I had to let him go, though. When he returned to Faerie and found a new wife—
An icy crack spread over the embers in my chest.
Best not to think about that now.
Best to simply think about trying to live. Best to think about getting out of the Court of Sorrows with our bodies and our minds intact.
When the soldiers’ footfalls went quiet, I felt Torin’s muscles flexing behind me. He leaned down and whispered, “I missed you, changeling.”
“I’m going to get you out of here, Torin,” I whispered back .
“Are you saving me?” A hint of amusement laced his deep tone.
The thing was, yes, I was saving him.
I pushed out past the veil of vines and led Torin into the dark corridor.
We walked for a few more minutes until I could feel the tree’s roots bathed in moonlight. Freedom lay just on the other side of these roots.
“Here,” I whispered to Torin. “Watch for falling debris.”
My body buzzed from ambrosia as I brushed my fingertips over the gnarled roots. With my hand against the bark, I felt the wind rushing through the leaves of its boughs.
The world around us rumbled, and soil and dust shook from the ceiling until the roots shifted and parted, and a vault of stars spread out in the world outside.
As soon as a large enough gap opened in the roots, Torin grabbed my hand, and we ran out into the night. I breathed in the fresh, sultry air of the Court of Shadows.
Euphoria and Torin’s blinding smile lit me up.
Out here, the air rushed over my skin. We only had to get to the river, to find the ruined temple.
My gaze landed on the paddock, where the horses stood, still and calm under the moonlight, oblivious to the chaos in the castle.
In the distance, a red glow lit the sky, a spark of ruby against shadows. It took me a moment to understand. The volcano was erupting. Tonight, the goddess of ash was alive with fury.
We made it about twenty feet in the grass before I heard the groan of the tree shifting behind me. My stomach flipped.
With rising dread, I turned to see the queen’s dark vines snaking out from the stone walls.
The breath left my lungs.
I had only enough time to call out a brief warning to Torin before the vines wrapped around my waist, tight as a noose, and yanked me off the ground and into the sky.
32
SHALINI
Istood before the stage in a hall I’d never seen before, listening to the murmurs of the crowd around me.
My teeth chattered uncontrollably. It didn’t feel much warmer in here than it was outside, and cold iron bound my wrists behind my back. I glanced to my left, my chest clenching when I saw Aeron. His blond hair hung before his bowed head, and he wasn’t even looking at me now.
Behind me, a row of armored soldiers gripped swords. Above them, grotesque figures of giants were carved in the stone over the hall entrance. Between the giants stood scales of justice. Because that would be today’s performance, right? Inspired by the aesthetics of justice. Just not the actual concept of justice, I was sure.
This place was called the Guild Hall, and I was pretty sure that its soaring ceilings were designed to intimidate, along with everything else in its design. Aeron had told me that the Guild Hall was where the city guilds met to discuss their business, but it was also where important trials were conducted—such as treason trials.
A blood-red carpet stretched from the back of the hall to the stage. Narrow stained glass windows stretched to the ceiling, and chandeliers cast wavering light over the people crammed into the hall to watch us condemned—and we all knew the outcome already. This didn’t end with me walking free and bringing Aeron back to a dive bar.
Aeron met my gaze, and a muscle twitched in his jaw. “We’ll get out of this,” he said quietly.
He was being kind, and I nodded, pretending to believe him.
The only way I could stay sane right now was to vividly imagine my little apartment at home and the Golden Shamrock. In this situation, my world of fantasy was not the fairytale world. It was a beer-stained bar with mediocre nachos. That was my heaven. And I would keep that comforting world alive in my mind as long as I could.
When Moria crossed onto the stage, her dress trailing over the red carpet, I knew we were in for another show. Her burgundy hair tumbled over a snow-white cape, and her crown gleamed on her head like icicles.
“It pains me,” she began, “that we must continue to burn out the scourge of treason from our kingdom. But we are still starving, still freezing here in Faerie. Because even with a queen, my magic cannot compete with the curses that the Unseelie and their allies hurl at us. Here, in Faerie, the Unseelie have wicked agents doing their bidding. Consorting with Torin after his betrayal.” She strode across the stage like Lady Macbeth, gripping her stomach, as though it weren’t a load of absolute bullshit.