Page 198 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

Isitatmydesk, staring at the sad lines of the ivy mask in my hand. What am I supposed to do now? I cannot hand Kat over to Lord and Lady Nothril. That is certain. Our newly forged bonding pounds against my heart at the thought. But I also cannot let Pavi die.

Despite what I told Kat, I have not a clue how I am to get out of this mess.

There is no way forward and no way out. I run the bargain over in my head, searching for any crack, any fissure I can exploit.

You will bring the Ivy Mask to us for rendered judgment within three moons, measured by the human lands.

My mouth drops open. There is the crack. It stares at me right now, gripped tightly in my fist.

If I bring the ivy maskitself, that will satisfy the bargain. Yes, it will start a war. Yes, I still might not be able to save both my sister and my wife—but it gives me achance. We could delay long enough until we have a plan. Kat knows how to get people out of Faerieland, and maybe we could even get Pavi out before I brought the mask to Lord and Lady Nothril and started the war.

It’s dangerous. It will cost me everything.

But it might work.

“Kat!” I call, almost jubilant, getting to my feet and rushing toward her room. The rest of the estate feels oddly quiet after the arguments of Oliver and Agatha. I hope they left us to figure out this mess in peace. I throw open the door. “Kat—”

My voice dies abruptly.

The bed is empty.

The sheets are mostly on the floor, twisted as though from struggle. The window has been cleanly smashed. The air smells distinctly of Nothril. A burn flares at the back of my neck. I grab it, my fingers tracing over the disappearing lines of my tattoo. The blood oath is fulfilled, which means—

I stumble against the wall, catching myself as deep, soul-devouring dread consumes me.

Pelarusa took Kat.

Chapter 66

Kat

Mykneeshitthecold, unforgiving black slate floor. The force rattles my bones and yanks a muffled groan through my gag. The cold seeps into the light frock I’m wearing. My hands are bound behind me, greatly reducing my mobility.

Which really is the mildest of my problems, I decide as I lift my eyes.

Lord and Lady Nothril sit on their thrones, resplendent in both awe and terror. I thought their greatness overwhelmed me at Mirror Tide, but, bound at their feet, the instinct to keep my gaze from lifting to their towering beauty nearly overwhelms me.

Nearly, but not quite.

They look at me with such condescension. As though I am an insect beneath the heel of their shoe.

“Behold,” Pelarusa announces, a smirk in her voice, “the Ivy Mask.”

Lady Nothril does not reply. Her face is carved from ice, and I get the distinct sense of displeasure. Lord Nothril’s mouth draws in a thin line. “Excellent job.”

It hits me then: they are angry with Rahk. He should have been the one to bring me in.

When Lady Nothril drags her gaze to me, pure hatred flashes in their depths. I clench my jaw and hold her gaze. She may be great and terrible, and I may be nothing, but I will not shrink before her.

Pavi sits on a smaller throne to one side, one of three, and her shoulders cave in on themselves as our eyes lock.

“Where is Prince Rahk?” demands Lord Nothril. “Why is he not with you?”

“He succumbed to her charms and was dragging his feet about bringing her. But look! I have brought some slaves to replace the ones you lost.”

My mind stutters. The grand doors behind us swing open. A rush of cold air and a familiar shriek assault me. I try to turn but Pelarusa grips my head and keeps me faced forward. Surely I didn’t hear what I thought I—

“Let megoyou monster!” cries Agatha. “I have done nothing! Nothing, I tell you!”

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