by Lily Archer
Rising, I begin to pace again, the roaring fire doing nothing to warm me. Not when Taylor has been taken from me. Ravella sits cross-legged, her eyes white as she sends her feral self into the vale to seek out my mate. She’s been like this for hours, and each second that ticks by is a particular agony.
My bond with Taylor is stretched too far, so close to snapping. It was only just beginning to grow strong, to allow our minds to meet without saying a word. But I can barely feel her now. And it isn’t enough to track her.
“Valen’s resting.” Gray stomps into the cabin, his broad shoulders brushing the doorframe on either side. “Thorn is a hawk watching the crossing, and Tavaran is on the verge of tears, I think.” He grins. “So tough in his golden armor. But put him in a snow bank up to his neck, and he shivers like a new foal.”
“Gray—”
He waves a hand. “I took him out … After he cried.” His expression turns solemn as he glances at Gareth. “No change?”
“No.” My voice is a hoarse whisper.
Gray sits on the stone hearth in front of the fire and pulls his fur from his shoulders. “Plan?”
“Get her back.” My hands curl into fists as a million worries trample through my mind. Is she injured? Terrified? Mistreated? Worse?
“Any idea where she was taken? The Gray Mountains are wide. So many peaks and valleys, places to hide.”
“I realize that,” I snap.
He nods. Gray has never been one to get his feelings hurt. Tough and resilient, he’s the perfect soldier.
“Ravella can locate her. Surely.” He scratches his red beard. “Only a matter of time before we go on the hunt.”
“Who died?” Gareth’s weak voice barely rises past the crackling fire.
The smallest bit of hope blooms in my chest as I turn to him. “About time.”
Beth exhales, and her chin drops to her chest.
“Are you hurt?” Gareth tries to reach for her.
“I’m fine.” She looks up, her eyes glistening. “I’m fine now.”
“Worried for me, were you?”
Her impish smile returns, though subdued. “Worried you were going to die before admitting how much you like me.”
“Good to see your false confidence is still high.” He sighs but doesn’t let go of her hand, the two of them sharing a moment that’s shocking and tender all at once.
“Taylor.” He turns to me, his eyes stark. “We must find her.”
“Be still. You took a sword through the back.”
He grimaces. “I told you we couldn’t trust Para.”
“You never trust anyone.” I clasp his forearm, relief filtering down through the veil of grief that shades my soul.
“I know. That’s the way to avoid a blade in the back.” His breath catches on a cough.
I pour him a cup of water and lift his head. He drinks, then settles back down.
“Cenet took her.” His hands curl into fists. “Bastard stole right out of the woods and took her. Killed Para—no loss there. But Taylor. Have you found her?” He looks at me with hopeful eyes, but he’s a warrior too. Just like me, he knows that things are never simple. Never easy.
“Ravella is scrying for her through the vale.” I resume pacing. “Did you see anything else? Any clue where she’s gone?”
He shakes his head slightly. “Para took me out. That shame rests squarely on my shoulders. I didn’t protect my queen. I have failed her.” He meets my gaze, his dark eyes giving way to sadness. “Just as I have failed you.”
“Your oath is still good, old friend.” I stop beside him. “We are going to take her back. We have to.”
“Ravella can find her, right?” Beth chews her lower lip.
“I don’t know.” I hate the answer. “She’s been able to scry before, but not in the Gray Mountains.” Saying it out loud is a fresh dagger through me. Where is my Taylor? “She’s tried to find the missing lesser fae and changelings, but her vision stops at the edge of those lands. Nothing passes through there, not even her spectral form.”
“Maybe this time—”
“No.” Ravella leans back against the cabin wall, her face wan, her eyes back to normal. “I followed the trail as far as I could, but I couldn’t see past the mountains. The trail leads to those damnable peaks, but I can go no farther.”
I can’t stop the roar that rips from me, the sound shaking the timbers of the cabin and sending puffs of dust down from the rafters.
“Me too.” Beth taps her heart. “But in here.”
Ravella wipes the sweat from her brow.
Gray rises and pours her some water.
“Thanks.” She drains it. “But I did see someone in the vale. Someone who could possibly help us.” Her expression darkens even further. “But it will be costly.”
“I’ll pay any price to find her.” No hesitation.
“I was afraid you’d say that.” She drains another cup, then crosses her legs again. “I’ll bring her. Brace yourselves.” Her eyes turn white, and she’s gone into the vale again.
Gray opens one of the provisions bags and starts setting out a meal. “We need to eat. Keep our strength in case the summer realm gets suicidal again.”
I wave the food away. I can’t eat, can barely function. What I need is Taylor. Everything inside me clamors for my mate, and the feral howls with longing. I won’t sit idle. I must follow her, even if my path takes me to the darkest Spire.
“Gray’s right,” Gareth chides. “Eat while you can. When we set off for the Gray Mountains, there may not be food for—”
“We?” I arch a brow. “You aren’t going anywhere.”
“I damn well am.” He sputters. “I watch your back, remember?”
“Might need to keep a better eye on your own.” Gray snorts.
“You’ll pay for that comment.”
“Not till later.” Gray cuts a hunk of bread.
“Then start counting interest.” Gareth’s tone is stronger, but still reedy.
“Stop getting him excited.” I take a piece of bread from Gray’s grip. “I’m eating.” I point at Gareth. “You’re staying.”
“She’s my queen, too, Leander. I am to blame for her capture. I must honor my oath to her.”
“You almost died.” I toss a crust of bread at him.
His reflexes are deadened, the bread bouncing off his tunic and proving my point. “You are no use to me like this. Stay here, recover, and wait for my return.” I swipe the crumbs off him and down the bread. “That’s the end of it.”
His cheeks redden, his eyes furious. “That is not the end of—”
“She’s here.” Ravella sits forward right as a knock sounds on the door.
5
Taylor
An undead guard leads me down a darkened corridor, the faint lights hung at intervals barely revealing the path underfoot. Shathinor hurried me out of his throne room after Cenet appeared, and the two of them engaged in a heated argument as the guard gestured for me to follow. I was too dazed to disobey, not to mention the row of additional soldiers lining the damp underground hallways discouraged me from any escape attempt.
The guard turns abruptly and swings open a worn wooden door. He doesn’t enter, but his rotting hand points the way for me. I step inside a crude bedroom, and the door closes behind me. When I turn to try the door handle, it doesn’t budge.
“You’re here.” Cecile sits in a chair next to a small bed. The other me lies there, her eyes still closed.
“Is she alive?” I hurry over.
“Yes.” Cecile holds her hand between both of her own. “She’s breathing.” Looking up at me, her red-rimmed eyes are teary. “Why won’t she wake?”
“I don’t know.” I run my hand along her forehead and try to ignore the creepy feeling that touching my own face elicits. “She’s not feverish, but that lump on her head isn’t so great.” I pull her hair back and look more closely at it. “I don’t see a dent or anything, so maybe it’s just a superficial bruise.
Your head has a really good blood supply, so any injuries there tend to look worse than they are.”
“But she won’t wake.” Cecile’s defeated tone hits a sad note inside me.
“Give her more time.” I pull up the threadbare blanket and tuck it around her, doing my best to ward off the dank chill that pervades this stone prison.
“You’re mated.” Cecile stares at the mark peeking from beneath my shirt.
“Yes.” My cheeks heat.
“I guess all you needed to finally get laid was a little push from me.”
“A little push?” The pity I felt for her starts to drain away. “You call sending me to another dimension—or whatever this is—a little push?”
She shrugs. “Well, it worked, didn’t it?”
I would strangle her, but that would leave me with one fewer ally. So, maybe later when I’ve gotten out of this mess.
I rub my eyes and plop down on the hearth where a small purple fire burns. “By the way, did you know we’re sisters?”
She turns her head toward me, her now-pointy ears thrown in sharp relief. “Did you hit your head, too?”
“No.” I lean back against the stones, though they aren’t as warm as I’d hoped.
“Then why are you spouting nonsense?”
“We have the same mother. Callandra.”
Her nostrils flare at the name. “Not possible.”
“Maybe it’s escaped your notice, but none of this is possible.” I wave my hand at pretty much everything. “Shathinor is alive, I’m his daughter, I’m your sister, I have an evil brother, there’s another me right here in this room, and we are trapped in a cave where the fires are purple and the guards are dead guys!” My voice rises with, I admit, more than a hint of hysteria.
Cecile glares at me. “Things are already bad enough without you harshing my vibe.”
“I’m harshing your vibe?”
“Yes. And I need positive feels to help my girl get better. So, I’d appreciate it if you keep any and all negativity to yourself.” She turns her back on me. “And we aren’t sisters. I have a sister, and she’s right here.” She grasps the other me’s hand again.
I don’t even comment on how ridiculous she is to claim I’m not her sister, but somehow my doppelganger is? What a mess. I lean my head back against the wall and yell for Leander again. But he can’t hear me. Our bond was so alive when we mated, but now that vibrancy has faded into black and white. He’s too far away.
“Mother would have told me, you know,” she says quietly. “She would have said.”
“She was trying to keep me hidden. I was born a long time ago, but she had to keep me away from my father. That’s why you didn’t know about me.” A thought hits me, and I laugh.
“What could possibly be funny?” Cecile snipes.
“I’m your big sister.” It tickles me for some reason, and I wheeze-laugh as Cecile scowls. “Maybe I can babysit you sometime.” Raucous, inappropriate laughter boils out of me until I double over and hold my aching ribs.
“You’re mental.”
“Maybe.” I sit back up and wipe my eyes, the (admittedly crazy) laughter fading. “Probably. But don’t worry about me, little sister.”
She rolls her eyes. “Mother sent me to find you.” She smooths the other me’s blanket. “I didn’t know why. But before she went to the Ancestors, she told me to go to earth and look out for you. I had to promise her, swore on the Ancestors and the old magic. When the time came, I fought it, but father wanted to separate me from my Taylor, so he was happy for me to go. I told myself it would be easy, that maybe it wasn’t so bad. After all, my Taylor is my best friend.” Her eyes narrow. “But then I arrived to my dorm room and met you.”
I ignore her barb. “All of it fits.” I don’t want it to. I don’t want to be Shathinor’s daughter, but there it is. I can’t deny how well his story matches up to what’s happened to me, but I still don’t know why I’m here. What’s his plan? To keep me around as a pet?
“My father is dead, isn’t he?” It’s a question, but she states it with such resignation that I can tell she knows the answer.
The question is an even gloomier change of pace. “He is.”
“Did you kill him?” Her shoulders hunch a little.
“No.” I don’t intend to volunteer that Leander did.
“Okay.” She nods. “I know he wasn’t … a good fae. But I’m glad you weren’t the one—”
We jump when a knock rattles the door.
A female undead shambles in, her head bald in spots, and her blue dress torn and tatty, but she holds an emerald green gown that seems fit for a queen. Walking to me, she lays the dress along a wooden chair, then reaches for my shirt.
“Hey!” I try to scoot back but knock my head on the stones behind me.
She takes the opportunity to begin yanking my shirt off.
“Stop!” I throw my hands up, but she’s surprisingly strong, and so is her stench.
Shoving myself to the side, I evade her grasp and hurry around the bed. “Go away.”
She gestures to the dress, her white eyes droopy, and moves toward me again.
“Look.” I hold my hands up. “I can dress myself. All right?”
She stops but doesn’t leave.
“She can dress herself, but trust me, she doesn’t have a clue how to dress.” Cecile’s usual snarky armor is back up.
“This is neither the time nor the place, Cecile.” I edge around the bed and grab the dress.
“Whatever.” She leans over Taylor on the bed and finger combs her hair.
I turn my back on them and the corpse and strip down, then stand and throw the velvety dress over my head. It falls almost to the floor and has a scoop neckline that isn’t too low. Not bad.
“I’m dressed. Now what?” I put my hands on my hips and speak with an utterly false bravado. Is this dress what I’m about to be sacrificed in? My knees go to jelly at the idea, but there’s nothing I can do except put my faith in Leander. He will come for me. He promised to the Ancestors that he would always come for me.
The woman shuffles to the door and opens it, then waits.
“She wants you to go with her,” Cecile offers helpfully.
“I figured that out. Thanks.” My fear hasn’t killed my sarcasm, so that’s a win, sort of.
I ease out the door, and one of the undead guards from earlier walks behind me, herding me down the dark hallway and up a flight of stairs that never seems to end. By the time I get to the top, I have to wipe the beads of sweat from my forehead and take in gulps of air. Apparently, more cardio is necessary to survive the evil mountain lair. The zombie behind me isn’t even winded.
“Daughter.” Shathinor’s voice carries on a cool wind, and I shiver.
The guard gives me a light push. I turn to glare at him, but his gelatinous white eyes have me turning right back around.
With heavy steps, I walk toward the sound of Shathinor’s voice. More guards appear, some dead, some alive, all of them stern. Soldiers line the stone walls that open onto a wide veranda jutting out into the cloudy night. There is nothing below but the valley of campfires that spreads as far as I can see. One misstep up here would spell doom.
“Come, daughter.” Shathinor stands near the very tip of the stone peninsula extending from the side of the mountain. His black wings are folded neatly behind him, the tips peeking over his shoulders.
Cenet stands beside him, his gaze no less lethal than it was before. But they aren’t arguing anymore, at least.
A wind whips past, and I stop as my gown flows out beside me and over the edge. That first step is a doozy.
“Come.” Shathinor beckons with what passes for a smile on his face.
My heart thumps out of tune, and I want nothing more than to flee back down the stairs. But one look at Cenet tells me he’d catch me and hurt me. And worse than that, he’d enjoy it. He has my obsidian blade at his side.
I force my feet to carry me all the way and stop next t
o the rotting king.
He takes my arm and pulls me to the very lip of the stone. I clench my eyes shut.
“Look down.” His voice slithers into my ear.
It takes effort, but I open my eyes and squint at the camps far below.
“All this is ours. Every bit of it.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders, and for a moment, I ponder throwing myself off the cliff. “I had already begun my work to rebuild my army, but the moment I felt you here in Arin, I knew it was time. More and more join my cause, and now we can take the reins of this great slumbering beast and turn its jaws toward first the summer realm and then to the true prize, my former home. Our home.”
I have to give it to him. He’s trying to win me over with this “our” business. But what he wants to sell me is an evil empire with him as its king. No, thank you. “Look, you don’t know me. I’m just a human—well, I guess a fae?—See? I don’t even know what I am. I’m not evil. I don’t want to take over the world. War sounds horrible.” I cringe away from him a bit more with each word. “I just want to be me.” And I want to be with Leander. I dare not speak that aloud, not when Shathinor has made clear that Leander is on his “Murder ASAP” list.
“You want to be you?” He pulls me closer, the scent of rot wafting to my nose. “That’s what I’m offering. I can give you that. You can finally be yourself. Your true self.”
“But I already am. I’m happy like this. Like a human, more or less.”
“You’re a high fae,” Cenet practically spits. “Not a human.”
Shathinor’s white face crinkles a bit. “Don’t mind your brother. He’s just a tad jealous now that you’ve come to claim what’s yours. He thought he’d be the one to rule with me. But he’s a lesser fae, his mother a spoil of war. I enjoyed her but didn’t intend for her to bear a child.” He gives him a deathly glare. “But here we are.”
I swallow hard as Cenet’s eyes slit even more narrowly. “One big, happy family.”
“Besides, he doesn’t have your gifts.” Shathinor takes my hand and holds it out. “Death lives in these fingertips and in your heart. You can take life with a whisper, with nothing more than the scantest touch.”
