It had always been cold, but this—the Sinach, the cages, the palpable terror—this was a living nightmare.
They dragged me across the icy snow, hoisting me into a cart. I grimaced at the arrowheads ripping at my flesh.
As the cart took off, bouncing over the frozen earth, I felt every jolt. Not exactly the welcome I’d hoped for.
Where the fuck were they taking me?
37
AVA
Istared at the piece of the mirror. I’d hardly moved in the past hour.
One thing I’d learned in the Court of Sorrows was that I had to be ready to escape at any moment, and that sense of urgency was skittering up my spine. With the fragment of mirror, I dropped down onto Shalini’s sofa.
I waited, staring into space at the ash gray of the human world.
On a table by Shalini’s windowsill was an aspidistra plant, its leaves withered and browned in her absence. My muscles tensed. I felt its thirst, its isolation, the nearness of death. Cocking my head, I summoned life back into the plant, and the magic sweeping over me felt like warm sunlight on my skin. The plant beamed with golden light, and its leaves shifted to green again.
I stood and stroked a fingertip along the waxy leaves. A very human choice for a plant, a tame, civilized choice .
But Shalini had a wild side, too, which was how she’d ended up in Faerie in the first place.
Next to the plant, a green book lay on the table. Under the crumbles of dead leaves, I read the gold lettering: W.B. Yeats.
I dropped back into the sofa and flicked through the pages. My gaze landed on a poem, and my heartbeat started to pound.
“Faeries, come take me out of this dull world,
For I would ride with you upon the wind,
Run on the top of the disheveled tide,
And dance upon the mountains like a flame.”
My blood pumped hot. I was meant to dance upon the mountains like a flame.
We, the fae, were tempered in the fires of a mountain goddess, forged to race through the star-flecked skies. We were not born to be civilized.
We were not born to eat fucking Cheerios.
And I could never stay here without knowing if my friends were okay. After everything I’d been through, I was never taking anyone’s safety for granted again.
Torin had told me that as long as his throne was shattered, he would have no power whatsoever. So when he returned, was he returning as a king? Or had someone usurped him?
Given what I knew about the fae—that we were ruthless and vicious—I had a strong suspicion it was the latter.
I didn’t have a lot to my name right now, but what I did have was an insane lack of patience and a burning determination to keep my loved ones safe .
Wildly, I rushed to Shalini’s closet and plucked out her warmest winter coat and a pair of knee-high boots.
Fully dressed, I glanced into the piece of mirror and shouted the word Faerie.
Torin
Icy manacles bound my wrists, and an iron collar clamped around my throat. I looked down at the blood streaming from my body, the arrows jutting from my flesh. The blood had frozen on my clothes.
My soldiers had chained me to a post in the center of the stone amphitheater. Thick ice and snow covered the ground beneath my feet.
Moria and Modron stood where I’d once presided over the duels during the trials. How long ago had it been since Ava had won in this arena? It felt like centuries. At the thought of her, grief carved me open, a cold sense of loss that I’d never see her again.
Was this it, then?
The cold gnawed at my skin, and the shadows seemed to grow thicker around me, dancing over the ice like frozen spirits. When I died, I’d be severed from the people I loved.
Dazed, I scanned the amphitheater, my gaze roaming over the crowds in the stone seats. Anger whispered over my skin. This was to be a public execution of a conquered king.
On the stone platform, Moria wore a deep burgundy cloak that matched her hair and long white gloves. A smile curled her lips .
Modron was by her side. The crone was dressed in a cloak the deep gray of smoke. My thoughts snagged on what Mab had told Ava—kill Modron, and this would all be over.
An icy wind swept over the stadium, carrying gusts of snow. No one had told me yet how I would die, but I imagined it would be more creative than freezing to death. Up there with some of the threats Mab had already delivered, no doubt: eviscerated, castrated, or sealed up in an icy tree. Humans may have created beautiful art, but the fae were immensely creative when it came to methods of killing.
Seelie poured into the stands, dressed warmly in furs.
Moria pulled up her burgundy hood. Gracefully, she stepped down from the dais and crossed the snow-swept arena. I watched her, pierced by a seething hatred as she strode across the ice, the wind whipping at her cloak. If I had my magic, this would be over in minutes.