Page 90 of The Maleficent Faerie
I never noticed a tangible change in the rings when my mothers recharged the magic. They must have done so with great care during our “worship sessions,” so I wouldn’t realize what was happening.
But when the High Priestess activates the rings, the sudden influx of power is more than the charmed jewelry can absorb quietly. Every ring vibrates on my fingers, warming my skin, sending pulses of energy into my body. I focus on my palms, following the process the Three Faeries taught me—drawing their power from my hands, along my arms, into my chest, through my heart—then transferring it to my mind, where my thoughts can shape it.
I’ve never held so much magic at once. It rushes along my veins like icy water, like liquid fire, like sizzling sugar. The power of the three Fae Regents of Caennith is mine to command.
From my pocket I extract the spell Malec left behind when he took my place—the spell to dissolve the curse. He said it would require the power of the Three Faeries. And he knew they would never willingly agree to awaken him.
But perhaps he also knew I wouldn’t let that stop me.
I look over my shoulder at the Royals and the Regents, all staring at me mutely, unable to speak, and so comfortable they can’t quite bring themselves to move, or to panic.
Their eyes tell me they did not expect this. They expected me to be grateful, to rejoice over seeing them again. They expected me to be ready to hand over the reins of my new kingdom tothem.As if they haven’t lied to me all my life.
They expected to reclaim a pawn. But they found a queen.
My gaze swerves to Dawn. When my eyes meet hers she laughs aloud, pure exultant triumph.
Invigorated by that joyous sound, I turn back to the bier, which the guards have lifted onto the dais. The Edge-Knights stand with their backs to the platform, ready to defend their sleeping King against any threat.
The crowd is half-fearful, half-excited—they stir and murmur as I scatter herbs and ashes over the silken drapery. Next, a sprinkle from a vial Ember hands me—some of my blood, and a little from each person who loves him best—Fitzell, Szazen, his knights, a few favored servants and nobles whom I permitted to know my plan.
Then I lift my hands and begin the chant Malec wrote. I change the words a little—the High Priestess told me it would be more effective if I spoke from the heart.
“To the curse transferred, to the slumber imposed, I call. To the magic infused and the somnolent mind, I call. To the soul adored and the spirit beloved, I call.”
I hesitate, tension building in my throat, tears gathering in my eyes. But the power thrilling along my limbs is a promise and a caution—a reassurance that I have the magic to do this, and a warning that if I waver, the tether will fail, the power will slip back into the Three Faeries.
If I falter, I will lose my only chance to save him.
The crowd remains utterly silent as I continue.
“Release your bonds, for they are satisfied. Relinquish your darkness, for the light is here. Yield your sacrifice, for it is no longer needed. What was woven in hate is unlaced by love. The caster has recanted, and the cursed one has been freed. Your conditions are fulfilled. Let the sleeper arise. I call to you, Malec, maleficent ruler, I summon you. King of the Void, I adjure you to wake.”
The magic of the Three Faeries rushes out of me in a torrent, a wave of compulsive power crashing against Malec’s sleeping body. The aftershocks ripple through the crowd, eliciting gasps. People rise on their toes, crane their necks—some winged Fae even take to the air, eager for a glimpse of what’s happening.
Behind me, Genla manages a faint hiss, a protest at the theft of her magic.
The Regents have been drained entirely now. I have nothing to fear from them until after the Surge. Maybe not even then.
I kneel beside the bier, lay back the gauzy covering, and trace my fingertips along Malec’s pale, scarred face. His hair has grown back in somewhat—short, glossy curls, like raven feathers.
The curse should be inert now—unable to pass back to me when I kiss him.
This has to work. Itwillwork, because I’m the one who loves him best.
I lean over him and touch my lips to his.
His soft mouth yields under mine. I press deeper for a moment, then ease away from him.
I count in my head as the seconds pass—twelve of them.
And then…
Malec’s black lashes part, and he stares up at me.
It fucking worked.
A gasping laugh cracks from my lips. I grip his hand, holding it against my heart.
