Heir of Fire(218)
Maeve’s eyes narrowed slightly. “The Wyrdkeys.”
“How they can be destroyed, where they are, and what else you know of them.”
“They cannot be destroyed. They can only be put back in the gate.”
Celaena’s stomach twisted. She’d known that already, but hearing the confirmation was hard, somehow. “How can they be put back in the gate?”
“Don’t you think they would already have been restored to their home if anyone knew?”
“You said you knew about them.”
An adder’s smile. “I do know about them. I know they can be used to create, to destroy, to open portals. But I do not know how to put them back. I never learned how, and then they were taken by Brannon across the sea and I never saw them again.”
“What did they look like? What did they feel like?”
Maeve cupped her palm and looked at it, as if she could see the keys lying there. “Black and glittering, no more than slivers of stone. But they were not stone—they were like nothing on this earth, in any realm. It was like holding the living flesh of a god, like containing the breath of every being in every realm all at once. It was madness and joy and terror and despair and eternity.”
The thought of Maeve possessing all three of the keys, even for brief moment, was horrifying enough that Celaena didn’t let herself fully contemplate it. She just said, “And what else can you tell me about them?”
“That’s all I can recall, I’m afraid.” Maeve settled back in her throne.
No—no, there had to be some way. She couldn’t have spent all these months in a fool’s bargain, couldn’t have been tricked that badly. But if Maeve did not know, then there were other bits of information to extract; she would not walk out of here empty-handed.
“The Valg princes—what can you tell me of them?”
For a few heartbeats, Maeve remained silent, as if contemplating the merits of answering more than she’d originally promised. Celaena wasn’t entirely sure that she wanted to know why Maeve decided in her favor as the queen said, “Ah—yes. My men informed me of their presence.” Maeve paused again, no doubt dredging up the information from some ancient corner of her memory. “There are many different races of Valg—creatures that even your darkest nightmares would flee from. They are ruled by the princes, who themselves are made of shadow and despair and hatred and have no bodies to occupy save those that they infiltrate. There aren’t many princes—but I once witnessed an entire legion of Fae warriors devoured by six of them within hours.”
A chill went down her spine, and even the wolves’ hackles rose. “But I killed them with my fire and light—”
“How do you think Brannon won himself such glory and a kingdom? He was a discarded son of nobody, unclaimed by either parent. But Mala loved him fiercely, so his flames were sometimes all that held the Valg princes at bay until we could summon a force to push them back.”
She opened to her mouth to ask the next question, but paused. Maeve wasn’t the sort to toss out random bits of information. So Celaena slowly asked, “Brannon wasn’t royal-born?”
Maeve cocked her head. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you what the mark on your brow means?”
“I was told it was a sacred mark.”
Maeve’s eyes danced with amusement. “Sacred only because of the bearer who established your kingdom. But before that, it was nothing. Brannon was born with the bastard’s mark—the mark every unclaimed, unwanted child possessed, marking them as nameless, nobody. Each of Brannon’s heirs, despite their noble lineage, has since been graced with it—the nameless mark.”