”Fuck,” I muttered, looking up at the sky as if it would respond.
Instead, a low growl from the forest was what answered.
I pivoted on my feet, facing the trees.
That was not the sound of the death beast I had created, nor of any creature I knew to be living in the River Palace woods.
But the forest stayed silent, as if the beast knew I was now listening for it. I narrowed my eyes in the darkness but saw no movement. So instead, I closed them, calling on my magic to focus on the threads of life of everything near me. Water pixies, khapisis, jaiparis all flitted through my mind. None of those had been what I heard. A river crocodile at the south end of the water pulled my attention, but it was too far away. Suddenly a tugging of something sharp and fierce pulled at my magic. Not vibrantly alive, but old, ancient, and waiting.
There.
Something stepped softly in the woods, but it was too large to mask its sound completely. All I knew was a sense ofwrongnessabout it.
Not the same unnatural feeling of me tapping into the death magic, but instead an awareness of it not belonging.
Another soft pad of footsteps.
It crept quietly.
It was tracking something.
I didn’t bother putting my shirt back on, but I did thread the key onto the golden chain at my neck, alongside my sister’s ring.
Then I slipped into the woods, hunting something I hoped wasn’t hunting me.
Chapter 11
Of course, the one frontier we’ve not yet been able to breach has been to cross the Basrol River in Astola and enter into ancient fae territory itself. It remains a priority for Empress Lorna and the Empire to finally expand our interests and secure our stronghold on fae magic for the next century.
—The History of Astolaby Henry Wiltshire
Yaseema
They said it had been hundreds of years since anyone had crossed the River, but I knew that was a lie. The night my mother left, she’d held a fae artifact much like the one gracing my wrist now. She’d kissed me goodbye, and promised she was going to fix everything.
She’d never come back.
Now I stood at the edge of the River, just like she had, ready to take the same journey.
Even if you were able to cross the wall, the songs and stories told us that nothing was worth the agony, the creatures waiting on the other side to feast on your flesh, or the barbaric hordes ready to capture you if the former failed.
The fae would steal your babies from their cribs, devour your memories, and eat your dreams while sitting on your chest as you slept.
Nothing was worth it, I repeated to myself.
Except this was.
There was something on the other side that would put right everything the Citadel had done, that meant all the fae relics stolen by the Empress wouldn’t matter. Not if the wall came down and the flow of life magic was restored to Astola.
I pulled out my mother’s journal and read over the entry and illustration detailing Queen Azari’s crown that would bring down the fae wall in the River.
The crown was set in gold, like a braid of sunlight over the hair. In the center, a tikka hung, also woven in gold.
This was the source of the dead fae Queen’s power.
The haath phool I’d found that graced my hand would allow me to cross the River, to pass through the magical barrier created by Queen Azari. But her crown was the only thing strong enough to bring it down.
Above the page in the journal was a hastily sketched jasmine flower, its petals turned out. It was a simple design, but I’d know it anywhere. The jasmine had been the mark of the Court of River, the Court that the dead Queen had ruled over.
