Chapter 34 #3
She couldn’t get her feet to work, couldn’t get herself to move. It was like she was rooted in place, torn between right and wrong, knowing her hand was about to be forced. Clenching her fists at her side, she glared up at the kralv.
“What exactly do you want me to do?”
She wished she had never asked.
“Draw it out.” He stroked his beard in contemplation, but it wasn’t enough to disguise the way his lip curled. It couldn’t mask the cruel delight gleaming within the darkness of his eyes. “Make this fae show the truth of its nature, force it into its fair form.”
Everinne paled, all the blood draining from her face.
“What?” Beads of sweat licked the back of her neck, and she scrubbed her damp palms against the leather of her pants. She must have misheard. Surely the kralv wasn’t expecting her to do something so ruthless, so unforgiving. “I…I don’t know how.”
He didn’t even spare her a glance, his predatory gaze was so focused on the cowering snow fox. “Force the fae to shift, Everinne.”
His arm shot out and he grabbed her by the nape of the neck, his fingers digging into her skin.
She shrieked in surprise as she pitched forward, and the kralv shoved her into the cell.
“Now ,” he demanded.
“Okay!” She straightened, cautiously taking one step toward the panting snow fox huddled into a grimy corner.
Everinne’s mouth ran dry and a breath wheezed out of her.
She attempted to swallow the knot of dread clogging the back of her throat, but it felt as though she was choking on sand and ash.
Never before had she forced a faerie to shift, she didn’t even know how such a thing was done, but she could only imagine the ramifications of compelling such a feat would be extreme.
Lifting both hands, she carefully approached the snow fox, offering a tight-lipped smile to prove that she meant no harm.
They both knew it was a lie.
Everinne in her heart, where it constricted in agony.
The fox in its eyes, where shadows of fear haunted the brilliant blue.
She funneled her magic out slowly, tentatively, the scent of midnight lilacs permeating the air.
The power of pain fell from her fingertips, silent and invisible, as it flowed from her into the fox.
There was a yelp, a howl, as her magic pushed deeper.
Further. Inky tendrils of violet and stormy black spilled from her open palms, pierced the cerulean blue of the fox’s eyes, absorbing all the color.
Everinne winced, squeezing her eyes shut as the touch of death delved into the fae’s soul, moving through blood and bones, seeking the thread of wild, feral magic.
Strands of power scoured the beating heart, dragged its nails along the tenacious mind of the solitary fae. Still, Everinne continued to search, holding fast to her grip of control as strains of suffering continued to prod at the fox, weakening its resolve.
There was a shudder, the faintest glimpse, as though a veil of gossamer had been thrown over a singular fiber of magic.
It pulsed with the power of runic tomes, of an eternal winter, of slumbering death by a frostbitten kiss.
Everinne’s power seized the sparkling thread and yanked, pulling it taut.
She cried out as screams echoed in the dungeon, each one more chilling than the last. Her lungs caved, body trembling until she thought her knees would give out from under her while she peeled away layer after layer of glamour.
A tear slipped from the corner of Everinne’s eye as the fae’s fair form was finally revealed, as the ability to shift was ripped and torn, left to mend with only the blood that bound it.
Everinne let go.
She gathered her magic, held it close, wrapping her arms tightly around herself as though that would somehow erase the torment she had inflicted.
Each breath she stole was shallow. The cruelty, the absolute viciousness of what she’d done, was cemented in the back of her mind, branding her as death touched.
For now, not even just the walls of the palace would talk.
Rumors of her insidious nature would spread, she would be forever marked with harsh judgement, so even the wicked trees of the forest would shiver whenever the wind whispered her name.
All would think she’d committed such acts voluntarily, without coercion, because if she told one soul about her bargain with the kralv, his wrath would come down upon her.
And Atlas.
And Veros.
Everinne cringed, and gradually blinked open her eyes.
Crumpled against the far wall of the cell, was a fae whose clothing looked painfully familiar—a winter white bodice studded with pearls and lace, a wrinkled skirt of silk, and sheer stockings embellished with diamond snowflakes that sprinkled down her legs.
Striking pink hair tumbled around her bare shoulders and down her back.
Cerulean eyes framed with dark lashes stared empty and vacant, the only sign of life the horribly slow rise and fall of her chest.
Everinne’s heart splintered.
“Aisling?” Her voice cracked as she stared down at her motionless friend. Regret bloomed in her chest, causing the ache there to magnify.
“You know this fae?” Kralv Oldrich asked, stepping into the cell for a closer look at Aisling.
Shit.
Lie.
She had to lie.
“No. Not really.” She could still protect Aisling, could still find some way to keep her safe. It wasn’t too late. Even after what she’d done, it wasn’t too late. “We just work together at the Mystic Obscura.”
“Interesting,” he murmured, bending down. He pressed the back of his hand to Aisling’s cheek and Everinne stiffened, her nails biting into her palms.
“She needs a healer, Your Imperial Majesty.” Everinne couldn’t tear her gaze away from Aisling, from the way she looked like each breath would be her last. “I…I don’t know what kind of effect my magic will have on her and?—”
“Yes, yes.” He stood, waving a hand through the air, dismissing her. “Take the death fae back upstairs. It’s snowing now, and I’m sure she will be missed.”
“But what about Aisling?” Everinne asked as the guard snatched her arm and hauled her out of the cell.
The kralv’s mouth pulled to one side. “You needn’t worry about her.”
“You don’t understand!” She struggled against the guard’s grip, desperate to keep Aisling out of the kralv’s clutches. “If she doesn’t show up at the Mystic Obscura, they’ll hunt her down.”
Aisling would be safer with Reine than she would with Kralv Oldrich.
Everinne jerked away from the guard once more. “She’s bound by blood to?—”
He was in her face before she could step back.
“You know not of what you speak.” Kralv Oldrich grabbed her jaw, his large fingers digging into the hollow of her cheeks. He squeezed, applying just enough pressure that tears sprang to her eyes. “Now, shut your mouth before I seal it for you.”
With one powerful thrust, he launched her backward into the guard’s iron-like hold.
“Return her to the prince’s quarters.” The kralv stepped out of the cell and slammed it closed, so the bars clanked loudly, echoing through the dungeon. With one vehement look at Everinne, he shoved the keys into the pocket of his black coat and walked off in the other direction.
She said nothing as the guard led her back to the upper levels of the palace.
Heavy silence lingered, muffling her footfalls, quieting her breathing, its dense presence damn near suffocating.
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t erase the image of Aisling, broken and battered, from her mind.
And she couldn’t free herself from the gravity of what she’d done, it burned through her bloodstream like a poison.
Or maybe she was the poison.
Everinne raked her hands through her hair, remorse twisting in her stomach like a serrated knife.
The guard swung open the door to Atlas’s bedroom and she walked in, flinching as he closed it soundly behind her.
She inhaled, struggling to catch her breath as her heart pounded.
Without warning, a large mass of feathers and stone collided into her, sending her careening backward into the wall. Something cushioned the back of her head as the world tilted, and when she blinked her surroundings back into focus, she saw Atlas.
He’d barricaded her against the wall of his room, pinning her in place.
His black and gold-dipped wings were stretched behind him, one hand was tucked behind her head, the other was fastened to her waist. His brows were drawn into a pinched scowl, his chest heaved against her own, and the golden green of his eyes was cold with rage.
He was furious and she had no idea why, but it didn’t matter. Because at least his anger was familiar. At least his scent was comforting, it melded with her own in soothing, intoxicating layers. And because at least, for once, she finally wasn’t alone.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Atlas demanded, glaring down at her.
And Everinne almost cried.