Tucked in my corner, I put the pitcher to my lips, drinking the water deeply. My muscles unclenched as I slaked my thirst. Never before in the history of water had anything tasted so amazing. Water dripped from the corners of my mouth as I chugged it.
Only after drinking half of it did I realize it wasn’t in fact water, but ambrosia. I ran my tongue over my lips, savoring the sweet flavor. Shit. I could easily down the whole thing, but it would make me drunk, fast. My body already hummed with the seductive magic of its effects, the air around me seeming to caress my skin and the delicate silk of the dress.
I forced myself to stop drinking the ambrosia and bit into the hot bread, closing my eyes at the rich flavors. After a few bites, I slowed down so I didn’t make myself sick.
I inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of burning oak and charcoal. Embers wafted through the air in burning motes. The ambrosia was making me feel at one with everything around me, the castle itself formed from the earth, with the hot metallic scent of melting steel. The words Love is a forge formed in my mind like a red-hot beacon.
It was time to find Torin again, and the euphoria of this ambrosia might help steel me mentally for the shock of seeing his corpse.
But as I chewed, I felt the subtle vibrations though the floor, the echo of footfalls through the hall. From the shadows, I held my breath, watching as a woman draped in gray crossed into the temple. I kept out of view for a moment, then turned to see her stoking the flames on the altar’s forge. I peered out to see her bathed in rosy light, the sword hilts above her illuminated with dancing orange hues.
She reached for a piece of steel, heating it in the fire, and grabbed a hammer to start shaping it. The sound of clanging metal echoed around me. But my thoughts turned back to the sword hilts above her, and it took me another moment to realize why.
My heart raced at the sight of one particular sword, one with an obsidian hilt. The Sword of Whispers belonged to the Seelie king, and I wasn’t leaving here without it.
In moments, my vines snaked around the priestess, wrapping about her neck and putting her to sleep. I dropped my bread and gingerly stepped over her body.
I had to climb on the altar, heat searing my skin, to reach the sword. The hilt was hot to the touch, but not enough to burn me.
When I gripped it, I heard the voices of gods whispering around me, and the rich voice of Torin booming through the corridors.
My heart skipped a beat.
Was I losing my mind, or was that actually his deep voice echoing from the hall where I’d killed him?
I broke into a run.
29
SHALINI
The frozen air stung my throat, and my lungs felt seared with ice. A small part of me thought that I should yell at Aeron and tell him to go on ahead of me, but even if I could muster the courage to do that, I didn’t have the breath to shout.
I stole a quick glance behind. The dragon circled overhead, herding us toward the castle. Every time we tried to veer off course, the fucking monster would light up the path with incinerating heat. The world around me was half glacier, half firestorm.
Aeron turned to me, and I’d never seen him look scared before. His eyes were open wide, his face pale. He wrapped his arms around me protectively.
“We can’t go any further, love,” he said through ragged breaths. “That thing is trying to force us back to Moria. Maybe she wants a trial.”
I clung to him, my heart thundering like a stampede. I didn’t think there was any way out of this. Aeron’s use of “trial” seemed like a euphemism—one last act of kindness from him to keep hope alive until my last breath.
But we both knew that Moria didn’t plan to let us live.
A roar rumbled over the horizon, and the dragon swooped overhead, unleashing a firestorm behind us, the heat scorching the air. With a snarl, Aeron grabbed my arm again and pulled me along with the frantic desperation of a dying man.
My toes stung in the icy snow.
What the fuck was my life right now?
I could hardly piece together a coherent thought, just panicked, fragmented wisps about how it was better to take our chances with an evil queen’s justice in the future than to burn alive. Could there be a worse death than burning alive? I had a disturbing feeling I was going to find out here in Faerie. The world smoldered behind us. In front of us, it gleamed with ice.
The dragon’s fire forced us closer to the castle, and smoke clouded the air around us, making me cough. Ashes mingled with snow, and the sharp-towered castle came into view, along with a legion of soldiers in silver armor. White sunlight gleamed off them as they marched forward, the intensity nearly blinding.