Maven laughs it off. “Just a bit of overgrowth, is all.”

But the look on Arion’s face tells me this isn’t normal, that it’s not the home he remembers.

I take in a breath, and the wetness of the air weighs down my lungs. It’s like breathing in soup.

I immediately hate it.

This is nothing like the dazzling Holstead painting.

It’s not bright and gorgeous and glittering.

It’s heavy and oppressive.

I can literally feel the energy of the place buzzing up my legs, like something is off, like the energy is looking for anything else to cling to because there’s too much of it, too much wrong energy.

“Come,” Maven says and starts down the overgrown path. “The queen is expecting us to be prompt.”

I glance at Arion. “You look worried.” I keep my voice low.

He starts to say something and then clamps his mouth shut, jaw flexing. “I remember it differently.”

“Better?”

“Hurry along, faeling,” he answers, dodging my question. “My brother is right; we can’t keep the queen waiting.”

With a huff, I follow him down the path, unsure of what I’ll find at the end.

The thick, green woods carries on for far too long. Sweat soaks my back. My hair is plastered to my forehead.

Somehow Maven and Arion don’t look the least bit affected by the heavy air. They clearly have something I don’t. Do fae not sweat? And if not, how come I’m like a drenched rat right now? Or rather, mouse.

I blame it on the binding. I’m still not fully tapped into my fae power.

The woods finally break for rolling hills where a serpentine river cuts into the land. The moving water helps dispel some of the heat, but just barely. I get close to the edge and look down to find muddy, dark water.

The buzzing in my legs is more noticeable.

The river cuts away from the path and we trudge up the hills.

“Almost there, princess!” Maven yells over his shoulder, the bright sun glaring off the metal detailing on his tunic.

“Just over the next hill,” Arion adds, probably sensing my struggle.

I’m not out of shape, but I’m not athletic either. It’s been a while since I’ve gone on a hike. And never in hot, sticky summer air.

Arion and Maven stop together where the hill, from my vantage point, meets the blue sky.

“Just look at it,” Maven says, his hands on his hips.

Arion catches his breath, frowning into the distance.

One foot in front of the other.

Come on, Jessie, you can do it.

The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I can get back to Midnight and Bran.

Well, maybe.