Page 5 of Trials of Dusk and Dreams
“How areyou, a mortal, bonded to the Baleful Hunt?” Styx’s incredulous eyes narrow.
Thoughts churn behind Puck’s emerald eyes before he manages a haughty scoff. “I am not mortal.”
Styx’s grip tightens, but no dragon appears, and no stony power flashes in Puck’s eyes. The dragon remains outside. My theory must be correct. He can’t call on the Hunt’s power from in here.
“Is he right?”I project my thoughts to Styx.“If we kill him, is the dragon released?”
The muscle ticking in Styx’s jaw is the only sign he heard me. He’s too enthralled with whatever he sees in Puck’s eyes . . . or thoughts. If Cait can’t find Medusa’s Mirror for us, then the Baleful Hunt reversing this condition could be the only way we get Fox out. I refuse to sacrifice another soul to take Fox’s place.
“We have to go now,”I project my thoughts at Styx. “If we can knock Puck out, you might be able to flicker us away before the Baleful Hunt spots us.”
Styx’s voice invades my mind, darker and richer than Fox’s gentle purr.“Why should I trust you?”
“Because Fox did.”I inch closer, adding,“Puck doesn’t know your seal is broken. You haven’t revealed your powers, which makes me wonder why he’s not attacking. I think he’s trying to bait you into exposing yourself.”
“I know that,”he snaps.“The dragon cannot protect his thoughts in here.”
Ah. So that long look into his eyes was Styx searching his mind.
“Then you know Puck’s right. He’s our only hope of freeing Fox. Well, he thinks he is. We have a backup plan back at the keep.”Aloud, I say, “We should leave. There’s nothing more to do here. Fox fulfilled the bargain to turn himself in. You’re free to go, Styx.”
Puck glares at me, and whatever thought passes through his mind makes Styx’s lip curl in disgust. His fingers tighten around Puck’s throat until his eyes roll. He’s losing oxygen. Sensing our window of opportunity closing, I slap my hand against the warded wall, inviting the crawling, itching magic over my skin. I transfer it to Styx and then bolt outside, dragging the reluctant Sluagh with me.
We step into fresh air for a split second, and then the dragon roars. My pulse leaps, I lock eyes with Styx, and I plead in my mind. Relief washes over me as my equilibrium shifts, the familiar sensation of being pulled through space and time enveloping us. Heflickersus. But when my feet touch wet, coppery-smelling stone, I realize with growing horror that we’re nowhere near the keep. Or if we are, I’ve never seen this blood-spattered chamber of horrors before.
Cruel instruments of torture dangle from hooks along every wall. A limp, skinless form is nailed to a wooden chair. Its innards spilled like a butchered animal, but I’m not sure this thing is human. A rotten stench lurks in the blood. My stomach roils as the grotesque reality sinks in.
The Knight Inquisitor strides into the room, wiping blood from his leather-gloved hands. Short, white hair. Black brows. A pale, cruelly beautiful face. Emrys lifts his attention to us, and his eyes widen in shock.
Chapter 3
Willow
“You’re free,” Emrys states, his familiar raspy voice tight. In two quick strides, he’s before Styx, bloody hands gripping his bare shoulders. “How?”
“Fox used the spell that was meant for me.” I cough and attempt to stand, but the stench overwhelms my senses. I end up on my hands and knees, fingers splayed for balance as I breathe through the haze of death. How can he work here?
Flashes of death—of undead things rising from the ground—hit behind my eyes. I remind myself that was long ago. I’m in Avorlorna. Not Elphyne. I don’t even have my magic. I can’t wake up the dead. They can’t hurt me. I’m safe.
When my breathing settles, I lift my gaze to find both Emrys and Styx staring at me. Something passes unsaid between the two, and I have the surreal sense that I was wrong. I’m still on that battlefield, still at risk of having my flesh torn from my bones.
Styx stalks to a wall and leans his shoulder against it, oblivious to the sharp hunting hooks dangling above his head from iron manacles. He folds his arms and says, “She claims she’s our mate—the hive’s one true queen.”
I lick my lips and dart a nervous glance at Emrys. For a moment, I fear he’ll lie and say he has no idea who I am. He approaches me with a slow, rolling gait. He moves like a wolf tracking its prey.
“Apparently,” he replies.
“Apparently?” Styx repeats, brows raising.
“Fox claims she is.” Emrys’s dark brows knit together. “But look at her—no queen, just a frail mortal shell devoid of magic.”
“So she lies,” Styx continues. “She trapped Fox into taking my place.”
“Search her mind,” Emrys suggests, crouching to my level.
Dried blood is caked on his gloves. It’s on his boots, black pants, and white hair.
“I can’t,” Styx says, scraping a hand through his unruly hair. “She is blocked to me . . . like a queen.”
