Under my control, the vines started to move and rise. I closed my eyes, feeling my thoughts mingle with those of the tree that had become my home, relaxing in the warmth of sunlight on its canopy. From where I lay, I could feel the roots burrowing into the earth, twined with a delicate network of mycelium and fungi that spread beneath the kingdom. I breathed in, exhilarated. Every living thing here was connected, interacting. Communicating.
But a heavy burden pressed on the tree. The stones were crushing its boughs, trapping it beneath their weight. Power surged through me, but my chest felt weighted down with rocks.
My eyes snapped open, and I gasped for breath.
I wasn’t sure why it mattered, but I kept wondering what they’d done with Torin’s body. I had a horrific feeling they’d make a spectacle out of him. That’s what fae kings did, place their enemy’s head on a pike and hang their body from the castle gates.
A vanquished enemy.
I had no idea what Seelie burial traditions were like, but I knew they’d want the king’s body back, and that he deserved a burial alongside his parents. My chest felt tight thinking about it. How many days had passed? I didn’t want to remember him as a corpse, but I felt responsible for getting him home to Faerie.
Morgant thought I could be useful to him. But I had other plans.
One day, when I’d mastered control of my magic, I would free the tree and wrap these thorny vines around his throat.
24
SHALINI
My nerves were crackling as I stood in the front of the hall, waiting for Moria to step onto the frozen dais once more. Modron—the truth-telling crone—had arrived earlier today. It was never men tasked with living in caves and foretelling the future, was it? It was the crones of the world, the supernatural gossips and tea-spillers.
Silence fell over the hall, broken by scuffing feet and rustling cloaks and furs. Coughs echoed off the ceiling. Cast by wavering torches, shadows flitted over the room. It wasn’t the most festive atmosphere.
As we waited, fevered whispers rippled through the hall. At last, Moria stepped onto the dais, heels clacking on the ice. She hugged herself in a show of vulnerability. “We starve here in Faerie with no leadership, cursed by the Unseelie. And if we want to move forward, we must know what happened to King Torin. We have summoned Lady Modron so we may learn at last what has befallen our Seelie king. ”
My heart was beating a million miles a minute as I waited to find out what had happened to my best friend. I found myself leaning into Aeron, and he wrapped his arm around me.
Dressed in gray with a silky veil over her face, the old gossip shuffled into the room, one arm linked with Orla’s. I wasn’t quite sure who was leading whom. They both looked frail and likely to slip on the ice.
Through the thin fabric of her veil, I caught a glimpse of Modron’s bony white face. It was strangely skull-like, and a shiver rippled up my spine. One of her withered hands gripped a gnarled walking stick. Her long, silvery nails curled around the wood, and it cracked the ice with each thud as she crossed the dais.
At last, she stopped, and Orla stepped away from her.
Through the veil, I glimpsed her eyes, large and cavernous. “You wish to learn what has happened to your king. And his bride.” Her voice was a hiss that somehow managed to fill the entire hall and sent a shudder down my spine. “You wish to see the past.” A low, disturbing chuckle rose from her chest. “I used to live among you. None of you alive remembers those days. But once, I was here at court. Easier to have me out in the wild, though, isn’t it? Until you need me.” Another low gurgle of laughter.
Get on with it, woman. It all seemed a bit passive-aggressive for what we needed right now.
She lifted the veil, giving us a view of her aged chin and her long white teeth, which were disturbingly sharp as blades. Her lips were dark and glistening. She grinned, then took a deep breath. When she exhaled again, a cloud rose from her mouth, a thick fog that filled the air above the dais. And slowly, figures began to take shape within the cloud.
A beautiful woman with pale white hair sat on a throne made of tree roots, with black wings spread out behind her. And there, before the throne, stood Torin, holding a sword.
I swallowed hard. Torin stood there like he was her protector.
For a moment, I had no idea what I was looking at. But the furious reaction of the crowd quickly gave me a clue.
When I glanced at Aeron, I saw horror etched across his features. I leaned closer to him, whispering, “Unseelie?”
His eyes were firmly on Modron as he nodded. “I don’t understand,” he said, sounding dazed. “He’s standing before the throne of Queen Mab.”