Page 59 of Of Wind and Terror

I wonder if he can feel it sucking away his powers, draining them like water in a strainer.

“It’s something I created.” I smile cruelly at the other male and then hold up my own arm, where a similarly styled cuff circles my wrist.

The only difference is the markings. Calan’s cuff has a triangle-like shape carved into the side. Mine has a circle interspersed with lines.

“It took me years forging these bracelets in the Land of Ingens and infusing them with magic found deep in the Moon Sea.” I sigh wistfully and twist the cuff back and forth, studying it in the flickering candlelight. “But it seems to be doing its job rather marvelously. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Calan’s voice is strained when he bites out, “And what job is that?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” My second prisoner twists his head so he can face me, his eyes narrowed, his lips pursed. “He’s stealing our powers.”

Calan jumps slightly, and I wonder if he even knew the other male was there. It’s not as if he can see him with the stone wall separating their cells.

“And who are you?” Calan barks.

My prisoner releases a haggard sigh. “Draven.”

“Draven?” Calan’s eyebrows shoot up in disbelief, and my grin widens.

“So…I may have lied about who I am.” I shrug nonchalantly. “Just a teeny tiny little lie. But it was the only way I could accomplish my goals.”

Disbelief splays itself across Calan’s face before it’s replaced by understanding. He staggers back a step in shock.

“You’re not Prince Draven…” He shakes his head, muttering under his breath. “You’re…”

He doesn’t say it. They never say it, as if they’re afraid of putting those words into the universe and making them true, of breathing life into a decaying corpse.

“Prince Sylvan of the Day Court.” I give a dramatic bow, dipping at the waist. “At your service.” I rub my hands together eagerly and take another step closer. “Now, let’s talk, shall we? I heard you’ve been causing quite the ruckus, and we can’t have that.”

I unsheathe one of my blades and hold it up, allowing it to reflect the flickering flames from the sconces. “I’ll give you two choices. Either you submit to me willingly like my dear friend Draven…or I kill you.” I bare my teeth at him. “Which one do you choose?”

22

KASSANDRA

We travel for two days without any incident, stopping at night to get some rest and then setting out first thing in the morning. It’s slow going and a tiring process, and I have to wonder if the males are dragging their feet, reluctant to venture through the Forest of the Damned despite the urgency of our situation.

Blaze tells me they’re just being cautious. After all, we don’t know what—or who—we’re going to run into.

Still, despite his reassurances, I can’t help but taste the tension thickening the air. It spirals through me until I feel like a loaded spring, jittery with restless energy.

I remain in the carriage while the guys alternate who’s leading our procession and who’s protecting the rear of it.

I have to marvel at what an unruly crew we make—two princes, an elf, and the famous Death Whisperer. Why does this sound like the start of a horror novel? Our bounties combined would be well over a million gold coins—high enough to feed an entire kingdom of fae. What lengths would others go to secure that money?

The thought sends a shiver down my spine.

We should reach the Forest of the Damned by late afternoon, but we unanimously decide to wait until first light before venturing through it.

According to the princes, there are monsters that roam the forest. Wraiths, for starters—bloodsucking, emaciated creatures that devour your internal organs. Wyverns, which are apparently like small dragons. Selkies. Basilisks. And so many other mythical creatures that my head spins just thinking about them all.

Blaze told me that the forest is also full of magic. Dark, insidious, unfettered magic just waiting to sink its claws into anyone who comes too close. It can make you lose your mind. See things that aren’t really there. Hear voices. Hurt the ones you love most.

For the one thousandth time since I’ve heard that news, I debate the merits of taking the long way around. Surely, the mark on my arm can’t be any worse than that…can it? Nothing has even happened yet. I feel perfectly normal.

Perhaps the males are blowing this out of proportion. Maybe the mark used to be a canister of power, but it’s possible it doesn’t react the same way now. After all, Chaos is asleep—and has been for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. Surely, his magic is sleeping with him, right?

Nerves eat at my stomach as the carriage crawls to a stop. We must’ve reached our destination for the night.

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