The Damned (The Beautiful #2)(80)

“I can promise that Celine’s safety will be my foremost concern, my lady,” Arjun interjected.

The Lady of the Vale turned to Arjun, her expression culled from ice. “You would make that promise to me, son of Riya?” She paused, the silence laden with meaning. “You would swear on your life to keep her from harm?” Her dark eyes glittered. “A word of caution: another member of your found family once made a promise to me. I fear it cost Shin Jaehyuk his immortal life.”

Arjun swallowed, then nodded once. The rest of the gentry began to mutter, the winged creatures flitting about in chaotic patterns. The weight of Arjun’s promise was heavy. Not at all like promises in the mortal world. Celine did not need anyone to explain this obvious fact.

Arjun Desai had promised his life would be forfeit if something happened to Celine.

She could not remain idle in the face of that.

“I’m afraid I must insist,” Celine said through the mounting din. “Once my friends have completed their journey, I will return to the Vale.” She offered her mother a guileless smile, her fingers falling from the Lady of the Vale’s grasp.

Celine expected to encounter further protests. Perhaps her mother would forbid her from leaving outright. After all, it appeared the Lady of the Vale held dominion over these lands and all those who dwelled upon them. For an instant, Celine thought her mother would call her grey-cloaked warriors to her.

It was impossible to know what the Lady of the Vale was thinking. But Celine saw the silent war raging within her.

Then her mother relaxed. Smiled. “I must admit to my disappointment,” she said to Celine. “I had hoped we might spend time with each other, after all these years. You can’t imagine how much I longed for this chance.”

A trace of wistfulness crossed Celine’s face. “Please believe me when I tell you I understand. You can’t imagine how much I longed for you as a child. How much I wanted to know you.” Determination lined her brow. “But I have made a promise of my own to my friends, and I cannot break it. I swore to help Sébastien Saint Germain and Arjun Desai in their journey to the wintry Wyld, and I will not let one of the first things I do as your daughter in the Vale be to disregard a promise I made in good faith.”

If promises carried the weight Celine suspected they did in her mother’s court, then it would be difficult for the Lady of the Vale to overlook Celine’s admission.

An inexplicable emotion flitted over her mother’s face. “Of course.” There was steel in her reply. Celine could not tell if it was fury or resolve. “Several of my Grey Cloaks will accompany you to the border,” her mother continued, “but once you cross into the Wyld, I can no longer afford you my protection.” She lifted her right hand and twisted it through the empty air, as if she were turning the handle of an invisible door. Sparks of light collected, spinning toward her fingers, gathering with her every motion, until a ball of gilded light formed in her palm. Celine’s mother murmured toward it in an unintelligible tongue, and the ball condensed into a sphere of solid gold.

The Lady of the Vale handed the golden bauble to Celine. “In moments of unrelenting gloom, let this be your light. It is the best I can offer you for protection in a world of perpetual darkness. A drop of pure sun.” When Celine reached to take it, her mother wrapped both hands around Celine’s palm, the bauble pulsating between them. “Be warned that its power will wane the longer you dawdle in the Wyld and the more you use it. Save this magic for when you need it most, daughter. And return to me.” She shifted her right hand to Celine’s cheek.

“Thank you, Mother,” Celine replied, something shimmering in her eyes.

“One day, I hope you again call me Umma, as you did as a child.”

Celine nodded. “I hope for that, too. One day soon.”

“A word of caution, Sébastien Saint Germain,” the Lady of the Vale said to Bastien, her smile turning sweeter. “Avoid the Frozen Wastes at all cost. You’ll know what they are the moment you step too close to them. They are a world without color or sound, where those who have betrayed my court are sent to serve out their sentences. Many who remain there lose their minds. The instant your senses start to muddle, run.” Celine swallowed at the way her mother’s voice dropped to a whisper. “And if something happens to my daughter, you will answer to me, heir of Nicodemus.”





BASTIEN





It is a strange sensation, crossing from the Sylvan Vale into the Sylvan Wyld. From a court of perpetual sun to one of perpetual night.

The border is not an imaginary line through the dirt, but a river. One side is bathed in ochre warmth. The other bank is shadowed, the rocks along its shore crusted with blue ice.

A lone bridge connects the two lands, spanning the width of the rapidly flowing water. This scene is a fitting representation of this world. From a distance, it appears tranquil. Up close, the water hurtles over the stones at breakneck speed, the center of the river blacker than pitch.

Even though we stand on the sunlit shore, I am grateful for the darkness across the way. There is honesty in it. Unlike the court of the Vale, the dark does not pretend to be something it isn’t. And I’ve had my fill of the light.

The leader of the assembled fey—the small warrior I trapped along the beach—introduces herself as Yuri just before she and ten of the Grey Cloaks in her command leave us at the entrance to the bridge.