Page 6 of Beyond the Mountain (Fae's Captive 4)

“If that were true, Cenet would be toast by now.” I pull my hand away. “I’m not who you think I am. I mean, maybe I’m your daughter. It’s not like I can do a DNA test and find out. But that doesn’t mean I’m, you know …”

“Bad?” he offers, then smiles, his fangs even longer than I remember. “Bad is relative, my dear heart. Think about it. How were you treated in the summer realm? Did you fare well there?”

Imprisoned in a filthy dungeon, threatened, enslaved, smacked around, and almost murdered. I shrug. “I guess it could have been better.”

“So many of those lesser fae and changelings that the summer realm mistreats? They’re here.” He stares down into the valley. “Both realms downgrade their lesser fae and changelings. Both realms commit grave sins against them. That’s why they come here. To take their place in Arin, to gain equality. I have given them a way to fight for what they want.”

I hold up a finger. “Hang on. I’m confused.”

His jaw twitches, and he speaks in a painfully patient tone. “Why is that?”

“Just like, an hour ago, you said that changelings were pets and that lesser fae were … lesser. So why would you help them?”

“Oh.” He laughs, and I think some part of me dies at how ugly it is. Lowering his voice, he speaks in my ear. “They are a means to an end. Once they’ve overrun the realms and claimed their victory, I will take over and reorder everything the way it should be.”

“The way it should be? And how’s that?” I have a feeling I already know.

“High fae should always rule these lands and use lesser fae and changelings as servants and laborers. Their lives are disposable. Why else would I want an army full of them?”

I glance over the precipice. “And what if I don’t want any part of this?”

Cenet hisses and crosses his arms over his chest. “She isn’t worthy. I told you, Father.”

“Silence!” Shathinor’s yell seems to come from all around and echoes off the mountainside.

I shudder and try to pull away, but he keeps me tucked under his arm.

“It is time for you to evolve, dearest one.”

“What?” I wrap my arms around my middle.

“This mortal form isn’t you.” He turns me around to face him, my back to the abyss.

“It’s me.” I look down at myself. “Same old me.”

“Not quite.” He tilts my chin up, then focuses on the soulstone.

“What are you—” I jolt as he holds his hand over it, green electricity crackling around me in bursts of lightning.

“Hold still, my heart.” He winces and takes the stone in his hand. “The magic told me this will hurt both of us.”

“Stop.” I can’t breathe, my lungs flat as a sensation like being sucked through a vacuum compresses the air around me. “Don’t.”

He pulls at the stone, the electricity growing and lifting me off my feet.

“Let go.” My eyes water, pain ricocheting through me, my ears burning, my back ripping apart. “Please!” I scream, agony destroying me at a cellular level.

“Almost there,” he grits out, his black brows drawing together as if he’s under great strain.

“Stop!” My cry erupts in a burst of black sparks. Everything in me constricts, pulling in on itself. It feels like being born. Or dying. Maybe both all rolled into one. Pain and rebirth and the approaching promise of death.

With a yank, he pulls the stone off me, the chain breaking as he stumbles back. The green lightning expands outward, and agony bursts through me, blasting away my thoughts, my heart, and my soul in one searing explosion that ends in a comfortable, easy darkness.

“Daughter?” Shathinor’s voice comes to me as if from a great distance. “Daughter?”

I breathe in, the first gasp of a newborn, and blink my eyes open.

Everything is more. The fine grains of black sand on the stone, the scent of smoke on the air, the sound of the breeze playing along the outcroppings of rock.

I am more. I unfurl from my place on the ground and rise to my feet. Dark wings fan out behind me, the edges dancing with the wind as I reach up and feel the pointed tips of my ears.

The world is sharp. So am I. I stretch out my arms, my fingernails hard and curled like talons.

“It’s you.” Shathinor’s eyes light with awe as he comes to stand by my side.

“Kneel!” he yells, and all the soldiers follow his command, taking a knee and keeping their eyes down.

Only Cenet remains on his feet.

I point my long claw at him and bare my fangs. “Kneel, Brother.”

His slitted eyes widen. “Father—”

My claws are at his throat before he can say more. “I. Said. Kneel.” Blood runs onto my fingers, the tang of his life salting the air as death flows through his veins, streaking his flesh with black. The death I wield, the fate I hold in the palm of my hand.

I strip the obsidian blade from him.

The hatred that swirls in his eyes is like a fine wine, one that hits my palate just right. I like his hate. I want more.

He bends his knees, dropping to the stone as I step back and stand next to my father.

I flick the blood from my claws into the dark wind that whispers its thanks. “Now, Father. Tell me more about this war.”

6

Leander

The winter wind carries us to the western edge of my realm, the Gray Mountains looming in the distance. Kyrin hates flying, and taking so many through the skies drains my magic, but there is simply no time to wait, not when Taylor needs me.

Ravella stands below, a fire already roaring on the bank of a frozen river. I calm the winds, and the rest of us drop to the ground. Gray grunts when his feet touch the snow—he’s about as fond of flying as Kyrin. Valen is a bit more graceful about it, but his color has a definite green tint. Thorn glides down as a white owl and changes form, landing on his feet at a slight run.

I sent word to Phinelas, but he may be too far away with Catcher duties to be of help. Branala is in charge at High Mountain while I’m away, and Gareth is recovering. I can’t reach Brannon, and I haven’t heard a whisper about him since I sent him to Silksglade to investigate Yvarra’s death. The Phalanx is spread thin, but I have warriors at my side who are ready to fight and die for my mate. I can ask for nothing more than that.

Ravella stares across the vast wasteland that leads to the mountain range. “Maybe we should have brought the army.”

“No.” I rub Kyrin’s muzzle. “We need to do this quickly and quietly. Get Taylor and get out.”

“You need rest.” Ravella points to a log next to the icy river. “We need full strength when we enter the Barren Lands.”

“We do.” I can’t disagree. But sitting down isn’t going to happen, not when I know Taylor is in those gray and black mountains. Possibly hurt and afraid. My hands curl into fists. If she’s been harmed … I shake the dark thoughts away and work on feeding Kyrin as Gray tends to his horse.

“You sure we can trust the information on where Taylor is being held?”

I lean against Kyrin. “We can. I made an oath that can’t be broken, just as she did.”

Gray runs a hand over his close-cropped hair. “She might break it out of spite, send herself to an even darker pit of the Spires.”

“Your suspicion hurts me, warrior.” Selene strides up, and the horses snort nervously.

“I don’t think anything hurts you.” Gray drags over a pail of water for his horse. “Though I’m happy to try it out and see.” He straightens and looks at her. “Why do you watch me like that?”

She clacks her teeth, her black eyes glinting. “Just imagining what your hide would look like in my cave.”

“I’m warning you, creature.” He steps toward her.

“Stop.” I put a hand to his chest. “We don’t need division right now. Selene has sworn an oath. Her information is good.”

She kicks her chin up. “Listen to your king, tasty warrior.” Sh

e cocks her head to the side at an unnerving angle. “Did you know your bones call to me? They tell me how I could use them in a stew.”

“I said knock it off.” I cross my arms and stare her down.

“Of course.” She does a curtsy with an imaginary skirt.

Gray glowers but backs away.

“Why did you insist on coming along?” I hold her shadowy gaze. “I gave you what you wanted. You gave me her location. What else is there?”

“I went back to my cave. My lovely, beautiful cave. Sat with my bones and flesh for a while. But then got the itch, felt the power in the air—” She sniffs like a hound. “Tasted it, I did. And I want to follow that scent all the way to the source.”

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