He offered a slight incline of his head. “Kill him well, Princess Chantel.”
“It’s Queen Cookie. And he’s as good as dead.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
COOKIE SQUEEZED THE thorn she’d collected from the vine, dripping King Hador’s blood into the spyglass’s container. When she peered through the peephole, she spotted the monarch near the former campground, exactly as Micah had warned. A hundred soldiers surrounded him, waiting for her arrival. Men who stood in the way of Kaysar’s happiness.
Tents littered the area behind them, other guards hiding within them, no doubt.
She smoothed the lines of her dress and inhaled. This was it. The day she severed Kaysar’s tie with the past. Without a driving need to punish Hador, his dream of peace and family had a fighting chance.
Kaysar could begin to heal.
As they’d lain together, she’d felt his deep longing to let go. She’d known he simply required help.
With a steady hand, Cookie placed the elderseed on her tongue. Chewed. Swallowed.
Heartbeat...
Heartbeat...
Heartboom. Power exploded inside her, as hot as she was cold. Thorn claws readied, she flittered to a spot near the camp. She was on the clock now, and she wouldn’t be able to flash directly home. She needed to return to the castle before she passed out.
Dusk prevailed, only thin slivers of moonlight penetrating the gloomy veil. At least the pounding rain had dwindled to a light mist. Freezing but perfect for her frame of mind.
She didn’t try to hide herself from the soldiers or skulk through their numbers, killing in the cloak of darkness. Wanting Hador to witness every atrocious act she committed against him and those who willingly followed his orders, she stepped into the brightest sliver of light.
The first line spotted her—the men holding the containers of stickysap. Shouts and commands rang out. “She’s here.”
“Positions!”
“Attack on my signal.” Guards obeyed, shifting to prepare.
“How kind of you to gather together for your own slaughter,” she called to one and all. “Saves so much time.”
“There’s no need for a battle this night,” the king shouted from the midst of his mercenaries. “Kaysar told you to let me go.”
“And I did. His case is settled. Mine is not.” Her voice hardened. “You killed my relationship with the man I love. Now, you die.”
Cookie waved her hands, throwing a volley of thorns from her fingertips. The elderseed powered the missiles, producing double the number with twice the speed. A row of men grunted as the thorns tore through their bodies; they dropped weapons and containers as they clutched their wounds and toppled. Stickysap poured out, glugging over the ground to create dangerous pools.
Other soldiers blasted her with arrows and spears, but she summoned vines from the earth, blocking them. The wall of stalks absorbed the hits, the stings barely registering.
Footsteps pounded. A lot of them. Foes raced to surround her.
As she pushed forward, winding through the stalks, she summoned other vines—in the midst of the army as well as the tents. Screams rent the air, and the ground shook, coils of vine snatching and squeezing anyone in their path.
The guards able to avoid capture either dropped from the quakes or hurled other arrows and spears at her vines.
When she climbed to the other side of the tangled wall—past the pools of stickysap—she hurled more thorns. Some of her targets fell. Others hacked at the stalks, her slight stings escalating into sharp pains. Still others sprayed stickysap upon her leaves, stunting their growth.
Movement. She spun—Hador leaped over fallen bodies to reach a vine untainted by the adhesive. The entire vine withered to ash before she released it—weakening Cookie.
Micah’s warning echoed. A drainer.
She released her hold on the ground vines, as well. No more weakening from the king’s touch. Dangling soldiers toppled.
“I will drain you to death, woman,” Hador bellowed. “You’ll never reach me.”
He’d been unable to drain her in the throne room, because she’d paralyzed him with venom. She could do it again.
A whisper of noise. She whirled around. Twenty men rushed from the trees, brandishing containers of stickysap, bows and swords. Thinking fast, she sprayed a volley of thorns—at the containers. The thick syrup oozed out, stopping opponents in their tracks, one after the other.
“Argh!” A sharp pain erupted in her calf, and she glanced down. An arrow protruded from her limb.
Black dots flashed over her vision as she yanked the projectile free. Despite the pain, she jumped and dodged other whooshing arrows. Healing came fast. Fingertips burning, she threw more thorns, stopping the soldiers with bows. But she had to grow new vines to avoid a procession of spears, allowing Hador to weaken her further with a simple grab.
Even with wobbling knees, she straightened and unleashed a fury of thorns upon the king, aided by the elderseed. He ducked, avoiding most of the missiles with shocking grace and speed for someone his size. But even as agile and quick as he was, he missed the last one, its poisoned tip slashing through his torso.
As he fought the momentary paralysis, his people raced to surround and protect him. People she downed with thorns, two...three...five at a time. Around them, soldiers tripped over the injured or dead, falling into the random puddles of stickysap.
“Why do you fight for him?” Hador grated into the darkness. He must have realized his team was losing, his numbers dwindling quick. “Kaysar will not thank you for this.”
No, he wouldn’t. Not until he’d found his happiness and forgiven her. But Cookie didn’t bother answering the king as she finished off what remained of his army.
Finally, Hador was the last man standing.
They faced off, only twenty feet apart, surrounded by the dead and dying, raindrops falling in a soft stream.
The king panted heavily and fisted his hands. “I think killing you will bring me great joy. Kaysar will know hurt, as I have known hurt.”
Most of her injuries had already healed, but time wasn’t her friend. She smiled coldly. “As far as final words go, yours are pretty stupid.”
Snarling, he tossed a dagger. She grew a vine, blocking. He’d expected the action and lunged, reaching out with his free hand to touch another section of her vines before she severed the connection. More weakness for her, more strength for him.
That strength empowered him. Made him brave. He smiled coldly and trekked closer. Realization. If he got his hands on her or her vines, she would lose the battle, elderseed or not.
Or maybe not. An idea took root. Dangerous, but worth the risk.
For Kaysar.
Dampened by mist and splattered with droplets of sap, Cookie summoned a vine from the ground, catching the king around an ankle, shackling him as she unleashed more thorns.
He grunted as crimson rivers soaked his tunic. Somehow, he fought the venom and crouched, grabbing hold of the vine to drain another tendril of her strength. Which she had expected.
Let him think he had this.
She sprinted...jogged...trudged closer to him. Water and weakness blurred her vision, but Cookie kept moving forward. He didn’t attempt to stop her. He wanted her closer. Finally, mere inches away, she hit her knees, as if she were completely wiped.
Their gazes clashed, and he brightened. He thought he had her. He assumed the wheezing girl had nothing in reserve. That he had only to reach out and kill her.
Fool. “Kaysar believes your suffering ends when you die.” The statement eked out between heaving breaths. “I believe it’s just beginning. Be a dear and let us know who’s right.” Using the last bit of strength she possessed, she swung an arm, raking her thorn claws across his vocal cords.
He released her vine to clutch his gaping n
eck. But he’d filched so much of her power, he healed in seconds.
The moment he recovered, he reached for her. She struck again, raking the thorns from his sternum to his navel, leaving his entire torso gaping open this time. Then, she clawed him again. And again. And again.
Only when he ceased moving did she pause to catch her breath and take stock. He lay on the ground, bleeding, his eyes wide, blood gurgling from his mouth.
Cookie leaned over to clasp a fallen sword. This man had harmed young Kaysar and probably others.
Her arms trembled as she slowly lifted the blade. With glassy eyes, he pleaded for mercy.
“If I’d planned to spare you, I’d have worn a different dress.” A lone blow did the trick, his head separating from his body. And like that, victory belonged to Cookie.
Panting, heart a war drum, every muscle on fire, she fell on her haunches. It was done. For good or for ill, Kaysar’s abuser was dead.
“Chantel?”
A stouter whistle of wind masked her surprised intake of air. Lightning flashed as she flipped her gaze up. Kaysar stood upon a pile of corpses, his dark hair blowing around a disbelieving expression. His wild eyes darted here and there, horror pulsing from him.
“What have you done?” he croaked. He shook his head, as if to clear his field of vision. “Tell me you haven’t done this terrible thing. Tell me you haven’t done this, Chantel.”
She remained on her haunches, trembling. Because she knew what was coming. The inevitable confrontation. Cookie had thought she’d prepared for it. But how did you prepare yourself to break your lover’s heart? To have your own shattered in return? Still, she couldn’t regret her actions. Kaysar deserved the future her actions would provide, even if she doomed herself in the process.
“Answer me.” His demand sounded more like the last bray of a wounded animal, turning it into a plea to dispute what his eyes unveiled as truth.
Cookie licked her dry lips and labored to her feet. “I killed the Winter Court king. The final Frostline responsible for your suffering.”
He blanched, but said nothing.
She extended her hands to him in a silent plea for understanding. “I gave you a chance to live again. A real beginning. The first you’ve ever had.”
His eyes slitted, his broad shoulders vibrating. He ignored her request for connection, acting as if the arms she stretched toward him were invisible. “You didn’t give me anything. You stole. You robbed me of my only lifeline.”
The bitterness in his voice summoned beads of sweat across her brow. Her stomach pitched, and for a moment she battled unrelenting doubt. But, she’d done the right thing, yes?
“I did this for you,” she told him softly, her hands falling to her sides.
A man possessed, he pointed a claw in her direction. “You did this for you. You betrayed me, so I would have no reason to leave you again.”
“I never betrayed you.” She took a step back. “But you had already left me, Kaysar, even when you were with me.”
She’d expected his anger, not the quiet finality of his tone. And that frightened her more than ghost trolls, or centaurs, or any of the multitude of truly threatening things she’d encountered since walking through the doorway into this land. To him. This king she adored.
The man she was losing.
Her shoulders slumped, her eyes burning. “I loved you the best way I knew how, Kaysar.”
He stalked closer at last, a predator through and through. The predator she’d never before faced—the one so many other feared. “You planned this,” he hissed. “Even as you pleasured me, you planned this.”
“Yes.” She jutted her chin, unrepentant as she remembered why she’d followed this path. Unrepentant but broken. The cold raindrops blended with her hot tears. “Your obsession was destroying you from the inside out. Now you can heal.”
“I don’t want to heal! And I don’t want you here, in my land, breathing my air.” He lunged. Gripping her by the nape, he dragged her through the camp. She struggled to keep up.
“You will heal, Kaysar,” she said, “You will heal, and you will regret this.”
“Shut up. Not another word.”
When she tripped and fell, he yanked her to her feet and kept going.
“Just listen to me. You had linked the king’s misery to your sister. You aren’t angry with me.” Maybe? “You’re mourning the connection you think you’ve lost.” The very reason he might never forgive Cookie, even after he healed. Even though a part of him had longed for this very outcome.
His footsteps stalled, and she stumbled into him, bouncing back. He twisted to glare down at her with pure malice. “I assure you, my anger for you is very real.”
Cookie tried again, cupping his cheek, but he flinched from her touch. She dropped her arm at her side. “Now, at least, you won’t think of Hador when you think of your sister. You can remember the little girl who followed you around as she clutched her pretty doll. You can smile. Peace is yours, if only you’ll grab it.”
When he started forward at double the speed, dragging her behind him, Cookie’s lower lip wobbled. She’d lost. For the first time since discovering her powers, she felt utterly powerless.
As soon as the mountain appeared in the distance, Kaysar flittered her into their castle. To the room with the permanent doorway. He held her before it. “You will leave this realm, Chantel. You will leave, and you will not return. From this moment on, you are my enemy.”
The way his voice crackled... She’d expected a one-sided war with him. She hadn’t predicted banishment.
“Don’t do this, Kaysar.” Tears gathered and poured. He didn’t know she’d eaten elderseed. That she was soon to pass out, and she was too afraid to tell him. Too afraid he’d do this, anyway, and that, she couldn’t forgive. “Astaria has become my home. I belong here.”
“I. Don’t. Care.” With that, he pushed her through the doorway.
* * *
COOKIE STUMBLED THROUGH the portal and tumbled into a dark, wooded area without pixies or poisonvine. Weakness stole through her, as if she’d lost the power of the elderseed as soon as she’d entered the mortal world. Fueled by a surge of adrenaline, she clambered to her feet.
She spun, hoping to dart through the doorway—“NO!” The gateway was gone.
Bone-deep cold invaded her quivering limbs. Fighting to remain upright, she darted her gaze left, right. Trees and bushes, nothing more.
Her vision blurred, obscured by more tears. What was she going to do?
Self-preservation instincts kicked in. Find shelter while she still had the chance. Soon the elderseed would steal her consciousness. But what if Kaysar changed his mind? What if he forgave her and came to fetch her? She should be here. Maybe they’d even work things out and live their happy endings together, after all.
He would remember he loved her. Any minute, he might come.
Cold wind blustered, turning her soaked gown to ice. Her teeth chattered, and she drew her arms around her middle. Though she tried, she couldn’t grow leaves to warm herself.
Any minute...
He was stubborn, so he would need a bit of time to work things out in his head.
But he didn’t come. A lump grew in her throat, trapping a sob. Cookie stumbled forward, frantically searching the area. Nothing mattered more than survival. She’d find shelter. Call Pearl Jean. Rest. Cry. From there, things got fuzzy.
Something loomed ahead, and her heart leaped in recognition. A cottage. Even though the quaint Victorian beauty struck her as familiar, she knew she’d never visited. Had Lulundria?
Was anyone home? Common sense bellowed, “Only witches who bake people in tea cakes live in cottages like this.” Which meant Cookie had a higher likelihood of finding a friend. Finally. Something might swing in her favor.
Although the cottage’s owner might take one look a
t her and freak. Torn white gown. Blood-smeared. Sap-splattered. Twigs tangled in her pink-and-brown waves.
She accelerated and missed the rock in front of her. The sharp edge sliced her foot, the pain slowing her momentum. When had she lost her shoes? Despite the pain, she didn’t pause to catch her breath. When she stopped moving, she stopped for good.
Blood trailed her as she climbed the porch steps and staggered over to bang on the door. “Hello? Someone? Anyone?”
No answer.
She banged harder, using the last of her strength. “Please.”
Still no answer. No movement or light, either. She tested the knob, surprised when it twisted easily. Obviously the odds of finding a serial killer inside had just doubled. Did she turn around? No.
Hinges squeaked as she pushed the door open, revealing a shadowed space. “Hello?”
Again, there were no indications of life.
Cookie tripped inside, the door whooshing closed behind her. She blindly patted a wall for a light switch. What surrounded her? Normal furnishings? A torture chamber?
She banged into something, and a sharp pain exploded in her big toe. Nausea curled her stomach. Though she fought to remain upright, she lost in record time and crashed to the floor.
A dark cloud engulfed her, obscuring the thoughts in her head.
She’d lost Kaysar.
If he’d used his glamara, there at the end, she might be unable to return to Astaria.
She still loved him.
She might hate him.
She...
Game over, Cookie.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
COOKIE AWOKE WITH a groan, her eyelids popping apart. Morning sunlight bathed her, and she blinked rapidly to soothe her burning, watering eyes. As her sight cleared, a wood-paneled wall came into focus, and she frowned.
This isn’t the Dusklands.
Memories surfaced. Hador’s death. Kaysar’s reaction. The doorway and her forced eviction. Her heart shriveled, reminding her of her vines when she severed their connection to her.
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