Page 42 of Court of Bone and Amethyst

This can’t be happening. My mother’s message to me in the family book, it said I could trust my magic, and that it would never harm me or a loved one. This can’t be. It just can’t.

I won’t allow it.

I raise my fist, a golden glow forming around it, and I bring it down hard against Zyren’s heart. Streaks of light shoot across his body, chasing away the gray and bringing color back to his skin. His chest rises and falls as he draws a breath. Slowly, his eyes open.

“Sarielle,” he moans, and then he passes out.

It’s an hourlater, after Owyn and Merla have healed each other’s wounds, and we’ve caught the horses, that we begin the final trek to the Court of Memory. Peeks of blue sky can be seen through the gray clouds overhead, the sun sparkling against the snow. Zyren is still unconscious, but his breathing is steady and he seems otherwise unmarred.

A thousand years seem to have passed on this voyage. I am not the same person I was a month ago. I’m not sure I know who I am anymore at all.

Zyren wakes up some time later, just as Merla calls, “There!” and points ahead into the distance.

Something massive sits on the horizon. A wall that stretches nearly half the length of it, made of ice and stone that shimmers like a mirage. It almost feels like it could be, that we can’t possibly have reached this long-sought destination. It had always been a near insurmountable feat. Dodging Avonia’s army, and a host of nightmares, and a demon that still haunts us. After everything, we’ve made it.

“I would think that I’m dead except it hurts too much,” Zyren groans.

I pull my horse to a halt, and Owyn hops down from his and helps Zyren down from where we have him slung across the saddle.

“You’re not dead,” I murmur, shame filling me for how close it had been.

“How exactly am I not?” His gaze meets mine as he climbs back into the saddle the proper way, sliding his feet into the stirrups.

“I struck you down. But then I healed you,” I say softly.

He looks down at the gaping hole in his clothing and runs his fingers across the skin there. A strange look crosses over his face.

“How do you feel?” Owyn asks.

“I don’t know,” he responds. “Fine, I guess.” He points to the distant wall. “I’ll feel better when we get on the other side of that.”

“Me, too,” Merla says with a shiver.

We urge the horses into a canter for the final stretch. As we approach the huge wall, I see banners flying from each of the front corners, black with a white dragon, two spears criss-crossed behind it. There’s a large gate set in the middle of the wall, wrought iron covered in a thin layer of frost. Bordering the wall is a wide moat, but it’s not water that fills it. It’s magic, emitting a bright blue glow. On each side of the gate sits a watch tower, and I can make out two archers in each one. They stare down at us, weapons drawn.

We stop before the gate and Owyn calls up, his voice amplified with magic. “We have traveled far to seek shelter at the Court of Memory. Open your gates for Sarielle Otreyas, Queen of Nightmares!”

The archers do not lower their weapons, and several long moments pass as my heart pounds in my chest. What if they turn us away? What if we traveled all this way for nothing?

But then, there comes a deep rumble, and the squeal of metal, and the wrought-iron gate slowly begins to lift before us. A bridge extends across the magical moat, thick sturdy wood that settles into place in the ice on the other side. I catch glimpse of the courtyard beyond, and several dozen mounted warriors.

I glance over at Zyren and he nods, though his jaw is tight, his muscles rolling. We urge our horses forward, across the bridge beneath the watchful gaze of the archers, who still have their bows drawn, and across the threshold of the gate into the courtyard beyond. Snow swirls around us as we approach the mounted warriors. My gaze sweeps across the huge castle within the walls, some distance off. One of the horsemen steps forward in front of the rest, holding the house banner on a long pole before him.

“Welcome, travelers,” he calls, his voice carrying a deep growl like a bear. His brown hair is shorn short, and he wears a black cloak with a thick ruff of dark fur. The pewter clasp at his throat tells me he is someone of importance. “To the Court of Memory.”

The huge gate rumbles behind us again as it closes.

We made it.

“I am Baron Ethanas,” the man continues. “If you seek refuge at the Court of Memory, you must petition the king and queen. We will escort you to them now.”

Zyren stiffens, his eyes widening. “King and queen? There is only one throne that bears that title in Valaron, and it sits in Selaye.”

Baron Ethanas narrows his eyes. “In the northern reaches, we have named our own king and queen.”

Zyren shoots me a dark look, and my heart tightens in panic. I see him look over his shoulder behind us, as if contemplating leaving. But whatever quick decision he makes, he just clenches his jaw and stands his ground.

“And who may we announce to the lord and lady?” the baron asks, one brow raised as his gaze sweeps over us.

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