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She was on me, yanking my hair to pull me upright. “Been waiting for this,” she hissed, jerking me around, her face close to mine.
“Amell’s going to kill you for this,” I said through gritted teeth. I tasted blood.
“Amell’s a fool and has no business being in power. He’s become weak,” she spits with derision. “Falling in love with a lowly, piece of shit human. Refusing to carry out our former queen’s vision.”
Falling in love? He surely hasn’t. “If you think to use me as a pawn, Amell doesn’t care about me in that way. I’m of no use to you.”
Sorcha drags me down back halls so we stay out of the main portion of the castle. We haven’t passed a single fae, not anyone I could yell to for help. Not that any of them would help me. I think they stay away from me because they fear the Crimson River, but none would be moved to extend themselves for me. Maybe Calix, since he’s such an ass-kisser, but no others.
Sorcha pulls me through a doorway where we descend winding stone steps carved into the obsidian mountain. We go down, down, down, and it gets hotter. The air is thick, and my lungs burn.
It’s hot the way I thought Hell would feel, and sweat trickles down my back. After what feels like a thousand steps, Sorcha pushes through a door, and we walk out onto fine black sand. A gust of heat hits me, and I gape at the Crimson River flowing before me. Up close, it’s enormous, at least a hundred yards across, over which I see the twinkling lights of Otaxis.
The river itself puts off almost unbearable heat, and it’s far more colorful than I’d thought. It’s not just the reds, yellows, and oranges you’d expect from a thick lava-like flow but every shade of those colors. The viscous liquid froths and jumps as if alive and looking for a meal, and I remember how it made noises after every person was tossed in. Almost as if belching in satisfaction with each soul it consumed.
And now it looks like Sorcha’s going to throw me in, and I know I don’t have the physical strength to fight her.
Doesn’t stop me, though.
I dig my heels into the sand, and Sorcha is caught off guard by my unwillingness to come along peacefully. She looks over her shoulder and glares, giving me a hard jerk that causes me to fly toward her. Her free hand wraps around the front of my throat, and she puts her face close to mine. “I wish I had just a few minutes so I could peel you alive. But as it stands, we need you for something more important.”
We? Who is we?
Sorcha spins and drags me along in her wake, following the curve of the river and around the large rock outcropping upon which the base of the castle sits.
I nearly sag—hundreds and hundreds of fae and demons have gathered, stretching back as far as the eye can see.
An army.
Standing at the front is Jago, talking to two other Dark Fae dressed in what looks to be battle armor, all of them carrying swords. Beside him stands Calix, listening in on the conversation. He’s also a traitor.
“I have her,” Sorcha announces proudly, and Jago turns to look at us. Sorcha slings me forward, and I stumble before falling flat on my face in the black sand, right at Jago’s feet.
He laughs as Calix hauls me to standing, and I wrench free as soon as I’m upright. I take a step back from him, wrapping my palm over the area where Sorcha dug her claws into me to stop the bleeding, but the raw, open flesh is coated with sand and burns like the fires of Hell. I wonder if raging infections from dirty wounds are a thing down here.
“I hope you feel good about selling out your king,” I seethe at Calix, then turn to Jago. “And there’s no way you’re ever going to get his throne.”
Jago’s eyebrows rise in surprise as he shakes his head. “I want no such thing. Why would I want to rule this cesspit? And to be clear, Amell is not my king.”
“If you don’t want the throne, then what do you want?” I ask.
Jago moves in a blur, grabbing my arm and hauling me into him. “Ideally, fifteen minutes with you flat on your back beneath me so I can see what has Amell so intrigued, but I’m going to settle for him to open that veil and let us through.”
“Impossible,” I breathe out. “He’ll never let it happen.”
Not to mention, not sure he can. Amell told me Kymaris was only able to rip a hole big enough to let her army through after enacting a spell that took twenty-eight years to funnel magic into Zora, then she had to sacrifice an original fallen Light Fae.
“I suspect it’s not impossible,” Jago says smugly. “My scouts report he decimated my soldiers at Calashte, barely breaking a sweat. He’s no ordinary Dark Fae.”
No, he’s not. Zora gave him powers the others don’t have. They also have no clue the full extent of his abilities. The attack on Calashte was obviously a setup to gauge Amell’s strength. Jago isn’t as stupid as I thought. I look around for Ariman, but I don’t see him.
“Even if Amell could open the veil enough, he’d never do it. He’s promised Zora to keep the First Dimension safe.”
“He’ll do it if he wants to keep you alive,” Jago says with a harsh laugh, bending his head to sniff my neck.
I shudder in revulsion.
“J-a-a-g-g-o-o-o,” a deep, ominous voice bellows, echoing from all directions and causing the ground to shudder. “Release her.”
