Chapter 34 #2
She had to find a way out of this mess. It was too late to go back on her word.
She would have to marry him, and a tiny, insignificant part of her was all too excited to commit to that part of the bargain.
But dealing with the kralv, allowing him to use her to abuse and torture—she shook her head, clearing away the sickening thoughts of what he might make her do.
She would have to be stronger, she would have to find a way to control her magic, to wield dark power like a goddess of the moon, just as Rozalie had said.
To make it worse, Aisling had made it sound as though she’d never be free of the Mystic Obscura, and if there was one thing Everinne hated, it was the feeling of being trapped.
Giving Reine a drop of her blood had been a wretched mistake with damning consequences.
Her impulsive and hasty behavior had finally caught up to her and now it felt as though she was tumbling into one horrible decision after another, like she was dangling from a cliff over a treacherous ocean and losing her grip.
The rock was crumbling away beneath her fingers.
The angry sea was ready to drag her under, to drown her beneath the swell of its lashing waves.
One wrong move, and she’d fall to her death.
Escape.
The word whispered through her mind, like the wind sifting through the barren branches of a winter forest.
Escape from the Mystic Obscura.
Escape from Kralv Oldrich’s clutches.
Everinne had to escape.
Everinne yanked open the door of Atlas’s bedchambers and smacked right into the hard chest of one of the palace guards.
He grunted loudly, then scowled down at her, his voice gruff as he said, “This way.”
The guard stalked down the hall at a clipped pace and Everinne followed, tossing haphazard glances over her shoulder.
Though it was only the two of them, she couldn’t shake the sensation that she was being watched.
Or perhaps it was simply the walls of the palace, the menacing black obsidian that mirrored not only her reflection but also crawling shadows, skeletal hands, and wraiths that seemed caught between worlds.
Everinne stumbled to a halt, drawing up short behind the guard who’d stopped in front of a smooth wall with no obvious signs of a door.
There were no handles or hinges, just a stretch of endless, glossy black.
Like an impenetrable looming darkness, it obscured the pale light from the sconces hanging behind them, the faerie fire dwindling to nothing more than a sputtering spark.
She stole a glance at the guard, who didn’t seem at all bothered by the fact that he was standing before an empty wall.
But then he lifted one arm and pressed his palm against the polished surface.
“Don’t blink,” he muttered, his voice barely a scraping whisper.
Her mouth fell open to question his warning, when her gaze was suddenly pulled back to the wall, where her concerned reflection stared back at her.
Except it was no longer her reflection at all.
Where her eyes should have been, there were empty, hollow sockets, and trails of blood oozing down her cheeks and chin.
Her face was gaunt, as though the muscle had been carved away until there was nothing left but a thin layer of flesh and bone.
The clothing she wore was shredded, sagging off her wasted body, and only a few scraggly pieces of hair protruded from her scabbed, bald head.
The rest had fallen out completely. Demonic hands with curving, talon-like nails wrapped around her throat, the cries and wails of a thousand tortured souls exploded in her mind, and Everinne swallowed her scream.
The guard chuckled. “Fear not, princess of pain. It’s only glamour.”
She stared in horror, gasping, as the piercing black wall glimmered and morphed, shifting to reveal an arching passageway of cold, damp stone.
“Helps to deter any unwanted visitors,” he explained, nudging her further into the cramped cave-like tunnel.
Though there were no stairs, Everinne knew they were descending deeper underground.
Cold air seeped from the tightly packed archways of stone, chilling her skin with each step against the solid, uneven ground.
Bronze fixtures were anchored into the crumbling rock, where spitting midnight flames cast the corridor in an unusual, silvery glow.
The mouth of the passage widened, spilling open into a dimly lit space, and the utterly foul stench that assaulted Everinne’s nose was her first clue they’d reached the dungeon.
She coughed once, then gagged, dragging her sweater over half of her face in an effort to block out the disgusting smell.
It reeked of stale blood, urine, and the lingering stink of sweat and soiled clothing.
Rusted lanterns hung low from the cavernous ceiling, the black flames casting half the dungeon in darkness, the other half in that same eerie light.
There was a steady dripping sound, a slow and methodical plop…
plop…plop… that Everinne hoped was only a leak of maybe rainwater or some other known substance and not the noise of blood splattering against the ground.
Every so often there was a groan of despair or a muffled, choking sound, and she tried not to recoil at the atrocity of her surroundings.
She dared a few glances into the cells as she kept a close pace behind the guard, where crooked bars were shoved between slabs of gray rock, where all that stared back at her was the impregnable dark, so all-encompassing she swore the chill of its breath caressed her cheek as she passed.
Kralv Oldrich came into view then, cloaked in black and gold, a look of smug superiority etched into the severe lines of his face. He stood next to a cell, twirling the keys on one finger so they clinked together noisily, and for the briefest of moments, Everinne hesitated.
Did he plan to lock her in the cell with the prisoner?
And what if said prisoner was actually dangerous?
What if they weren’t feeble and innocent, but actually someone whose very existence was threatening?
She’d made the assumption that the kralv would use her to do harm against those who did not deserve it, but she didn’t think about the possibility that she’d be pressured to torture a criminal.
Perhaps they had killed in cold blood…exactly as she had done to Callum.
Perhaps they’d harmed a child.
Her steps faltered as she neared the cell. She sucked in a breath, cringing as she inhaled the revolting air, and prepared to face whatever sort of vile being the kralv held captive.
A faint skittering kind of noise grated against stone.
What if whoever she was supposed to use her magic against was none of those things?
What if it was—“A snow fox?”
Confusion plagued Everinne as she peered into the cell and frowned at the little creature.
Its pristine white fur glinted like moonlight in the wavering darkness, though its small paws were muddied and brown.
It darted back and forth across the cell, snarling and yipping, quite a bit wilder than she’d ever witnessed.
Usually snow foxes were placid, if not clever and cautious.
Though she supposed she’d be slightly ferocious too if she was locked in a cell with no way out.
The fox scurried to a far corner, curled itself up into a ball of fluffy fur, and its cerulean eyes locked onto Everinne.
“What’s a snow fox doing in Prava?” she asked, more to herself than anyone else. The fox tilted its head, its tiny black nose sniffing the air. “They haven’t been seen in years.”
“Exactly. How bright you are, Ever.” The kralv’s voice jarred her, and she glanced over to realize he was standing right beside her.
He inserted the key into the lock but didn’t turn it, his gaze focused on the snow fox.
Kralv Oldrich smiled then, but it was malicious, laced with a kind of odious evil.
“A snow fox in Prava. Practically unheard of, and yet this one was caught slinking around the palace grounds near the healer’s quarters. Why do you suppose that is?”
Everinne’s gaze slid cautiously to the kralv. There was no mockery in his eyes, no condemnation. He was asking a serious question, expecting a serious response.
“Um…” She scraped her teeth along her bottom lip, considering. There was only one plausible reason a fox of any kind would be discovered by a healer’s dwelling. “The herbs?”
“Perhaps.” He unlocked the cell, and it groaned open, swinging wide. The fox’s fur stood on end as it lurched back onto its rear haunches. “However, I have reason to believe this little fox is a shifter.”
A shifter.
Trooping and solitary fae were not altogether rare, but much like the snow fox, they did not always exist in Prava.
They were exclusive of other realms, made their homes in places where archaic power thrived, where they could be connected and bound to the earth and seasons, where the magic was good .
Not deadly.
Everinne eyed the fox carefully, noting the way its tail twitched, how its vivid blue eyes seemed too keen. “You think this fox is a solitary fae.”
It was not so much a question as a statement, but the kralv obliged her observation.
“Indeed.”
“How can you tell?”
Kralv Oldrich snapped his meaty fingers and the guard who’d led her into the dungeon stepped into the cell. He pulled a length of chains from his pocket and tossed it at the fox.
Everinne clamped one hand over her mouth as the poor little creature spasmed, as it attempted to climb up the wall, its claws not nearly strong enough to support its weight.
“You see, a normal snow fox would have no reaction to cold iron.” Oldrich tapped the brass key against the bars of the cell, and the loud clang caused Everinne to grind her teeth. “But a shifting fae, one of the fabled solitary, would recognize it as dangerous.”
He stepped back then and inclined his head, gesturing for Everinne to enter the cell.