Titus nodded in agreement. “I think that’s a good idea. We’ll stay here, and you can send the girls back here the moment they are freed. I know you might have to fight your way out of there, so we’ll keep them safe until you return.”
“Then it is settled,” he declared. “Perhaps being able to contribute in some way will keep our princess from putting herself or the child at risk.”
“I can hear you both, you know,” Selena muttered.
Titus’ face flushed red, and he lowered his eyes. “Please, don’t make this difficult, Selena.”
Inclining her head, she pursed her lips at the back of her mate’s head. “I don’t intend to. I understand that the doctor instructed me to rest, and that having a pregnant girl in the way is only going to distract the rest of you. I’m happy to stay behind and do what I can to help. And maybe ...”
Rothatin glanced at her when she trailed off, hesitating to continue. “Yes, Princess?”
She cleared her throat and kept her gaze on her plate. “Maybe after we get this done, I should go back to Fallada. I wanted to come and help find my sister, and I did that. Now, I just feel like a burden.”
Her voice cracked, and Titus went pale. He swept across the room and sank down onto the sofa beside her. Taking her plate and putting it aside, he took both her hands in his. Rothatin looked away, feeling like an intruder on a private moment.
“You’re not in the way,” he murmured. “You’ve been a big help in making sure everyone eats and sleeps well ... to remind us all to smile and laugh once in a while. And you worked together with Phaedra, Arrian, and Gretchen to take down Eranna in the first place. You’ve been an asset, not a burden.”
Sniffling, Selena swiped at her watering eyes. “I feel so stupid for crying. Must be the baby hormones. I know I’m not completely useless, but I still think going back to Fallada might be a good idea. I might be of more use there, and now that Gretchen’s here, you guys will still be at the same number of people you were when we first came to New York.”
Rothatin frowned, turning back to them. “Since you mention it, Princess, I should inform you that a return to Fallada might be in order for all of us much sooner than expected.”
Titus glanced up at him, confusion pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Why would we need to return to Fallada now?”
Arrian re-entered the room wearing dry clothing, his long hair pulled into a ponytail. “Because, Eranna has the Eye of Mollac ... which means if she hasn’t looked into it yet to see what her daughter is up to, she will. It’s only a matter of time before she tries to return to take back what Desdemona has claimed.”
“He’s right,” Rothatin agreed. “She will return, join forces with Kalodan, assemble her army, and launch an attack to wrestle Mollac from Desdemona’s control. At this point it is all but inevitable.”
“So, it’s starting, isn’t it?” Selena asked, her eyes growing wide.
Rothatin nodded, his mouth pinching into a grim line. “Yes, Princess. Fallada now approaches all-out war.”
Phaedra groaned as she awakened to a throbbing pain between her eyes. Turning her head to the side, she kept her eyes closed, fighting back the sensation of nausea. Her shoulders hurt as well, and when she tried to move her arms from their position stretched over her head, she found that she could not. Metal bit into her wrists; she must be handcuffed. Attempting to bend her legs, she found her ankles shackled as well.
Taking a deep breath and forcing a swallow past the bile lingering in her throat, she opened her eyes. It took a few moments to adjust to the dim lighting, but Phaedra eventually made out a roof overhead, which sported several holes. Turning her head to the left, she found an empty cot with a worn mattress and thin sheet. To her right, the cot was occupied by a slender girl with long, silky black hair. Her eyes—so dark they appeared almost black—peered out from a porcelain face, wide with fear. Like Phaedra, she lay awake and silent in her cot, with her arms and legs shackled to the rickety frame of the cot. The girl’s gaze darted about the room, her brow knitting in confusion as if she tried to remember how she’d gotten here.
Phaedra looked around and determined that they were alone for the time being. Glancing back over at the girl, she forced a smile.
“Hey, I’m Phaedra. What’s your name?”
The girl’s stare focused on Phaedra, and she seemed to calm. “Maxine Cho. Everyone calls me Max.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Max,” she said. “Are you hurt?”
Maxine shook her head, but then winced, as if the motion had pained her. “Maybe just a little. I feel like I took a sledgehammer to the head.”
She frowned as she remembered the Dark Fae who had headbutted her. What she wouldn’t give to drown that jerk with a tidal wave. Of course, it wouldn’t kill him; only the element of iron could destroy the Fae, dark or otherwise.
“Do you know where we are?” she asked.
Maxine shook her head. “All I remember is being attacked on my way home by two blond men. Then one of them took me onto the back of the biggest bird I’ve ever seen. I tried to fight him, and he knocked me out.”
So, wherever she was, it served as Eranna’s hiding place for the kidnapped girls. Raising her head a bit, she peered over Maxine and counted two others. Both remained unconscious.
“A giant bird, huh?” she asked with a snort. “Must have been trippy.”
Maxine grew silent, turning her head and staring up at the ceiling. “It was, but ...”
Phaedra frowned. “But, what?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “What do you think they want from us?”
To drain our souls to feed the beauty and power of a demented queen.
The words went unsaid. The last thing Phaedra wanted to do was scare this girl with talk of things she couldn’t possibly understand.
She’d just opened her mouth to offer some useless reassurance, when the sound of an object crashing against the wall in another room resounded. Maxine flinched, her eyes going wide. A door opened, slamming against a wall and causing Phaedra’s heart to pound in double time.
“Close your eyes!” Phaedra hissed.
Quickly lowering her own eyelids, she didn’t wait to see if Maxine followed her order. The cadence of footsteps quickly became muffled by the sound of an enraged woman’s voice. A voice Phaedra knew well.
“How dare she? Does she think that she can take my kingdom from me, and I will just give it up without a fight? The nerve!”
Phaedra suppressed the impulse to open her eyes, but from the sound of things guessed that Eranna was pacing as she bellowed her rage to some other person.
“What would you have us do, my queen?” a rough voice answered.
Another crash, like something being thrown against a wall reverberated through the room. The sound caused her to flinch, but she fought to remain still and control her breathing. She wanted to know what was going on and couldn’t risk clueing Eranna in on her state of consciousness.
“I would have you cease your sniveling and prattling, Ushma!” Eranna railed. “I would have the remaining six girls that I need to enact the ritual ... and then I will return and take my kingdom back from that ungrateful girl!”
Phaedra stiffened, fear lancing through her at what she was hearing. If Eranna knew that Desdemona had taken over Mollac, then that meant the Eye of Mollac hadn’t been inside the penthouse. The queen had had it in her possession the entire time.
Part of her wanted to struggle against the shackles binding her to the bed. She needed to get out of here, and fast. From the sound of things, there wouldn’t be much time left before Eranna hightailed it back to Fallada. But, with Eranna occupying this building, there must be Dark Fae and Witches around to guard it—which meant she didn’t have a chance fighting her way out on her own.
Please, let him find me, she prayed. She had faith that Arrian would stay true to his promise to come for her.
Once he did, Phaedra intended to take back everything she’d said
about wanting him to leave her alone. That was the last thing she wanted, and she needed him to know that. In fact, it was the complete opposite of what she wanted.
“Ensure that these four remain asleep,” Eranna commanded, seeming more in control of her emotions now. “I don’t need any of them causing trouble. Spread the word to the Dark Fae that I don’t have time for them to be fastidious. At this point, any girls will do, so long as there are six. The sooner I can return to Fallada, the better.”
The sound of Eranna’s footsteps echoed and then faded away completely, followed by the sound of a door being closed.
Phaedra opened her eyes, and found that Maxine had done the same. Her mouth hung open, and she furrowed her brow as if confused.
“Fallada,” Maxine whispered.
Her eyes widened, as it occurred to her that Maxine’s voice held recognition. “You know about Fallada?”
Maxine nodded, her chin trembling as she seemed to attempt to hold back tears. “Yes, I do.”
“How?” Phaedra urged, her glance shifting as she heard someone shuffling toward them.
A dark shape came into view near the foot of her cot, and a familiar scent tickled her nostrils.
Pixie dust.
She widened her eyes, silently urging Maxine to speak before they went unconscious again. The dust wafted over her, and Phaedra sucked in a sharp breath of clean air, determined to avoid breathing in the Pixie dust until the last possible second.
Her lungs burned, and she noticed that Maxine’s eyes were already drooping, the golden dust drifting down to coat her hair and eyelashes.
“From my dreams,” she whispered, just before her eyes slid closed.
Phaedra released her held breath in a rush, unable to avoid inhaling for another second. As the enchanted dust worked its magic and pulled her under, a sudden realization occurred to her. Through the haze clouding her vision and turning her brain into cotton, the thought rang through, as clear as a bell.
She had just discovered the seventh lost daughter of Fallada.
Chapter Eleven
DESDEMONA BURROWED deeper beneath the large fur pelt offering her warmth, and smiled. The clinging talons of drowsiness kept her floating as if she were in a dream. But, the very solid presence of Malachi beside her was quite real. And thank goodness for that, or she might be afraid to open her eyes and find that it had all really been some cruel dream.
“Good morning,” Malachi murmured, his voice deep and booming in the quiet wood.
Turning over to face him, she smiled. He was adorable first thing in the morning, with his wild curls framing his face in disarray, his eyes drooping. A rough thatch of hair covered his jaws, seeming to have appeared overnight.
“Hello,” she whispered.
Behind him, the sun cast its rays through the window, its brightness causing the winter white world beyond it to glow.
“Are you ready to return?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
With a sigh, she burrowed against him, resting her head against his warm chest. “Do we have to?”
He laughed, the sound warming her heart. “Right this second? Perhaps not. Eventually, yes.”
Peering up at him, she smiled. “I suppose you’re right. Duty calls. But, it was nice to pretend for a night, wasn’t it? That we’re the only two people in the world.”
Reaching up, he brushed a stray lock of hair back from her face. “Yes, it was. But Mollac needs their queen. I am content to share you with them.”
“Promise me, that when this war is over, you’ll steal me away as often as you can,” she murmured.
He placed a kiss upon her forehead. “I promise. This cabin will always be our place, and whenever I think you need time away, I’ll simply throw you over my shoulder and carry you here.”
“How bold of you not to ask my permission,” she teased, sitting up and reaching for her clothes. “I’d have any other man beheaded for such impertinence.”
Grasping her shoulders, he lowered his head to kiss her cheek. “But I’m not just any man.”
“No,” she agreed, her lips curving into a smile as she pulled her shift on over her head, “you are not.”
They got dressed in silence, and then worked together to set the cabin to rights. Malachi smothered the last embers of the fire he’d started in the hearth, while Desdemona folded and replaced the furs they’d slept on and under. As pleasant as their night away from everything had been, Desdemona was anxious to get back to the task of liberating Mollac. There were three other villages still crawling with her mother’s minions, and they needed to press on.
“Are you ready?” Malachi asked once they’d finished.
Taking up her cloak, she fastened it around her neck and grasped his offered hand. “Yes, I suppose.”
Casting one last mournful glance back into the cabin, Desdemona hoped too much time would not pass before they could return. Malachi closed the door behind them, then released her hand. Taking a few large steps away from her, he swiftly shifted into his animal form—growing and morphing before her eyes in the span of a few seconds. Lowering himself onto his belly, he issued a huff and inclined his head, waiting for her to mount.
She approached his side, reaching down to caress the soft, thick fur blanketing his massive shoulder. Then, she swiftly swung herself up onto his back, taking large fistfuls of his hair into her hands and holding tight. He had assured her that it did not hurt for her to hold him this way.
Once he seemed satisfied that she was secure, he stood up on four legs and began barreling across the snow drifts, back toward Snowbank.
Allowing the hood of her cloak to fall away, Desdemona raised her face up toward the morning sun. She reveled in the kiss of the cold morning air and the light of the sun breaking through the clouds. The thrill of the ride brought her joy, as did the wind in her hair, and the scent of roses blooming here and there.
The ride ended far too quickly, and before long Snowbank came into view. Malachi paused at the top of the same hill they’d stood upon the day before, and allowed her to dismount. He swiftly transformed back to two legs, and stood behind her, staring down at the village.
From this distance, she could detect the movement of people between cottages—small dark shapes moving against the pristine white snow. Everything appeared to be as it should, yet Desdemona could not ignore the sudden thought that something was terribly wrong.
She could feel Malachi’s gaze upon her, his brow knit with concern. Her hands began to tremble, and even clenching them into fists couldn’t stop it.
“Des, what’s wrong?” Malachi asked. “What is it?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered, her voice suddenly gone hoarse. “Something’s terribly wrong. I ...”
Her legs suddenly began to move, and before Desdemona realized it, she’d begun running toward the village. Taking hold of her skirts, she held them above her ankles, kicking up clumps of snow as she ran, her cloak trailing behind her like a banner in the wind.
As she drew closer to Snowbank, she realized why something had seemed off. While there were people in the village, there hadn’t been enough movement. The stillness unnerved her.
Coming near the cottage where she had met Roimas and his family, she stumbled to a stop, her breath coming out on a cry of dismay at what she found.
Littering the ground here and there, lay bodies. Many of them were contorted in a way that left her certain that they were not merely unconscious. They had been dismembered, broken, and tortured, left to die in the snow.
Tears filled her eyes as she turned left and right, searching for answers. Beyond the cottage, she found a group of Warrior Fae conversing with one of her royal guards.
“Mindirra!” she cried out, recognizing her head bodyguard.
The Fox Shifter spun to face her, eyes going wide. She exhaled noisily, as if with relief, before rushing forward to meet her. Malachi appeared at her side at the same moment that Mindirra halted in front of her.
“Your Majest
y!” she called out. “Thank the gods, you are all right!”
“Of course, I’m all right,” she insisted. “What has happened here?”
Mindirra frowned, gesturing toward the bodies, which Desdemona could see more of farther into the village. Among them lay residents of Snowbank, interspersed with fallen Minotaurs and the silvery dust of the Dark Fae taken down by iron weapons. A fight had occurred here in her absence.
“Reinforcements, my queen,” Mindirra answered. “We believe word traveled of your victory here, and the enemy regrouped. They attacked in the night while we slept. By the time we realized what was happening, they had killed several. We were able to rout them, but a few survived to retreat farther west. I would not put it past them to strike again, and soon.”
Disbelief rippled through her, and her stomach churned violently, causing her to feel as if she might retch right there in front of everyone.
“I ... I don’t understand,” she stammered, pressing a hand to her middle.
“When you did not emerge to fight amongst us, we assumed the worst,” Mindirra replied. “I am glad you’re all right.”
Malachi’s hands came up to rest on her shoulders in a comforting gesture, but Desdemona could hardly feel them. She couldn’t feel anything past the mind-numbing rage and despair roiling in her gut and threatening to spill out of her in an explosion of flames.
“How long ago was it?” she asked. “How long since they attacked?”
“Three hours by my guess, not long before sunrise,” Mindirra replied. “We fought them off, and have now turned our attention to tending the dead. We thought it wise not to pursue those retreating. Without you here to give your orders, we thought to wait. But as more time passed ...”
Desdemona nodded, understanding perfectly what Mindirra said and did not say. Three hours ago, she’d been happy, lying in Malachi’s arms in a cabin in the woods, oblivious to all else. Meanwhile, the people she had vowed to protect were being savaged by the enemy, many dying in the process.
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