Page 127 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen
“Your brother makes me nervous,” I admit. “A lot of Fae try to cheat death, and it always ends badly. I’m afraid he might try to hurt Elio again.”
Seth tenses, his knuckles flexing. “You really care about that ice dude.”
I blink at him a few times, biting back a smile. “Seth. He’s my brother.”
His entire face blanks out for a beat. “Wait. What?”
“Ethan Lightbringer sired me. That’s why I have so much light magic. Why I have wings.” I avert my gaze. “He raped my mother, and she never truly recovered. She killed herself when I was seven.”
“By Zeus, I’m so sorry…” He rubs down his face, his jaw slightly askew. “So you’re…”
“A closeted bastard, yes.”
A sheepish grimace twists his lips. “I was going to say you’re not still hung up on Elio.”
“Were you jealous?” I tease him.
He hooks his little finger around mine. “Immensely.”
“And now?”
His lips press together. “Now I fear we’re stuck in a world where my brother plans to kill yours, and I don’t know what we can do to stop him.”
I straighten his collar and gently tug at the lapels of his jacket.
“Let’s cross that bridge later. I want to go home to Spring and bury Percy.” My voice falters, and my mouth hangs open for a moment before I find the strength to whisper, “And… I want to do it with you.”
Chapter 41
Secret Springs
DEVI
Mist obscures the sceawere, the heavy white flumes sturdier than they were the last time we traveled through the space between worlds. I can’t see anything, so I slip my free hand into Seth’s, the other holding Percy close to my heart.
There are no nightmarish wolves leaping at our throats, just as Luther promised, but it’s nerve-wracking to know we wouldn’t see them coming this time around. If some monster prowled this white, cottony blur, we’d be sitting ducks.
“Ominous, no?” Seth cracks.
“Very.”
“Luther wasn’t nervous—like he didn’t even consider the new Mist King a threat.”
A shiver slithers through me, the icy kiss of the mists on my cheeks like being smothered by a very soft, inviting pillow. “Willow thought she could take him.”
“I almost flunked history, but I’d still be wary of a Summer Fae going up against a Mist King. Not after what happened last time.”
A small chuckle grates my throat. “Willow hopes to right that wrong. She’s a Summer Fae in name only.”
“I’m not sure any Fae alive could right a wrong of such biblical proportions,” Seth grumbles, hastily drawing runes on his lower arm.
“Freya must’ve warded all the mirrors in the Secret Springs against me,” I warn him. “It might take a while to find one that wasn’t properly maintained.”
He smirks at that. “There’s no mirror in Spring I don’t control. My mother doesn’t do subtle when it comes to enchantments or wards, and as the only living relative who shares her blood, I can get anywhere I want—from the prison to her chambers.” His voice brims with that signature cockiness that makes me want to kiss him and slap him in equal measure.
“And she has no idea?”
“None.”
