Page 30 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
“When you’re ready to be lifted, call outtrivno.” Reine looked to the ceiling, then back down at Everinne. “There are no levers, or safety nets, or ropes here.Everythingis controlled by magic. So long as you don’t let go of the hoop, you’ll never fall.”
Everinne didn’t care if she looked like she’d just gotten her first taste of a kiss, she couldn’t help the smile causing her heart to soar. She’d never been more ready, more prepared for anything in her life. She wasmeantto be here.
“Once you’re in the air, the curtains will vanish. As soon as you hear the first chord of music, that’s when you begin.” Reine cocked her hip to the side, surveying Everinne for a final time. “Yes, I think you’ll do just fine here. Welcome to the Mystic Obscura, Everinne.”
Then she spun on one heel and headed down the stairs, vanishing beneath the stage completely.
The gold wash of lighting illuminating the audience dimmed, and their murmurs and laughter faded into a kind of revered silence.
Everinne didn’t even hesitate. She settled herself onto the hoop, seating herself so her knees were pulled up and her arms fell to both sides.
“Trivno.”
At once, the hoop gradually lifted her into the air. Higher and higher, until she felt like she was floating. Like she could walk among the stars.
Full darkness fell in the theater, the glamoured curtains faded away, and a dazzling beam of ruby light fell upon Everinne.
She inhaled. Exhaled. Tilted her head up to the ceiling and arched her back, knowing she’d enraptured the entire room with her provocative position. She could feel the intense gaze of their eyes, the insatiable hunger of the mystical and fantastical grew with each passing second. All of them watching. Waiting. For her.
Strings hummed to life, there was the first tantalizing chord of a piano, and Everinne let the music take her.
Ten
Aloud pounding noise echoed through Atlas’s subconscious, dragging him from sleep.
He groaned, rolled onto his stomach, and yanked his pillow over his head. There was no way he drank nearly enough for him to be suffering from a hangover, yet the relentless thumping continued despite his best effort to drown it out.
Tossing the pillow aside, he rubbed his hands over his face and glared out the glass doors on the opposite wall. The sliver of the winter moon was high in the sky, its silver reflection glinting off his private pool like a moonlit faerie orb. If he had to guess, it was the middle of the night—the witching hour, as some liked to call it—and that damn thumping sounded again.
Some asshole was knocking on his bedroom door.
Muttering a stream of vulgar obscenities, Atlas threw off the comforter and rolled out of bed. He padded across the hardwood floor, scooping up a pair of discarded pants as he went. Tugging them on, he raked a hand through his hair and yanked open the bedroom door.
Caedian stood there, his fist raised, ready to knock again.
“Captain.” Atlas leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “If you’ve come to ask for your coinback after losing to me in Cups, I’m afraid you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”
Caedian straightened immediately, tucking both of his hands behind his back. His black shirt was rumpled, as though he, too, had been forced out of bed. But it was the look of disquiet shadowing his eyes that put Atlas on full alert. That, and he was fully armed with two swords at his waist and a leather band of daggers across his chest.
He instantly sobered, shoving off the door to have a word with his Captain of the Guard. “What is it?”
“You have two visitors waiting to speak with you, Your Highness.” Caedian’s gaze shifted to the hall, then back to Atlas.
“Two? At this hour?” Unease crawled along the back of Atlas’s neck and down his spine. This wasn’t the typical method amorous females usually used to sneak into his bed, so whoever was calling upon him likely had a very good, if not gravely important, reason.
“Who?” he demanded.
Caedian swallowed. “Valaina, Eldress of the Morvayne clan, and her mate, Davorin.”
“Fuck.”
He thought he’d have a little more time before having to deal with Khiran’s disappearance, but apparently Valaina was in no mood to play games.
Atlas motioned for Caedian to step into the room, then shut the door soundly behind him to avoid any listening ears.
“Where are they?” he asked, putting on a fresh shirt from his closet and buttoning it quickly.
“In the reception room of your wing.” Caedian handed him a pair of boots and Atlas pulled them on. “I feel I should inform you that they requested an audience with the kralv first and he denied them.”
