Does she know the sound carries to me? Is it another part of my torment, or just one of the multitude of horrors in the Below?
He doesn’t look at me—he hardly ever does—but simply sits down against the wall of green crystal that serves as the border of my prison. His dark hair is spread against the flat, sheer gem. A few drops of blood splatter from the wounds on his back. He’s shirtless. It would be too painful to wear a shirt until he heals.
I kneel, waiting for him to speak. A wave of dizziness overtakes me, and I grasp the wall to steady myself, fingers clutching some of the multitude of green crystals growing along the rock wall.
The crystals she uses to slowly drain away my power, drop by drop. All at once would ruin her plan, after all.
“He’s fallen ill,” the boy says dryly.
My heart clenches. I don’t let it show on my face. “What?”
“Your husband.”
“How?”
He turns slightly, just to display that he’s rolling his eyes. “Oh, maybe that’s what happens when you bind someone’s life force to a dying tree.”
“Create more thorns!” I snap.
“That won’t help. They keep the structure intact, but they don’t give the magic back. The Briar has already given what life it can. My thorns are cursed. I knew even as a child when you gave me this stupid power.”
He waves his wrist, the golden rose bracelet dangling.
“They’ve helped Castletree.”
“Not for much longer. And if Castletree dies, so does your husband.” He turns to face me, and I try not to gape at the full extent of his wounds. Even with his magic, they will take a long time to heal. “Why would you do that, anyway?”
“I couldn’t watch him die,” I explain.
“Why not just make him fae?” he whispers.
“That isn’t within my power.” We’ve had this conversation before. The boy is obviously in a mood. I’m sure he’ll circle back soon enough to what he really wants from me. What he’s always after.
“You’re the bloody Queen,” he snarls. “You made yourself human.”
“Castletree is the source of all magic in the Vale. It’s eternal. So should he be,” I murmur. “Besides, I didn’t make myself human. I—never mind. I suppose we’re both fools when it comes to magic and love.”
The boy clutches his wrist, covering his frosted bargain bracelet. I dare him with my glare to ask his request again. One I couldn’t fulfill even if his mother hadn’t imprisoned me.
I could change fae into animal, myself into a beast, but I cannot make myself human any more than I can make him human.
I catch sight of something in the bag Caspian dropped beside him. Poking out is a leather notebook, the edges sprayed with blood, as if he was clutching it when…
When he was punished.
“The flail this time?” I muse.
“She let Shrowgar do it,” he mutters bitterly. “He really doesn’t like me.”
The book has fallen open, and I strain to read the neatly written words.
Things that make me smile.
Dancing to beautiful music
Fine clothing
Competitive board games
Annoying Keldarion
Rosalina, Rosalina, Rosalina
The last line is written in a different script, finer and more elegant. I place my finger against the crystal as if I could trace the letters. He toes the book shut and raises a brow at me. “You’re always so nosey.”
I stand and cross my arms, catching my reflection in the crystal: matted hair and a threadbare dress, feet bare. No wonder this man—no more than a child to my ancient eyes—doesn’t respect me for who I am. “There really is no entertainment of any sort down here. How about you offer the goblins a fiddle and start a merry band for me?”
He chuckles lightly, dark waves falling in his eyes.
I swallow, throat dry. “Did she … Did she give that to you?”
“Yes.”
He tilts his head, and hanging around his neck is a moonstone rose.
“And my necklace,” I ask slowly. “Did she give you that?”
With blood-stained fingertips, he gently touches the stone. “No. I stole it for safekeeping.”
“Caspian,” I say, hating the vulnerability in my voice. But his visits are so infrequent, and I need to know. “Please tell me. Are … are my daughters alive?”
He stares at me. Questions like this increase the risk of him coming here. Then he gives a long sigh. “Try as the world might, your youngest always manages to flutter away. And Rose … Well, she found your bow.”