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The souls fade in and out of existence, some agitated with their mouths open in soundless screams. Others rock silently. Still others cycle on a loop as if repeating the same moment again and again. “Who could do this?”
“The queen abandoned her duty to the Bridge years ago. When her visits first became more sporadic, the gargoyles brought the witches in to ward a place to take in the souls and keep them locked here.”
“Witches?” I ask. Because I’m not ready to accept the rest.
“The same I traded with to get the clothes you wear when you’re not in your Spidress finery. They specialize in blood and fire magic.”
I wrap my arms around me, unsure which is worse—a spider’s creations or the clothes of evil witches.
Rona snorts. “Witches aren’t so bad. It’s the ones who practice grave magic you have to worry about.”
Opening my mouth to ask if she can read my thoughts, I shut it again when a woman stops in front of us. Her form seems almost solid except flashes of blue light ripple through her in flickering sparks. “Can you help me?” she asks. “I think I’m lost.”
“It’s okay.” I put on my best calming voice. “You’ll be all right.”
Her shape blinks—a skipping static that fritzes before coming through again. “Can you help me?” she repeats. “I think I’m lost.” It’s as though she has no memory of what she said moments ago.
I glance at Rona who shakes her head.
“A recently departed,” she explains. “They tend to hold on harder. Some of the others have remained here so long that they remember little to nothing of their lives. I didn’t bring Hudyakis as the gathered souls infuriate him.”
“Him? They infuriate me. How could the gargoyles let the queen get away with this?”
The brownie shrugs. “She’s their queen.”
Not for much longer. “I have a few things to say to her.” Like how dare she allow the dead to suffer like this. The whole reason I went into hospice work was to help others transition to the other side with as much dignity as possible. The gargoyles’ queen makes a mockery of their pain, disgracing the entire process with her neglect.
“You see now why we need you to take the crown.” Rona looks up at me. “Will you fight for it?”
I let the chill of the cell sink into my bones, and cold rage thrums through my veins. “I will.”
“Except for your mates, the gargoyles will all be stone right now. I’ll take you to the Royal Tower, but I don’t know of any good that could come from speaking with her.”
“Let me decide that.”
“Spoken like a true queen.”
Rona moves us again, this time to the courtyard. There’s none of the nausea I felt when going through the portal. No feeling torn from one place to another. She simply walks us out of the shadows as though we’d been part of them, the same as Jace and Atticus wrap their darkness around them. Her magic leaves me with so many questions but they vanish when I see Wilborne’s candidate sneaking near the Royal Tower.
She spins around, her tight curls whipping against her face. Her gaze meets mine and then drops to Rona, her eyes going wide. “How did you?—?”
“Magic,” Rona answers dryly.
Nodding as if that explains everything, the other candidate looks to me. “I’m Norrie. We sort of met at the presentation thing.”
We’d had only seconds to speak when leaving the stage after the awful announcement by Cutter’s candidate. “I’m Rosemarie,” I say. “Here to meet with the queen?”
She blinks. “Are you?”
“Oh yeah.” Fury simmers through me. “Want to come with?”
“Not really. I was on my way to see you.” Norrie straightens. “Like I said after that insane presentation, I don’t want the crown. I never did. I just wanted the Bridge to do something to help my little sister, but now I’m hearing rumors that it can’t.”
“Your sister’s among the living,” Rona says softly. “The Bridge deals in the dead.”
Biting her lip, Norrie’s eyes fill. “Wilborne won’t let me go home. You saw how they dragged the fourth candidate through the portal in chains.”
“I’m sorry.” It’s all I can say. I can’t fix her problems. Hell, I can barely handle my own, and if Cutter’s candidate wins the trials, we’re all screwed.
