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Prologue
“The bonding ritual isn’t working,” the druid announces.
“What do you mean, it’s not working? It always works.” Titania, the ancient queen we despise, attempts to wriggle her power into our hive’s collective soul, but we have changed much since she first put us in chains.
All she can do now is force us to bow beneath her command. It won’t last.
Together, we are infinite.
The Keepers of the Cauldron surround us. Their druidic chant bleeds into our ears, adding to the power of her quelling spell.
“Kneel.” Her command vibrates through our being, bouncing around to consume every sense of ownership in our blood. Our legs fold. Our knees crack against the rocky, moss-ridden surface. Our necks lower until our noses are mere inches from the ground, and yet we hold our resistance, trembling under our primal urge to be free of this suffering.
“Bow to my will,” she demands.
Never.
We fight. Thrash. Gnash.Our hive stands united. We are not six. We are not Legion, Bodin, Emrys, Varen, Fox, and Styx. Weare one mind, one soul, one hunger split into six bodies. And we are not the monsters she once enslaved. We have tasted a drop of precious life from the other side of death, and now we hunger for more.
Our hive stands united.
“Why are they acting like this?” Titania asks the druids. “Why do they speak with one voice?”
The archdruid turns pages in his book but won’t find the answer. His masked, hooded face shakes in disbelief. “It is a fresh development. Perhaps another trait they’ve taken from a different queen.”
The invisible collar around our neck hisses, cutting our skin with the strength of the sun. We burn. We agonize. We wish upon wishes that we weren’t wrong. That freedom is still held in the stars for us, waiting to shine upon our faces from the dark.
“Where is it?” Titania demands, pacing around us as the chanting drones on. “Where is the Wild Hunt?”
“Somewhere you will never find,” we answer in unison.
Eye-watering pain lashes through our minds. A part of us relishes it. Some of us feed on it. We pray for more to build a wall around our secrets and protect the star whose existence has given us hope.
Through the chanting, a male druid’s harsh voice grates our nerves. “This is not the same as before. The link isn’t working.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Her footsteps circle us. “Our slumber was never meant to last for thousands of years. The world has changed. They have evolved, but one thing is for certain: they still require a queen to stop them from descending into the Morrigan’s chaotic clutches.”
“What is that blue, glowing teardrop beneath their left eye?” This female voice is lighter, musical. Not like the others. “What does it mean?”
The harsh male replies, “Are you an imbecile? It means the same bonding ritual won’t work.”
Silence. The weight of eyes scores into us in the dark. The drone of druids continues. Cut after cut of judgment leaves scars on our souls. We have been here before, on our knees, oppressed. We hear thoughts run circles in their mind.
Monsters.
Abominations.
They should be wiped out of existence.
The only difference is that this time around, we understand what those words mean, and we are wounded for it. We did not wish for this existence. We have wished for oblivion.
Until her.
A falling star born to be our queen and equal at once. The first and last of her kind. Our fated mate.
“The mark is a blessing,” the lyrical voice whispers reverently. “We all know it.”
Titania scoffs, “How can nightmares be blessed? The Morrigan does not play well with the other Cauldron deities. Why would she approve such a blessing? All she wants is domination and chaos.”
