Page 17 of Court of Evil

With nothing else to do, I hurry to Tate’s side and kneel as I grip her hand. “Did you hear that, angel? You’re needed, so wake up.”

She doesn’t move, and I watch as Ronan kneels on her other side, his expression hopeful before he looks at me. “The queen will come for you to pay the debt.”

“I know,” I murmur as I hold Tate’s hand. Her gloves are gone, which she would hate. I don’t know why that’s my first thought, but it is. “I will pay it. When she comes, stay with Tate.I do not think they would harm her, but you can never be too sure.”

“Of course. Will you be okay?” he asks.

“I have survived this long,” is all I tell him. I will not lie to my friend. I know the price will be steep, but I will gladly pay it.

They are right. Tate is important and needed.

She doesn’t know how much.

Ronan and I sit like sentries, keeping watch over our hunter, waiting for her to wake.

CHAPTER 9

My eyes blink open. Something soft cradles me, and it’s so warm that for a minute, I revel in it before forcing myself to sit up and glance down. Vines slither back from my body, taking their soft pink and orange flowers with them. They were wrapped around me like a blanket.

Frowning, I climb to my feet and look down. My body is whole. There are no wounds or blood. My hair flows down to my ankles, decorated with flowers, and a pale yellow dress covers my body, floating in a warm breeze as I look around.

The meadow of wildflowers stretches on infinitely on either side of me. Where am I? My usual worry seems to float away in the breeze, and I can breathe deeply.

I feel warm, safe, and happy.

That cannot be real though. I grip the gauzy material of the impractical dress and trek through the meadow, searching for information. As I crest a small hill, I get my first glimpse of something other than flowers.

In the valley below is a large tree sheltering a stone, roofless structure, which is shaped like a circle, and from here I see people inside.

I slowly make my way down the hill until I come upon the structure, then I step inside and still.

It is larger inside than it appears on the outside, and it has a huge wooden table running the length of the room. The end of it connects seamlessly with the tree outside. Flowers create a soft rug.

It is the ten women surrounding the table, however, that cause me to still.

“We have been waiting for you, my daughter,” one says.

I notice there is no head of the table. Here, they are all equal and all different shapes, sizes, and colours. Some have pointed ears, others are old, and a few are young.

“Me? Why? Who are you?” I step towards the table and an empty spot at the end.

“Interesting,” an olive-skinned, middle-aged woman comments. “You know what that means.”

“I do,” another responds. She has long, icy hair and pointed ears, and she’s probably younger than I am.

“Where am I?” I ask, glancing around as if that will give me some answers to this strange place. Am I dead? Is this the afterlife?

“Yes and no.”

I whirl around, shocked that they answered something I did not speak aloud.

“This place is eternal. It lies within you and around you. It is our people’s place.”

“Our people?” I counter.

She simply smiles.

“You know what it means,” someone reminds her sadly.

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