Page 81 of Fae Exile

Our loved ones were at the mercy of a monster who preyed on anything good in this putrid world she controlled.

“I haven’t decided yet,” she said, studying Rush too closely for my liking. “It all depends.”

“On what?” he asked though I could already guess her awful answer.

“Why, on your dedication, of course. Your gratitude. You have a very great deal to make up for, Rush. I never forget a single thing done against me.”

Is that so? Well neither do I, you fucking cunt.

“Nor do I,” Ivar added.

“Nor I,” Braque said. “Any offense against my queen is one against me. And my skill with potions is what’s keeping Larissa alive.”

So suddenly that I startled, dozens of goblins materialized from the wall that curved behind the dais.

In a hypnotic pitter-patter of their floppy dragon feet, they scampered all around the room, beginning to set it aright with bursts of magic.

With a flare of orange light from a goblin with stringy, rusted-orange hair and a dingy frock like what Pru wore, the many pieces of a felled pillar began to slide toward each other, preparing to piece together.

There was a flash of pink as a male goblin with short gray hair waved his arms, gathering clump after clump of dust. It began separating into elements before knitting itself together according to kind.

Another snapped his gnarled fingers at one of the empty window panes. Shards of glass hurtled toward it from all over the place, causing Azariah to squeal and jump out of the way as several pieces zoomed past him too close for comfort.

Eyes wide, I wanted to watch each of them to learn what they could do. Pru had obviously been holding out on me.

“Go to your rooms,” the queen announced.

I struggled to look away from the magic being performed in such abundance, the curiosity I’d felt for it all my life gnawing at me like hunger.

“Rest up,” she continued as if it weren’t the most incongruous thing for the woman who was singlehandedly responsible for so much of my suffering to utter. “Rush, you’ll get the one night off. You’ll need your strength for tomorrow.”

“What’s tomorrow?” I asked.

“‘What’s tomorrow,Your Majesty?’” Ivar spat at me.

I didn’t correct myself. His eyes burned.

“Tomorrow, the Nuptialis Probatio begins. Tomorrow is the beginning of your end.”

26.THE KISS OF DEATH

~ ELOWYN ~

So much had changed since that first time Rush led me across the palace to my chambers. So much had passed between us, both good and bad. And yet, much like that initial time, I couldn’t help but wonder how I found myself there again, delivered to Embermere without my consent. It felt a bit like a dream—or perhaps it was a nightmare from which there was no waking.

This time, at least, he walked at my side, dispensing with a bit of the silly posturing that passed for court etiquette. With a hand never far from one of his blades, he glanced at me, Saffron across my back, every few steps. I couldn’t decide whether it was because he feared I might disappear as readily as I’d materialized, if he longed to touch me as much as I did him, or if he was simply concerned for my safety. If it was the latter, the queen had proven far too thoroughly that weapons weren’t a true defense against her. And that had been before she revealed how very well informed she was.

So much for all the secrets we’d believed our own...

In the Wilds, I’d dared to believe my burgeoning connection to the land would make a difference. But what chance did Ihave when the queen could flick her wrist and vanish beasts as magical and powerful as dragons?

I clung to a rapidly fading faith that we’d find the way to defeat her anyway, because if we didn’t, what hope would anyone else have? If we didn’t succeed, the mirror world would be bathed in such darkness it would never find its way out from under its strain. The darkness would swallow up the light. And then there really wouldn’t be any reason to keep going.

When we arrived at my door, Rush ushered me inside, bolted it quickly closed behind us, and kept me with him while he performed a sweep of my rooms. After he found no lurking assassins, he spun toward me, his shoulders relaxing by a fraction.

“It’s safe.”

I stared up at him. Dust and grime smeared his face and clothing. Burn marks slashed across one sleeve and the back of his tunic, where some ends of his hair curled, several inches shorter than they’d been before he weathered the dragon’s breath to get to me. Dark circles edged his eyes, making the moonlight of his irises appear brighter. And his frame was lankier, suggesting he’d lost some weight.

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