Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
C oming out of the vision was a far more violent experience than falling into it.
Mireille’s eyes popped open as her body convulsed, her skull smashing against the solid glass and rattling her bones.
She turned her head and vomited. To her utter horror, it was the same color and consistency as the stew from her vision: a viscous spill of maroon liquid with chunks of brownish-gray scattered throughout.
Head swimming, she pressed panicked hands to her chest. To her overwhelming relief, it was intact. No gaping wound.
She sat upright and surveyed the ballroom. The mist had evaporated, though several guests lay prone on the floor, blinking away the effects of the lethaphyll. The ammonic tang of urine mingled with the sour scent of vomit. She was one of the last to awaken.
Holy High fucking Gods, what was that?
She knew it wasn’t a memory. Yes, her mother had often been cold and unfeeling, and had expected the same from her daughter, but she’d never force-fed her. And certainly not whatever… meal had been in that pot.
She suspected the cloaked figure must have been her father. And if his soul had been in the Halfway, bathed in that iridescent glow, then he had passed.
A wave of grief, cold and disorienting and so all-consuming it felt like her heart had been ripped out of her chest all over again, washed over her.
She swallowed it down as she noticed both Otto and Nostrata staring down at her from atop the dais, the latter’s face awash in rainbow light from the fire opal atop her cane. Nostrata whispered something into her grandson’s ear, never tearing her eyes from Mireille.
Mireille ignored them, searching the room for Ronin.
He was nowhere to be found.
Disappointment pinched her gut. Had he gone back to their room? Had his visit to the Halfway been as unsettling as hers?
And, most importantly, how had he become, in the span of a few weeks, the person she wanted to run to for comfort? She needed his insouciant smirks, his gentle teasing, to chase away her churning horror and freshly-tilled sorrow.
Otto broke the silence from atop the dais.
“Welcome back, dear guests. We trust your conversations with the souls were revealing. Nostrata has already told us they were, as she checked in on each of you during your visits.” Mireille recalled that raven with the green-black feathers, the same that decorated Nostrata’s coat, that had been lurking in the trees outside the cabin. “She and I will spend the rest of the night interpreting your visions and will fetch you tomorrow morning for a private consultation. Stay here as long as you need to gather your wits.”
Several Fae groaned as they pulled themselves to shaky feet. Mireille attempted the same, then crashed back down to her knees, sparking electric pain throughout her body.
Otto flew from the dais to help her up, and she fought an urge to swat him away. There was still far too much that she and Ronin didn’t know; she couldn’t risk insulting him.
Otto murmured, “We’re very much looking forward to your reading tomorrow.”
She glanced toward the ballroom door, where the other guests were dazedly filing out.
“Did you…” She coughed, clearing her throat, as rough and scratchy as if she’d awoken from the grave. “Did you see where Master Matakos went?”
Otto’s lips pulled into a cruel smile. “Some Fae are far too cowardly to face the souls’ messages. We are afraid your lover was one of them. Not ten minutes into the session, he awoke and fled the room.”
Mireille blanched. “I’d better go check on him.”
Otto squeezed her arm tighter. “You need do no such thing. He’s perfectly fine back in your suite. Layla saw to the task herself.” He gestured to the beautiful Beastrunner, who aimed a black-lipped smirk at Mireille.
“How long was the session?” Mireille asked, trying not to focus on Layla’s lingering stare.
“You have all been in your trance state for three hours.” Mireille bit back a gasp. That vision had only lasted several minutes. Though, she recalled the odd way time moved in the Halfway. “Layla attended to Master Matakos for nearly the entire time. He must have required quite a bit of calming.”
The vision of what Mireille had seen in those showers, Ronin thrusting into Dimi, flooded her mind.
At that time, she’d been aroused and intrigued. Now, the thought of Ronin fucking someone else made her want to scream, slit a throat or two.
Had things changed between them so dramatically since then? There had been the conversation about their partnership —their friendship , even. Then the kiss, of course, which neither of them had yet addressed. Certainly not enough to cause such a violent reaction.
Otto whispered into her ear, “He’s a complete and utter fool if he could possibly have eyes for anyone else, Mireille. You are the most exceptional creature we’ve encountered in our five centuries of life.” The tip of his forked tongue brushed her neck and she choked down a revolted shudder.
She was sure Otto had somehow orchestrated Ronin’s removal. She needed to check on him. Now .
But first, she needed to slip her slithery host.
“You are too kind, Master Otto.” She dipped her chin, peeking up at him through her lashes as he pressed closer.
“Jurgev,” he exhaled.
“Jurgev.” She licked her lips. “I look forward to our private meeting tomorrow. Though I’m quite worn out at the moment. Probably best if I rest up?” She slid a hand up his arm and he let out a quivering breath.
“Of course,” he conceded with an expectant smile. “Sweet dreams, Mireille.”
His serpent’s eyes crawled over her flesh during her entire long walk out of the ballroom.