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Now that he mentions it, there is a soft hum in the background that wasn’t there before. Absently, I nod. It’s the same sound I heard when I saw it before. The whispers of a song are much like the one the cauldron sang to me. But its song stopped after I drank from it, becoming little more than this. Maybe they are the same in a way, their power used up and dormant. But the cauldron was said to recharge over time, not through some sacrifice of blood.
“It’s the sword of the Unseelie king,” he says. “A symbol of our people and source of great power that could lead us on a path back to prosperity.”
“Your people don’t have a king. Maybe that’s why it didn’t work.”
A sad smile touches his lips, painting him far less fierce than moments before. “They did not for a long time, and it has brought us to ruin. You know that much, but your king’s spies have failed to discover much, other than the information we grant them.”
“What?” I straighten. Sigurd mentioned spies, but this guy knew?
The look he gives is almost pitying. “Seelie are not good at hiding their tracks in our territory. Of course I know of them. You don’t need to try your human lies and deceit on me. Mostly, they have only learned what we want them to, but it seems it’s time they know more.”
Gooseflesh tingles up my arms. “What do you mean?”
“You asked my name. I am Kallan, and the power of the ancient line has settled on me and become my burden to bear—mine and my sister's. I am the Unseelie king. I am the sword of my people, as my sister is our shield.”
It was clear enough when I was brought before him that he was their leader, but king? Of all the things I expected, that was not it. Though it makes a certain sense now. The Unseelie king. My mouth hangs open, any words I could think to respond with lost.
He’s Sigurd’s enemy—a boogie monster of their stories come to life—and yet he sits across the cell bars from me on a cold stone floor, having a tame conversation with his captive.
“I see you truly did not know,” he says.
Finally, I snap my mouth shut. “Why tell me this unless you plan to kill me?”
Kallan huffs air through his nose. “The Seelie need to know that the Unseelie have a king once more. We will no longer cower in a land dead and dying. I will see my people prosper once more, if it takes unto my last breath.”
The Unseelie king rises to his feet before shoving the sword back in the scabbard at his side. He turns to leave, and the act urges me up as well. I’m rushing to the bar before he can leave me alone in this place again. The only thing worse than being stuck with the enemy is being trapped alone.
“What does that have to do with me?” I ask.
He glances back at me over one shoulder. The flickering firelight paints him as the king he claims to be—dancing in bright colors over his pale hair and accenting the hard angles of his face with shadows. The cat ears atop his head twitch as his lips twist up at one side. “If taking you will not spark the Seelie into a war with one another, perhaps I can weaken them in another way.”
As if on cue, Katiya appears. She’s also dressed for battle in armor of dark gray that hugs her more lithe form. Her amused look says she’s been listening to much of our conversation.
“What do you plan to do to me?” I can’t help but ask.
“To you? I hope little. But we shall see how much the King of Air desires his marked human returned to him.”
I bounce on my toes, gripping the bars in my fists. “You’re giving me back to him?”
“Giving? No. Bartering? Perhaps.”
So I’m to be bait of another type. But it’s the best hope I’ve had since Katiya stole me, and I let that little ember sustain me and sharpen my wit.
Katiya moves to the door, using some quick motion of her hands to disguise how she unlocks it.
Whatever comes next could have vast consequences—for me, for Sigurd, for multiple courts of fae. I have to be prepared. I will not be a liability. Of all the trials I’ve faced in Faery, this is the final test, the last challenge, and I will not fail.
Chapter 40
Wemeetupwitha small host of Unseelie warriors, a few of whom look familiar from the small gathering when I was first brought before their king. Everyone links hands—Katiya on my left, Kallan on my right—and then we all shift as one.
Normally, it’s a disorienting process at best—for humans like me anyway. But this is much worse. It’s not just the world around me spinning, I feel like I’m being twisted inside and out, reshaped in this journey that seems to stretch on forever. Colors blur and shift around us in a nauseating display, forcing me to squeeze my eyes closed against the onslaught.
When it finally stops, I feel like I’ve been shoved in a clothes dryer and left to spin around and around with the socks until someone finally remembered I was in there and chose to let me out. I would certainly fall if not for the two Unseelie holding my hands in a death grip. Even so, I can’t help sinking to one knee and trying to keep my stomach from climbing up my throat.
“Wren!”
My heart lurches against my ribs at the familiar voice. I snap my head up, the world still spinning around me, but across a stretch of cracked, dead land of grays and muted browns, I spy Sigurd.
