Page 143 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
Forty-Three
Atlas sent Veros and Caedian back to Starysa, though it wasn’t without argument. Veros had absolutely refused to leave the Marzena without his sister and Caedian had no intentions of abandoning either of them in the labyrinth below the city. But Atlas held his ground. Getting into the secret entrance of the Mystic Obscura was a feat all its own, and they would draw far less attention if it was just Atlas going instead of all three of them.
Not only that, but he needed eyes above ground, too.
If word got out that Everinne had been taken and somehow circled back to his father, there was no telling how the kralv would react. Either he’d punish Atlas by pursuing the missing immortals and blame him for Everinne’s disappearance, or worse, he wouldn’t respond at all. He would continue to ignore the happenings within the walls of his kingdom and Everinne would be left to suffer the consequences of his inactions. Then again, Oldrich was currently using her to his advantage…perhaps he’d see her capture as a personal slight.
Atlas didn’t particularly care to consider the possibility of having to ask his father for help, but if Reine refused to release Everinne, he might be left with no other option.
The sloping entrance to the Mystic Obscura was dimmer and danker than Atlas expected. It was not dripping with grandeur like the main hall, nor was it cloaked in mystery like the rune-laced door in the alley. It was mostly a thrown together path of crumbling brick in a poorly lit passage. Bronze sconces lined the walls, though they were few and far between, and the flames illuminating the way were a menacing red, flooding half the tunnel in crimson shadows. Eventually, however, the uneven ground smoothed out into lacquered shimmering marble, the steady glow of a brightly lit hall came into view, and the soft click of his boots went completely unnoticed.
In fact, no one paid him any mind at all.
There were a number of fae, vampires, and even a few mortals sauntering down the corridor toward the Marzena, and not a single one of them even looked in his direction. Apparently, they didn’t give a fuck if his hair was matted with blood, if his wounds were leaving a smearing trail of scarlet in his wake, or if he was carrying a sword in one hand. His trials were none of their concern. Instead, their eyes wore the familiar glaze of overindulgence, their drunken laughter grated against his nerves, and they staggered and stumbled into the walls and each other.
In another time not so long ago, he would’ve been a willing participant in such revelry.
But not anymore.
And likely, never again.
Atlas ignored the group of them whose speech slurred as he passed and instead refocused his attention on the gentle tug of the bond tying him to Everinne.
She was in here. Somewhere.
He could feel it. Could feel her. The steadfast resolve flowing through her veins, the faint undercurrent of disquiet that edged on the brink of panic. The lick of fear that caused her heart rateto spike every so often. Though her emotions were tempered and calm, the bond was taut with tension, as though it might snap at any moment. He rubbed his fist over his heart to soothe the unwanted sensation, followed it around a darkened corner, and found Reine standing in the middle of the hall, waiting for him.
She canted her head to the side, and ribbons of silky brown hair fell over one shoulder. Her dress was sleeveless black satin, the neck was high, and the rest of it molded to her figure all the way to the hem, where it flared slightly. Atlas wondered how she could move, much less breathe, in such a gown. A gilded bangle in the shape of a serpent coiled around her wrist and upper arm, hoops dangled from her ears, and gold necklaces wrapped around her throat like a scarf. Heavy kohl lined her amber eyes, and she’d painted her lips a deep red shade. He scowled when they curved into a saccharine smile.
He aimed his sword at her jeweled throat.
“Where is she?” Atlas demanded, disregarding their usual customary greetings.
Reine was nonplussed. She remained calm, not even flinching at the sight of a blade pointed directly at her. She fucking curtsied.
“Everinne is doing her job, Your Imperial Highness.”
He could throttle the damn witch.
“I’m afraid that’s not a good enough answer, Reine.” Another step brought the tip of his blade to where a tiny sliver of umber skin was revealed between layers of gold. “Let’s try this again, shall we? Where. Is. She?”
She huffed out a breath of frustration as though he was wasting her time, then clasped her hands together before her. “Very well. She is performing on a stage.”
“Against her will,” he ground out.
“Per her contract.” Reine arched a smooth brow at the suggestion. “She gave me a drop of her blood willingly, Your Imperial Highness.”
“And did you withhold the importance of that drop?” he countered, his rage growing with her placid responses. “Did you have her think it was only to gain entrance into the Mystic Obscura, and nothing else?”
A rosy hue flushed her cheeks and she floundered briefly, looking as though she was trying to pluck the correct response out of thin air. “I only told her what she needed to know.”
“You’re lying, Reine.” Atlas made a sort oftsking noise and tapped the point of his sword against the stack of necklaces wrapped around her neck, smirking when her eyes widened in shock. “You kept that information from Everinne on purpose so you could lure her into your clutches. And you know how the crown views dishonest bargains.”
That one was a bit of a stretch.
His father couldn’t care less, but Atlas…unjust bargains were cause for retribution.
Still, his words had the desired effect.
