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I clung to him, my heart thundering like a stampede. I didn’t think there was any way out of this. Aeron’s useof “trial” seemed like a euphemism—one last act of kindness from him to keep hope alive until my last breath.
But we both knew that Moria didn’t plan to let us live.
A roar rumbled over the horizon, and the dragon swooped overhead, unleashing a firestorm behind us, the heat scorching the air. With a snarl, Aeron grabbed my arm again and pulled me along with the frantic desperation of a dying man.
My toes stung in the icy snow.
What the fuck was my life right now?
I could hardly piece together a coherent thought, just panicked, fragmented wisps about how it was better to take our chances with an evil queen’s justice in the future than to burn alive. Could there be a worse death than burning alive? I had a disturbing feeling I was going to find out here in Faerie. The world smoldered behind us. In front of us, it gleamed with ice.
The dragon’s fire forced us closer to the castle, and smoke clouded the air around us, making me cough. Ashes mingled with snow, and the sharp-towered castle came into view, along with a legion of soldiers in silver armor. White sunlight gleamed off them as they marched forward, the intensity nearly blinding.
My thoughts went quiet.
I couldn’t breathe anymore, the smoke stinging my lungs, the forest smoldering behind us. My brain teetered on the knife-edge between panic and survival, and panic was winning, making my limbs heavy. As I slowed, Aeron lost his grip on my arm.
I don’t know if it was exhaustion or fear, but my body simply wouldn’t move anymore, my muscles locking.
I slammed to my knees in the snow. Aeron whirled, gripping me around the ribs, like he was going to carry me to safety. And as much as I loved him for it, I knew we had nowhere left to run.
“I’m sorry!” I shouted at Aeron.
Guilt pierced me. If I hadn’t been here, Aeron would have found a way out.
Shouts rang out as the silver-clad soldiers descended on us and ripped Aeron away from me. His panicked eyes were locked on me as I felt the boot on my back and found myself facedown in the snow. Rough hands captured my wrists in freezing iron shackles, then clamped one around my throat.
When the soldier yanked me up again, I felt as if my arms would be pulled from their sockets.
I shivered wildly, trudging on through the snow. The soldiers led us to the castle. And as we got closer, a sharp tendril of horror wound through my chest.
Cages hung from the castle walls on long iron chains. In one of them, I glimpsed the pale, shivering figure of Princess Orla. She must be freezing to death.
I stared at her, my eyes stinging. I wondered if she’d been screaming, and when she’d stopped.
The other cages? I had a horrified feeling that they were empty, waiting for us.
30
TORIN
The queen had made me a throne of sorts of thick, barbed foliage and blood-hued leaves that bound me to a stone.
And today, anarchy reigned in the Court of Sorrows. From my spiky little throne, I’d listened to the sounds of shouting and screaming. Breaking glass. I felt the acrid miasma of panic sweep through the castle. I smelled blood on the air.
I had no idea what was happening, but I liked it.
I flexed my biceps and forearms, trying to weaken the plants. The queen’s dark tendrils came alive at her command and ripped my skin whenever I tried to break free.
Propelled by sheer rage and determination, I’d ripped through them four times so far, trying to get to Ava. Each time, the fucking things would score my flesh with bloody lacerations. And each time, I’d be captured again within minutes, strangled with spiked ropes of plants, and dragged back to the throne. The vines wereeverywhere, dark as bruises flecked with red. And the queen controlled them all, living nooses that sprawled around me. I’d grown to loathe the sight of them.
With every successful escape, the number of soldiers standing guard grew. Now, there must be around thirty of them, staring at me, fingers twitching at the hilts of their swords. Even as chaos ripped apart the castle, the soldiers stood guard, trapping me here.
Still, I was certain I’d break free again.
It had been worth it every time. In brief moments of escape, I’d managed to kill thirteen of her soldiers, and in my most bored moments, I would fondly remember their deaths. In fact, the highlight of the past month had been the one moment when I’d managed to steal one of their swords. For several glorious heartbeats, I’d felt like a god again. I’d felt alive, like I once more held the Sword of Whispers. Euphoric, I’d carved through the heads and bodies of seven of her soldiers, slaughtering as many as I could, until the winged maniac queen had returned with her prison of vines.
I had no idea why the fuck I was still alive. Initially, sure, I’d understood. She’d commanded her idiot son Morgant to heal me, and she’d set me up here like a broken statue, a triumphant display of her conquered Seelie king.
