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Niklas pinched his lips. “Fury sleep is undone through cantrips and a key to wake them. In their case, the blood of their children was the key. Fae sleep is deeper.” His eyes darkened when he stepped closer. “In fae sleep it is a journey to wake. A mental tribulation where the fae wakes only once a stronger power pulls them free.”
Blood in my veins sparked in heat, it rushed through my insides in sick waves. “What if he never finds the way out?”
Niklas didn’t need to answer—his face revealed the truth—still, he did. “Then, he is lost to us.”
Chapter14
The Golden King
Practically naked in the meadow,I’d long ago stopped feeling the bite of the wind. My eyes were dry from staring at the place where I’d had her perfect body pinned above mine. Torturous thoughts of her sighs, the way she moaned my name, the shredded skin across my shoulders from her frantic clawing.
Now, I was stuck here, despondent and purposeless.
“How long do you plan to sulk?”
“Tell me—pleasetell me—you haven’t been there this whole time.” My hands trembled as I grappled with my low-hanging trousers, and Wraith stepped from the line of trees across the creek.
His eyes, even the one beneath his half mask, roved around the clearing, landing on the crushed grass. “Judging the state of things, standing off to the side during . . . all that. . . would’ve been the last thing I’d ever do.” He tilted his head. “I guessed by your expression you were lamenting all your woes again.”
“I’d never lament, but I have grand plans on finding a way to follow wherever she went. Or I’ll opt to fade into nothing, which would be a pity since I made my wife a salacious promise about a month-long tryst, and I’d hate not to deliver. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to be alone.”
Wraith chuckled—more scoffed—but at last there was a touch of humor in the tone. “Stop going on, you can wander like a worthless lump of skin, or allow me to guide you through it.”
“Why won’t you free me of this place? You’re keeping me here, aren’t you?”
Wraith backed toward the trees, his silent way of demanding I follow, and said, “There is much for you to learn if you wish your wife to have the best chance at survival. I did not expect you to learn it in a sleep, but fate is surprising at times. Go if you wish; I won’t stop you. I won’t tell you how, of course, but I won’t stop you from trying.”
Only once he disappeared into the shadows did I let out a petulant groan, slip my tunic on, and slink after him into the wood.
We cut through trees in silence, but each pace altered the terrain. White aspens melted into pillars. Dewy grass hardened into wooden floorboards. The fresh chill of a spring breeze shifted into musty air, like parchment and ink and dust.
“Your story has been built piece by piece, moment by moment,” he told me when the forest thinned and trees shifted to weathered pillars around an outer courtyard. “Every piece has brought you to your present. It will only serve you in this fight to see how.”
The clang of steel against steel bounced against stone walls. Wraith pulled back a low branch to reveal a round courtyard. Ankle high grass lined a field arranged with stacks of blades, arrows, spears, and bludgeons.
The same captain from the last vision marched with four others between lines of men and women, barking clipped commands. He pinched an herb roll between his teeth and helped adjust the footing of a young warrior.
All ages marked battle stances and strikes at the call of their commanders. From the seasoned warriors with runes inked over cheekbones, to the skinny boys who didn’t have whiskers yet.
Riot was across the sparring field in front of a group of young ones with wooden blades. The children marked simple strokes and shouted the steps at each motion. Riot wore a fine green tunic, dark enough it nearly looked black, and applauded the youngest of his warriors when they finished.
“Well done. The Rave would be proud to have any of you.”
The children beamed, and once the king dismissed them, most sprinted toward a table with glistening fruit juices and stacks of carved meat and cheese.
“Silas.” Riot tugged on the neckline of a boy’s tunic before he sprinted away. “Where are you going?”
The boy turned around and my eyes widened.
“That’s the boy who sang the song,” I muttered. A touch older, maybe a turn or two, but unlike the skinny, dirty boy they’d dragged into the great hall, this boy wore clothes to fit his frame and had more meat on his bones.
“More than one worker of fate has played a part in this tale, Ari,” Wraith said.
The boy staggard back toward Riot. “I was gonna go with them.”
“Oh? Was the lesson concluded then?” The king folded his arms.
“Um . . .” The boy shifted on his feet. “Well, I thought—”
