“So why now?” I ask. “What’s changed to make brooding Finn feel hopeful?”
He presses another kiss to the top of my head. “We have you now, Princess.”
“Still with that nickname?” I smile. “I thought you would’ve figured it out by now. I’m not a princess. I never was.”
“I know,” he whispers into my hair. His lips brush my temple, just a ghost of a kiss, but the warmth laps over me like a summer tide rolling to shore. “I know that’s not who you really are. I think I knew it the first time I saw you. You’re no princess. You’re my queen.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The portal is exactly where we were told it would be: in the cave beneath the roots of the Mother Willow at the northernmost peak of the Goblin Mountains.
It took us less than an hour to hike here this morning and find it, and less than thirty seconds to slice our palms open, mix our blood together, and open it. Shivering, I stare into the murky darkness awaiting us on the other side of this ring of light.
I woke up so content and hopeful, with Finn’s arms wrapped around me, that until this moment I forgot to be afraid. Forgot that we would be stepping into an unknown world where we will face dangerous creatures, where we will be judged, and where we’ll be locked forever if we’re found lacking.
I can’t let myself look at Finn. He’s a reminder of what I could lose if this all goes to hell. Instead, I focus on the memories of those sleeping children and walk through the glowing ring and into the gloom.
Finn follows, coming to stand at my side. The Underworld is full of mist and shadow. Typically, I would feel right at home in a place like this, with plenty of opportunities to hide and sneak around, but every inch of me screams that I don’t belong here. The portal is a beacon of light behind us, and every inch of my being wants to turn around—to reassure myself that it’s there, that we can get back out—but I recall Juliana’s words. If Mab needs me to prove that I will persevere, then I will. I force myself to face forward.
Finn offers his hand, palm up, and I consider refusing for a moment. I’m not ready to reveal my weaknesses to anyone or anything that might be watching. But we’re stronger together—down here and everywhere else—so I take it, and he gives it a single, firm squeeze and we begin walking.
The ground creaks, and the sky moans. The earth shifts on either side of us, surging up to form mountains—and a path between them.
“I guess we’re going this way,” Finn says softly.
This time I squeeze his hand, and we walk silently down the newly formed corridor. With every step, the light from the portal behind us dims, but we don’t dare look back. We don’t even speak of it.
The only sound is the wind in this unnatural tunnel and the rocks shifting beneath our boots as we walk.
“I’ve been here before,” I whisper. The wind carries my words in circles around our heads, and they repeat three times, softer and softer before falling away. “The time my mother took me to the beach. We came here.”
He squeezes my hand tighter. “You recognize it? It looks familiar?”
“It didn’t look a thing like this, but it feels familiar. I know I’ve been here before.” And Mab— was she the woman I remember my mother talking to? The one who scared me?
Time feels like it moves in slow motion, but I focus on putting one foot in front of the other.
Sometimes we climb. Sometimes we descend. Sometimes the terrain is so flat and repetitive that I think the monotony itself might break me.
There’s no sign of the monsters the others warned us about. Just endless, bleak desolation.
When it feels like we’ve been walking too long in an endless loop and my instincts beg me to run back to the portal, I think of those children, of Lark, of all the innocents who will be imprisoned and enslaved if we don’t continue.
When I’m sure that we’ve walked miles and miles to nowhere, the towering rock on either side of us falls away into the mist and reveals a dark and gloomy forest.
Mist winds around the trees and crawls among the roots. My heart races.
“You okay?” Finn asks.
I nod and continue on. “If I’m Mab’s descendant, does that mean Jas is too?” I ask, if only to give me something to talk about that will take my mind off this unnatural place.
“I don’t really know,” he says. “If Mab’s blood came from one of your parents, I suppose so.”
My lips twitch. “Before Mordeus imprisoned her and made her so afraid of this world, Jas would’ve really gotten a kick out of this—the idea that we’re descendants of some great faerie queen.”