Page 35 of Tempting the Fae Lord
It’s hard to explain, and I’m not sure how much I should share. There is trouble in the earthen realm. The Gatekeeper’s gone through the gate to deal with it, but he’s all alone over there. He has no one to help him, and he’s been gone longer than ever before.
I’m afraid he’s in trouble.
Please will you send us some help? Magic users, the strongest sorcerers you can find, someone to bring him home to us safe and sound.
I should warn you that he doesn’t know I’m writing. It’s likely he won’t approve. But besides going through the gate myself, I don’t know what else to do.
I’ll be making my attempt to cross tonight. If it works, I’ll be gone, and you can address your reply to Eulayla.
Sorry to ask so much of you, but we’ve nowhere else to turn.
Yours in the north,
Gale
PS.If I was supposed to call you—Your Most Excellent Majesty, Queen Suvi of Lemossin—can we just pretend I did? I honestly don’t know what I’m doing, and with him gone, I have no one else to ask.
I lean backand reread it, doubting every word. But rewriting it won’t solve anything. When the ink is dry to the touch, I fold the parchment, place it in a thick envelope, and drip a dollop of scarlet wax to seal it.
Not without a fair bit of trepidation, I use Ezra’s stamp and press a stark letter G into the ruby circlet.
He’s going to be so mad.
But a mad Ezra is an alive Ezra, so I’m willing to risk it.
Next, a letter to Eulayla explaining what I plan to do is in order so that if it works, she won’t be worried. Well, shewillbe worried, there’s no getting around that, but at least she’ll know what to be worried about. I won’t have disappeared with no trace. That would be worse. I think.
That done, I hide her letter with the flour where she’ll find it in the morning in case I don’t make it back before then. I pack supplies in a leather bag, throw it over my shoulder, and leave before I can convince myself this is actually a terrible idea.
Outside, the air is crisp with frost. I crunch through the snow while remembering our brisk flight through the sky, Ezra’s arms supporting me, mine hugging his neck. Stars, let him be all right. Whatever is happening on the other side, let him be all right.
At the gate, I pull the glass phial from my inner pocket and remove the cork. Inside, the mixture of water and blood has turned a cloudy pink, and the linen cloth is stained brown.
Here goes nothing.
I grab the cloth, pour the mix onto my hand, clench the iron bar, and recite the words I memorized last week to the best of my ability.
Bloath de monkuhn
Opniz thik winsomeka
I wait.Silence ticks by like a slow, assessing blink. Nothing happens. The gate remains stubbornly closed.
I try again.
And again. I grow increasingly more frustrated, but the bars won’t budge. Damn. It’s not like I was confident it would work, but I’d been hoping. If I can’t pass through the gate, I don’t know what I’ll do. Waiting is excruciating, not knowing if he’s alive or dead. If he’s hurt or captured or worse—both.
As a last-ditch effort, I unwrap a borrowed kitchen knife from the cloth sheath I fastened and stare at my bloodied hand. His blood, not mine. I doubt the gate wants mine. There’s nothing special about me.
But I’m prepared to try anything.
My palm is pink and sweaty despite the temperature. My nerves flare.
Having never cut myself on purpose before, I’m unsure how much pressure to use. Too much and I risk permanent damage. Not enough and my sacrifice might be deemed unworthy by whatever force animates this stupid gate.
I grit my teeth and go for it, slicing a diagonal line of stinging pain across my palm. I don’t look. Seeing my own blood is a terrible idea if I plan to stay conscious.
I grab the gate with both hands as if it were Ezra and I could yank him back through safety like I want.
