Page 31 of Forgotten Monsters
“The mists are accessed with a spell—not geography,” Barron explains. “It’s a land outside the three realms…some say a remnant of a fourth realm that was destroyed long ago. The old saying is that anyone traveling through the mists cannot hope to return without leaving something old behind or carrying something new.”
“Which is flowery language for what, exactly?” The ancient texts make everything sound fancy and mystical, but what Barron is saying sounds like a simple transaction.
The corners of his mouth twitch. “I guess we’ll find out.”
12
TALE AS OLD AS TIME
The Fae sunrise looms under the horizon, blood-orange clouds stretching above our heads. We rode for hours in the dark, and my body is numb from the strain of the saddle and the coldness of Cole’s welcome. He hasn’t uttered a single word to me since we left his war tent and barely glanced my way.
Instead, he shouts command after command to hisassistant,our chaperone, the tight-lipped sprite, Jameson.
The sprite and his king ride a few paces behind me. They are discussing the ins and outs of some skirmish between two generals, and the aftershock of our reunion prevents me from interrupting.
Hooves beat the path and lull me into a dreamlike state, my mind still trying to reconcile my quick trip to the Underworld, to the Faerie time-jump and this new reality.
This new Cole.
He made me wear a soldier’s tunic and hood to hide my identity, as though the whole realm might collapse with word of my non-death.
When we get to the palace, Cole finally speaks. “Let’s clean-up and settle in. We’ll have breakfast in an hour. We can talk then.” He throws his horse’s bridle over the pummel and strokes its neck.
Normally, I’d be eager to push his buttons and demand answers, be my hot-tempered self, but the lost decade instills an eerie sense of patience and dread. He still won’t look at me, but breakfast sounds a hell of a lot nicer than his frosty behavior on the ride here, so I nod. “Okay.”
The interlude might give me time to face my new reality.
Jameson’s leathery wings flap impatiently behind him as he escorts me to Cole’s room. The palace hasn’t changed much, but Cole’s bedroom is sterile, the shelves behind the big bed empty, and dust hangs in the air. Clearly, no one has stepped foot in this room formonths.
“Cole doesn’t sleep here anymore, does he?” I ask. He must have moved to the King’s quarters, a section of the palace I never visited before.
Jameson opens the curtains wide, the view of the city reassuring in its familiarity. “He asked for you to be placed here regardless.”
A fake, sugary smile glazes my lips. “Mmm. I’m not an object to beplacedanywhere, and I’d like to see his real bedroom.”
The professional, all-business exterior of the sprite doesn’t relent at my cheekiness. “You’ll meet the king in his quarters soon enough. I’ll send Mary to you, but no one other than her is to learn of your return.”
“Why not?”
“Your highness,” Jameson bows, his neck stiff, before he hustles out.
I trace the silk black pillows with my fingers.
I can be reasonable. I have no clue what happened in Faerie or what new threats arose in my absence. An hour is tolerable enough, but I’ll get to the bottom of this. Maybe Cole wants us to reunite here for good reasons, and with some luck, he’ll explain everything when we’re alone.
But a sour, hollow current in my blood tells me something is wrong, beyond the simple passage of time and highly charged revelations. The lingering taste of Cole’s desperate kiss is about the only thing keeping me sane.
What if Jameson couldn’t take me to Cole’s quarters because someone else lives there? What if Cole avoided my questions because Flynn is dead?
How am I supposed to accept all these changes?
If the world has moved on, thinking I was buried six feet underground, how can I accomplish all that I set out to do, bring justice to Beth, and expose Oz and Darkwood? Have I been gone so long that I’ve become irrelevant?
Fire stings my chest, my emotions burning hotter and wilder than I need them to, and I paw at the empty space in the valley between my breasts where my emerald pendant usually sits. There’s not much to do in the sterile room, so I lie down on the bed, wishing Cole—myCole—was here with me, and doze off.
“You’re back.” Mary looks down her nose at me as I jolt awake. Her high cheekbones are sharper than before, but her snobbish attitude hasn’t changed.
A wry smile curls my lips. “How disappointing for you.”
