Page 80 of Trials of Dusk and Dreams
“Styx,” I say roughly, “we need to find her. Trouble’s brewing, and Puck left the temple unguarded. We can retrieve Fox.”
“Unguarded.” His eyes lock with mine. “Has this happened before?”
I shake my head. “Not with this kind of carelessness. If it had, we’d have done the same for you.” My gaze catches movement outside, a twilight shadow sneaking away from the ball. “I take my eye off her for one minute?—”
“Tell me what she tastes like first,” he urges.
“Like the sun,” I say low. “I can’t explain it otherwise.”
Closing my eyes, I see blood. Yellow feathers. A familiar yet unknown woman’s mocking voice:“You can’t outrun your past. Your true nature. You’ll always hurt what you hold dearest.”
“What’s wrong?” Styx asks, concerned.
I rub my temples. “I’m remembering. Blood . . . feathers . . . always yellow. An old queen, maybe. Saying we’ll always kill. That love isn’t for us. It’s our nature to destroy.”
Styx stares hard, then sighs. “Canary’s death isn’t your fault.”
Peablossom’s familiar pale blue hair cuts a line toward us through the crowd.
I grab Styx. “We need to go. Now.”
We make a hasty exit and head outside.
“Don’t tell me that’s her,” Styx growls as we arrive at the exit in time to see a figure running toward the hedges.
“Fuck. The last time she broke in, a resonance stone captured her image. Puck used it to blackmail Fox.”
Styx’s eyes blacken, fangs descending. The transformation chills me, sharpening my memory and purpose. I am Sluagh. The Second. Willow is ours.
“We should kill Goodfellow now,” Styx hisses, distorted. “Why not let me feast on his soul? He’s no challenge. Fox could’ve taken him easily.”
“Perhaps,” I reply, walking purposefully toward the door. “But hasty actions have dire consequences. And we have someone more important to consider.”
Inside, Peablossom shrieks, “Oh my word, what in the Cauldron’s name happened here? Who did this to the food?”
Ribbons of shadow swirl around, hiding us from view. Styx grins at me, mouth full of sharp teeth, both terrifying and exhilarating. He covers his mouth to stop a laugh. Before weflickeraway, he shouts, “It was Glen! He finger-fucked the food.”
We vanish amidst an uproar of outrageous and aimless protests.
I can’t shake the feeling we’re walking a razor’s edge. Our queen is potentially in danger, and here we are, barely containing our monstrous nature before our enemies.
The irony stings—we’re meant to protect her, yet we might be what she needs protection from.
Chapter 33
Willow
Icreep through the maze leading toward the Cabinet, the scent of night-blooming jasmine heavy in the air. I have no idea if my luck still holds or how much of my pageant experience was Peablossom and how much was the acorn, but I tap the adornment in my hair three times in the same way she did, just in case.
Moonlight casts eerie shadows across the hedges, transforming dead statues into looming threats.
Gravel crunches softly beneath my feet as I dart through the now-familiar pathway, wary of hidden resonance stones. I push down the feeling of heartache tearing at my insides, growing louder and more painful with each step toward the temple.
My grip tightens around the knife I stole, its cool surface a meager comfort in my sweating palms. It may be as blunt as a pancake, but it’s better than nothing. The absence of a proper weapon feels like a missing limb, leaving me exposed in a way that sets my nerves on edge.
The bone sword I brought from Elphyne is too cumbersome, too conspicuous. But I can’t take Rory’s dagger back. Geraldine shouldn’t even use it—the metal disrupts magic.
As I approach the temple, my wolf senses strain, picking up the faintest sounds—the scurry of a small creature in the underbrush, the distant murmur of the ball, the steady drip of water from somewhere unseen.
