorrow, you’ll be sitting in one of Master Sonja’s history lessons, bored to tears, while I’ll be off on a new adventure.”

  Nora’s smile remained, though it looked more forced now.

  Neither of them dared to bring up the details of what that adventure might entail.

  “Come on,” Sephia said, tucking away the leftover potion and the vial of Nora’s blood before heading down a narrow trail that led to their tied horses. “We need to hurry, as you said.”

  Approaching those horses was the first test of their transformation spell.