Page 108 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
Atlas nodded, shoving up from his sitting position to stand. Zemni Boheme was thought to take place to celebrate the first snowfall of winter, a blessing of some forgotten goddess. The bonfire burned silver until the Winter Solstice, to celebrate the passing of the longest night, a promise of spring’s eventual arrival. But Atlas knew the real reason for the fire wasn’t to bide the darkening nights until the passing of the Winter Solstice, butto keep the forest at bay. To keep it from creeping ever closer, to keep it from swallowing Starysa until there was nothing left but rubble and bones.
“I imagine the lighting will be a great time.” Atlas rocked back on his heels and drew in another pull from his stig. He blew the smoke out so it curled around the dancing snowflakes. “Kralv Oldrich has much to celebrate. He’ll throw an elaborate festival for the coming winter and host a stupidly lavish wedding while his citizens face an increasingly dangerous and unknown threat.”
“I was only implying we might be able to garner some more information.” Veros angled his head, one dark brow arching. “Faerie wine loosens lips.”
Atlas considered his friend, it wasn’t a bad idea at all. “Loose lips spill secrets.”
“Exactly.” Veros inhaled sharply and tucked his hands behind his back, his shoulders stiffening. “Caedian informed me that Everinne is well.”
“Quite well.” All Veros had to know was that Atlas had helped bring his sister back from the brink of death. He definitely didn’t need to know anything else that happened afterward, all of which was grounds for Veros to murder him. Atlas rolled the stig to the corner of his mouth and roughed one hand along the back of his neck. “Though I am sorry you had to see her like that.”
Veros’s jaw tightened, and he glanced down at where a thin layer of snow was beginning to gather, his dark hair falling in front of his face. “All that matters is she’s alive.”
His voice was quiet and there was an edge to his tone, one Atlas hadn’t heard in a number of years. Veros spoke as though he’d walked through time, as though the hours he held in the palm of his hand were gradually ticking closer to some cataclysmic event, one that would change the destinies woven by fate. With his head bowed, he glanced over at Atlas, and theturquoise of his eyes dimmed, the gold bleeding into them like tiny rivers of melted metal.
“I need to talk to you, Veros.” Atlas took one last drag of his stig, then let it fall to the ground and crushed it beneath his boot. “About Everinne.”
Veros threw both of his hands up in the air and stepped back. “If it involves any kind of intimate dealings, I don’t want to hear it.”
“It’s not that.” He would die of mortification first. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he met his best friend’s intensifying gaze. “You were there, you heard what Valaina said about the Mystic Obscura. And as you’ve already pointed out, I’m not the best at striking deals.”
Atlas liked to think his reasoning for always getting roped into shitty bargains was because of his hot temper and lack of patience, though he knew it had more to do with the fact that his father locked him out of court dealings. He lacked experience with negotiation, and if he didn’t end up wrangled into some duplicitous deal, then he usually got what he wanted for one reason only.
His looks and his magic, both of which, when snared into bargains, left an unsavory taste in his mouth.
“Do you want me to bargain for you?” Veros asked, his head snapping up. “Because I will. She’s my sister and the whole reason she’s stuck working at that damn parlor is my fault. I will gladly?—”
“No, I’ll do it. I’ll make the deal myself. You’re the Master of the Hour, the Lord of Time, you have too much to offer.” Atlas, on the other hand, could walk into the Mystic Obscura, strike an accord with Reine, and walk out practically unscathed. He was a fae prince with nothing to lose. He was an embarrassment to the crown, his father hated him, and if all he had to give up was his sex magic, then so be it. To him, it would be an invisible weightlifted from his shoulders. One less burden to bear. “All I need to know is what to expect. What I may have to offer or give up in exchange for Everinne’s life.”
Veros’s teeth skated across his bottom lip as a line of concentration formed across his brow. “Reine is a witch, but she has no allegiance to the Coven of the Scarlet Moon. There is no way of telling what she might ask of you in return for Ever’s freedom.”
He swallowed, plucked his own stig from the front pocket of his coat, and lit it, his focus on the icy blue flame of the lighter before he snuffed it out completely. Veros inhaled deeply, blew out a stream of smoke, and said, “If she lets her go at all.”
Something cold sank into Atlas’s chest, like the frozen fingers of dread captured his heart and squeezed. The seizing ache spread through him, carving his lungs until they were hollow, scouring his gut until it rolled with acid and bile.
“You think she won’t?” Atlas asked, apprehension causing his palms to slick with sweat. He never considered the possibility that Reine wouldn’t release Everinne from the Mystic Obscura at all.
“I don’t know.” Veros pinched the stig between his fingers then flicked it once, sending a tiny clump of ash scattering across the freshly fallen snow. “Reine has a drop of her blood. If she figures out what Everinne can do, that her magic is dark and turbulent, that she lacks the control necessary to wield it with restraint and command…then Everinne herself could become the bargaining chip.”
“Reine would sell her off to the highest bidder.” A shudder of unease streaked down Atlas’s spine. The alarm he tried to quell coursed through him, heightening his awareness. “To someone like my father.”
Never before had Atlas known such an all-consuming rage. The bond roared at the thought, the urge to protect her, todestroy and ravage, to wreck and ruin anything that dared threaten her with harm swallowed him whole. The invisible strand of power tethering him to Everinne sliced through his muscles, ripped through his bones, peeling back every layer of his defenses until it secured his soul to hers. Her gasp echoed through his mind as he reached for her, as the mating bond captured her beating heart, so her breath, her thoughts, every aspect of her being, belonged to him. Atlas didn’t relent, he grasped the thread binding them and wove it into the deepest layer of his soul, through his very aura, until he knew without a doubt that he could follow her to the ends of the earth, to realms not their own, and no matter what, he wouldalwaysfind her.
“Or worse,” Veros muttered, tossing his stig to the ground, watching as the ember died and hissed in the veil of snow.
“Who could possibly be worse?” As far as Atlas was concerned, his father ranked fairly high among the most despicable and abhorrent males in all of Prava. In all of Aedran, if he was being honest.
There was no one worse than Kralv Oldrich Skye.
But Veros met him with a long look, one that spoke of hushed rumors, forgotten vices, and terrors unseen. “Whoever is hunting the immortals.”
“Fucking skies.” Damn Veros and his infuriating talent for always knowing the exact wrong thing to say. It didn’t matter if he was right, but his gift for pissing Atlas off usually happened at the most inopportune moments, when it was quite possibly the last thing he wanted to hear.
“Thanks, like I didn’t need more of a reason to worry about Everinne’s safety.” Atlas rolled his eyes to the evening sky. The moon was haloed behind a wall of clouds, its silver glow barely visible as snow swirled down in heavy clumps. “My father is bad enough. But a fae hunter?”
Atlas’s muscles pulled taut at the thought. He’d almost lost Ever to a hunter once before. He wasn’t going to allow it to happen again. Veros might be the Lord of Time, but even Atlas knew every hour that passed was an hour wasted. Time was grains of sand, and he could do nothing but watch as it continued to slip through his fingers. Eventually, it would run out.
“I have to speak with Reine.”
