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I don’t need to be good-looking to end their lives. I don’t even need magic. It takes willpower to refrain from scratching out their eyes on the sketches. But I need the portraits if I’m to hunt them down, so I fold and tuck them neatly into the rucksack.
Then I sneak out my window. With my temper still spiking, I’m not careful. My fur cape catches on the latch, almost sending me toppling backward into my room. Not a good start, Willow.
I climb onto the gabled roof beneath my window without attracting attention. Twilight is a good time to move about unseen in Elphyne. Nocturnal fae are waking, and the others are usually winding down. No one notices me climbing down the trellis and creeping onto the lawn that doubles as the Cadre of Twelve training field.
I take one last look around campus, hear the distant sound of water trickling through culverts, and quickly pull out the portal stone. I never know how many manabeeze will be needed, but I think it has something to do with distance and the size of the stone. It ends up taking half a jar to activate, but that’s okay. The rest will be enough to activate another portal stone for when I come home.
IfI come home.
The stone heats in my hand to a scalding temperature, but I don’t let go. I pray to the Well this is normal. The smell ofozone burns my nostrils, and a bright light explodes in my hand. I toss the stone into the air, where the light expands to a wide ring of crackling electricity. Shaking my burned palm, I watch as the landscape inside the circle comes into focus, and I gasp. It’s green. Not endless white.
Holy shit. This is definitely real. Not a dream.
A dirt path leads into a forest stretching before me. A path means there are people. My heart leaps into my throat.
Guilt hits me hard. This feels like a momentous discovery. Peaches had the stone sitting on her workbench. If I don’t tell someone about this now and can’t return, they’ll never know another place in this world is habitable. But if I do that, then I’m inviting questions and opinions.
A surge of bitter hatred pushes out my reason. No. This is my moment. My revenge. None of these people understand my pain. None were pawns and prisoners the way I was. If they were, and the opportunity to take revenge was given to them, I’m sure they’d take it. Cloud is still out there hunting down humans who robbed him of the chance to kill Rory himself. So, fuck it. If he can get revenge, so can I.
I’ll return,I promise.
Clutching the half-filled jar of manabeeze, I stride through the portal. Little fire ants scuttle over my skin. Pressure pops in my ears. Light flares so brightly that I close my eyes and still feel like I’m staring at the sun. My palm burns, and I gasp again, sucking in a lungful of acrid portal air, but I keep walking. It’s never taken this long to cross a portal. Maybe it’s the stolen Guardian manabeeze—maybe the Well is punishing me again for defying the natural order of things.
The bright light fades, cold air bites my nose, and I dare to open my eyes. I’m here. The sky is gray and drizzling with rain. It smells magnificent—like dewy mountain air and blooming flowers. Birds sing melodious, happy tunes. Evergreen leaves ontowering trees shiver in the frigid breeze. I drag my cape around my shoulders to fight the arctic temperature.
A grin splits my face as I glance up. The trees are enormous, bigger than I’ve seen in Elphyne.
“We made it,” I tell Tinger, patting the pendant beneath my clothes.
Wait. My hands are empty. My jar of manabeeze is gone. Gasping, I whirl to face the portal, but it’s closing. The electrical field grows smaller. I glimpse my mother’s vibrant hair—her unreadable face as she taps her chest. Then she’s gone, replaced by a tall handsome fae soldier wearing a green embroidered cape.
“You’re late,” he snarls.
Part Two
Avorlorna
Chapter
Six
WILLOW
The soldier grabs me by the scruff and shoves me in the opposite direction. I stumble down the dirt path, numb with shock. It’s not just a forest surrounding me, but a city built into the trees, like in my dream. The path leads to an arched gate woven from roots and branches. Guards wearing green and holding various weapons scrutinize the surroundings.
Another impatient shove against my rucksack makes me stumble on exposed roots. My hand hovers over the dagger hidden beneath my cape, ready to use it.
But then the soldier grumbles under his breath,“Dreams be damned.Puck will have my brows if more exhibitors arrive.”
I don’t think I’m in danger. Frowning, I glance at him, and he raises his brows. “Do not dally, mortal. Present your papers to the noble captain.”
Papers? My eyes widen.
At the gatehouse, two more green-caped guards wait. One holds a clipboard and stares blankly as he takes in my face scarf. The cold has left its mark on all the guards, from rosy noses and cheeks to clouds blooming from breaths. Pointed elfin ears peek through the tied, russet hair. His brunette companion is equally impeccable. Their uniforms are starched and pressed.Embroidery on the deep-green vests and stiff collar emulates tree roots. Between the woven threads, little crystals and stones dangle. Some are polished to perfection. Others are uncut and raw.
Titania’s crown had a mix of stones set in silver. These soldiers also have silver chains swinging from epaulets. If metal isn’t outlawed, then I don’t like my chances of it being a magic-cutting substance.
“Yet another exhibitor graces us with tardy arrival, Captain Sorrel.” His lilting accent is a mix of lyrical and grump.
