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Eclipsa shakes her head, a sly look on her face. “It wouldn’t be fair to either of them if they had to fight me.”
Despite my panic, her bravado makes me smile.
A sudden blizzard begins to rage, giant snowflakes dumping from the sky and pummeling the bubble of warmth that’s been basically keeping me alive. I watch in horror as one snowflake pierces the shell, then another, until a bitter cold forces itself into my wet clothes and penetrates my bones.
Rhaegar rushes me off stage and hands me off to Mack, with a quick warning to go straight to our dorms.
“I’d go to hell right now if it was warm,” I mutter, conjuring a tight smile from Rhaegar. Rhaegar does another warmth spell on me, but the weather is so bad that it has little effect this time.
“What’s Nocturus?” I ask Mack, desperate for someone to tell me what the heck is happening.
Apparently still in shock, Mack takes a few seconds to compose herself enough to answer. “It’s a magical battle held during Samhain.”
By brain is reeling. Do I dare ask what Samhain is?
She must read my confusion because she says, “The holiday celebrating the start of winter? No? Not ringing a bell?”
I shrug hopelessly, and then a thought occurs to me. “How do they decide a winner?”
“No, they . . .” She brushes a hot pink strand of hair behind her ear. “They fight until one of the combatants yields . . . or dies.”
“Do the Fae ever choose the death option?” I ask, glancing over at Rhaegar.
“They do if they want to keep their honor.”
My heart sinks. The last thing I want, the last thing I need, is some Evermore dying for me in a stupid magical battle.
This is decidedly not a good start to my first day.
“What about the other girl?” I ask. “From the Lunar Court?”
A wry smile tugs on Mack’s lips. “You mean the renowned Lunar Court assassin, Eclipsa Skywell?”
I swallow. “Assassin?”
“Yep. I heard every half-moon jewel on her body stands for a kill. You should probably be glad she’s no longer in the running to be your keeper.”
I groan. Today is quickly becoming the worst day ever. And I say that as someone who’s been kidnapped, caged, and nearly sold.
With my sprite guide in tow, shrieking every Fae curse word in the book, we follow the rest of the group around the academy and to our dorms.
When we’re far enough away from the Fae students that their supernatural hearing won’t pick up our conversation, I say, “Guess the Winter Prince, wherever he’s hiding, is having a bad day. Can someone please go cheer him up so we can have some sun?”
Mack halts.
“Do you really not know who the Winter Prince is?” she asks, concern etched across her face.
Dickwad supreme? But the serious tone of her voice makes me swallow the sarcastic retort on my tongue.
“The Evermore you were taunting back there isn’t the Winter Prince’s bitch,” she continues, exasperation making her voice raise an octave. “He is the Winter Prince, the most powerful and wicked Evermore in this school, and you just publicly insulted him.”
No, no, no. This can’t be happening. “But . . . he talked about himself in third person, for Fae’s sake! Who does that?”
“The Winter Prince and heir to the Winter Court,” she replies. “He does that.”
As we trudge after the group, our boots crunching the snow, one thought echoes through my mind.
Worst. Day. Ever.
