“Have you ever done something similar?”
He rubs a hand over his face. “No, but fuck, Mabs is even more of a liar than I thought. She hid this from us. You were this close to giving up on witchcraft, and all this time she was drugging you to keep your Summer fire tamped down?” He huffs out a humorless laugh. “What a witch.”
“Summer magic?” I ask.
“Fire is from Summer,” Nick says. “Explains why you’re good with plants, too. That means our father must have been a Summer Fae.”
“Considering how many lies I’ve told in my life,” I chuckle dryly, “I know for a fact I’m not a full-blooded Fae, and neither are you.”
“He was a Summer seed, then, and his powers only passed on to you,” Nick counters. “It’s still a better clue than anything we’ve ever had.”
I trace a glowing flame along my palm. “Alright, I promise not to tell E what the spindle is for, but you’re going to have to find a way to get along. He’s not evil. I know it.”
Nick’s lips form a thin line. “What about your wedding?”
I stare at him through my lashes as I gather our cups and dump them in the sink. “Oh, Nick. You already know there isn’t going to be a wedding.”
He joins me by the counter, places his hand over mine, and gives it a little squeeze. “I think it’s for the best.” He cracks a smile. “I’m glad you finally came to your senses.”
I stick my tongue out. “You’re an insufferable know-it-all.”
“That’s how you love me. Blunt and lovable.” He wraps an arm around my neck in a mock-chokehold and plants a big goofy kiss on top of my head. “And you deserve more than a mortal with no sense of fun.”
“What about you, eh? Still seeing that sexy, mysterious deep-throat source you met in Norway?”
“Nah. She’s out of the picture.” He shrugs, walking backwards to the living room. “I’ve met someone new, actually.”
“Really?”
He rarely speaks of such things, and that alone makes my ears perk up. I follow him to the sofa, and we sit together on the purple corduroy, gossiping like we’ve done a thousand times, and the familiarity of it all eases the tension beneath my ribs.
“She’s a witch from another coven,” he says, “and she introduced me to the rebels I mentioned. Bloodraven witches aren’t the only ones who were wronged by the Reds, Maxie. Many covens have survived, in stronger numbers than we knew. If we could work together, we might just be able to take our lands back. Lysandra gave me information that could proveinvaluable, like the fact that there are underground tunnels that run from Lorntree Hollow all the way to the Red Queen’s keep.”
Lorntre Hollow is at the heart of the Red Forest, where the Lorntre tree still stands, singed by the fire that put the Reds in power. No one has reached the core of the kingdom in centuries and lived to tell the tale, but legend says dark souls nestle in its branches. They say witches are always welcome at the Hollow Tree. That our destiny lies in wait for us there.
The Reds call it propaganda from an evil spirit who wants fresh blood to shower its roots, but the Dark One gives us our power. He provides guidance. Even grants our wishes, sometimes.
“With enough manpower, we could reach the Hollow tree, sneak inside the castle grounds, and kill the Red Queen. We could reclaim our lands, Maxie,” Nick adds.
Ever since he was old enough to grow a beard, Nick has been obsessed with going back to Faerie and killing the ones responsible for our mother’s death. But he never just wanted to find her murderer—he wants to bring down the entire system. It all sounds too good to be true. Too simple.
“If we killed the Red Queen,” I say slowly, “another one would be crowned in her place. Just like last time.”
“Not if—” He breaks off, a wild spark flaring in his eyes.
“What?”
“According to Lysandra, the Red Circlet automatically passes to the one who kills the reigning queen if that person was born on Red soil. If that were to be a witch, they think it could break the curse that prevented the Hollow tree from healing after the fire. That it would give us back our full power.”
I see the light in his eyes. He sayswitch, but he wants it for himself. The crown that destroyed our forest, the magic that tore us apart—he wants to wield it. Taste it. Destroy it.
Gods help me, the terrifying part is that if any mortal could walk into a cursed woodland, sneak inside the Red Keep, and claim a Fae crown, it would be Nickolas Bloodsinger.
“I’m the only male ever to be born on Red soil that we know of. There must be a purpose for that. If I managed to kill the Red Queen and inherited her crown,” he continues, his voice low, “I think it would shake the Reds’ entire religion to its core. Unsurmountably so.”
Mabel has always loved Nickolas, yet she’s long been apprehensive about the destiny awaiting him. As a male, he’s an impossibility, something of a legend himself. Now I’m beginning to understand why she was so fearful of him ever returning to Faerie.
“But how could we kill a Fae Queen?”
