Bloodmoon (The Scarlet Star Trilogy Book 2) by Ben Galley

gloom of the fortress of Shanarh. The Fae capital sparkled with countless blue lights: glow-worms and fungi caught and trapped in crystal spheres. She could see the shadows of her subjects on the spiralled and winding streets below, going about their business. Sift scowled. She did not care for any of them. She cared only for one, and he was far from the streets of Shanarh, and the corridors of the Coil of Cela’h Dor.
    Rhin Rehn’ar .
    Sift wanted to spit that name onto the marble.
    There were few animals in the world that the Fae trusted, but birds often had their uses. News travelled fast on their wings, even across the Iron Ocean. It had been a week since the network of pigeons, sparrows, and other feathered beasts had brought the news of the Wit’s broken body to the Fae Queen, and since then, her thoughts had been consumed by the traitor. His grinning face had taunted her in her dreams. His audacity had stoked the fires in her black heart. Not in all her ancient years had any Fae dared to defy her as Rehn’ar had.
    It was not just his defiance and betrayal that filled her with rage. The Fae are covetous creatures, and Rhin’s theft of her Hoard angered her just as much. A Hoard can take decades to build, whereas skinning a faerie alive only takes days at the most, depending on how skilful the torturer was, of course. Sift would see Rhin sing before she put an end to him. Revenge always tastes sweeter when it’s laced with gold.
    And she would have hers, even if she had to march across the ocean to get it.
    There came a knock at the door, timid though it was loud, and rightfully so. Sift swept to the centre of the throne room, her black gown rustling against the marble floor. She crossed her wiry arms across her chest and barked for the knocker to enter.
    The grand doors swung open and a dozen soldiers marched into the room, holding their heads as high as they could. Sift let a contemptuous smirk curl on her lips. Even the most hardened soldiers quailed in her presence, especially when they were late.
    Sift waited for them to arrange themselves in a long line in front of her, their short spears and black boots tapping on the marble as they marched into place. Her purple eyes stared at each and every one, daring them to match her glare. Only the captain satisfied her. Sift prowled around him, looking him up and down, regarding his intricate grey plate armour with its silver trim, and the emblem of the Coil Guard etched into his breastplate and back. The faerie stood stock still, trying to calm his breathing.
    Sift prodded a finger into his armoured chest, her sharp fingernail making the metal chime. She spoke to the soldiers either side of him. ‘Take this one away. Throw him to the wranglers. Perhaps he can redeem himself in the eyes of the Hollow’s crowds.’
    There was not an iota of hesitation. As the captain’s mouth hung agape, and panic filled his expression, his two comrades seized him roughly by his arms and dragged him from the throne room. Despite the horror of the sentence, he let himself be removed. To have protested would have meant death, right there on the marble. In the Hollow, against the blind moles, with the cheering of the bloodthirsty crowds, at least he had a chance—albeit the slimmest of chances, but perhaps the Roots would favour him. That was the only solace he could muster.
    Sift watched him until the doors swung shut before turning to the other soldiers. They looked straight ahead, unflinching. None of them particularly thirsted for a similar fate.
    ‘You,’ Sift prodded the next soldier along, the swirls and runes on his pauldron marking him as a sergeant. ‘Your name.’
    ‘Caol Cullog, My Queen,’ came the quick reply, accompanied by a smart bow.
    Sift nodded. ‘Congratulations are in order, Caol. You are now the captain of my guard. And if you do not want to follow in your predecessor’s footsteps, and join him in the Hollow, I suggest you never make me wait