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She tries again. And again. Then she shrieks and slams her fist against my head.
I crumble forward. My chin smashes into my chest. The silvery remnants of some attempted illusion flicker and dissolve almost immediately.
Lady Tajanna levels a glare at me, pressing one palm to her temple. “She’sfightingme somehow.”
“The necklace broke.” Vallda again. Matter-of-fact. Almost cold. Disdainful.
Sovanna rolls her eyes. “She has no idea how to use it.”
“Yet it seems like she’s resisting just fine.” Vallda shrugs and crosses her arms over her chest. “Spring fey are our foils, after all.” Her voice drops to a mutter. “Used it pretty instinctively the first time.”
“Then we’ll go with the original plan.” Lady Tajanna lifts her brows at the girls, then rewraps the blindfold around my head. Tight enough that it hurts, pulls my hair.
My arms fall loose from the bindings. There’s a rush of movement, and I’m on my feet.
“Let’s go. Do not make a sound, Ashalia.”
The tip of a knife presses against the middle of my shoulders. I don’t fight, just stumble down the passage with them at my back. The women exchange a few more comments I can’t follow, and then we reach a cooler section that feels wider, like a fork in the path.
A distant yell pricks the hair on my arms and the back of my neck. I spin my head halfway toward the call.
“Not one word,” Lady Tajanna hisses in my ear. She shoves me another few steps.
Again, the call comes. Muffled and indistinct, too hazy to make out the actual words. But I memorized Kirran’s voice years ago. And he sounds closer.
He’s coming for me.
I wrench from her hold and collapse forward, wildly scraping my shoulder against my face until the gag loosens enough.
And as dust chokes me, I cry out with as much strength as I can.
“Kirran!”
ChapterTwenty
KIRRAN
Alia’s distant call echoes from somewhere to the right. I charge into the nearest room, dodging toppled tables and chairs, yelling for her again. Some detached part of me recognizes the scene as one of a struggle, but I don’t let it penetrate. Maybe I can’t acknowledge what that means.
Another cry, closer this time.
I barely stop in time to avoid slamming into the wall. It takes only a second to find the trapdoor, still somewhat ajar. I wrench it open. Darkness stretches out before me. At the end, where the path bends, there’s a little light high on the wall. Just enough to see by.
“Alia!”
Silence. Breath held and ears straining, I wait.
Then shescreams.
It lasts only a split second and cuts off. I tear down the passage, my soldiers on my heels. Light flickers ahead. As I round a second corner, I make out two women, struggling with a third. One, General Zeccar’s daughter Sovanna. Two, Alia’s stepsister Vallda.
And my bride.
The instant Sovanna and Vallda see me, they recoil from Alia. Vallda sinks to her knees, empty hands up, but Sovanna whirls to run.
I’m on her before she can take a second step. Her head smacks the tunnel wall, and she gasps for air. Whether from my hand around her throat or the magic boiling in my veins, I’m not sure.
“I-It wasn’t me!” she rasps. “It wasn’t my idea!”
