Chapter Twelve
I wake up some time later, groggy, with the distinct, bone-rattled feeling of having gone on a long journey.
“Hello?” My voice is raspy and dry. I swallow and it hurts. “Lydia?” I try again. I can scarcely breathe. The corset hasn’t
loosened and it’s squeezing my ribs with bruising pressure. The walls around me spin, and the inability to take a full breath
is only making my panic worse. My vision goes spotty around the edges and the floor seems to sway beneath me.
I try to slip the tips of my fingers under the boning at my waist, to give myself more breathing room, but it’s simply too
tight.
My vision darkens.
I’m going to be so angry if I’m killed via suffocation by corset. What a profoundly stupid way to die.
The doors swing open and I blink against the sudden light. It’s only now that I realize I’m in a carriage of some sort. No,
carriage isn’t the right word. A prison cell on wheels is more apt. Paneled in dark wood, with only a single hard bench to sit on,
the transport vehicle is completely windowless. It’s like they wanted it to feel as much like a tomb as possible.
A shadowy figure jumps in with me, the light glinting off a blade in his hand.
“No—” I pop upright and raise my fists.
He thrusts the knife toward me.
“Please—”
“Stop moving,” the figure commands, barely above a whisper, and I recognize that voice.
“Are you going to stab me?” I ask him the same question he once asked me in a carriage a long, long time ago, but he doesn’t
laugh.
“Bloody corset,” Emmett mutters. “It’s enchanted to squeeze tighter every time you lie, and you did quite a lot of lying back
there.”
In one fluid motion he pulls my gown off over my head, then uses his knife to split open the corset laces up my back. The
metal tip is cool as it just barely grazes my spine.
A parallel moment flashes through my head. A rainy inn. Emmett’s low voice saying I know my way around a corset.
I heave in a full breath, my limbs tingling as the oxygen reaches my bloodstream.
“Thank you,” I gasp.
Emmett’s eyes graze down my body, now in nothing but a translucent chemise. Just as quickly, he glances away and bites the
inside of his cheek hard enough that it looks like it hurts.
Hastily, Emmett helps me back into my dress. Then he scoops the ruined corset up off the floor and hides it in the storage
compartment under the seat.
It’s only then that Emmett finally looks me in the eyes.
I open my mouth to say something, but there are so many questions raging in my head that I don’t know where to begin.
Emmett looks pained. His brows are knitted, his lips pressed together, his hazel eyes alight with flame. His eyes flit from my mouth to my eyes, then back to my mouth.
The clatter of carriage wheels outside startles us both.
“I wasn’t here,” Emmett says in a rush, and then disappears out of the carriage and shuts the door.
A few minutes later, the silhouette of a man darkens the open carriage door. “C’mon, up with you.” The faerie guard’s harsh
voice is in direct contrast with his angelic features. I’m quickly learning that’s what the Otherworld is—cruelty cloaked
in heart-wrenching beauty.
I’m once again tempted to run, but I know I have no choice but to go out and face whatever awaits me. If not for my friends,
then for my sister.
I pointedly ignore the guard’s outstretched hand as I hop down from the carriage. The delicate silk slippers I put on this
morning crunch into a thick layer of underbrush.
The sweet smell of old-growth forest surrounds me, and the dried leaves of autumn rustle in the breeze from where they’re
stuck to spindly tree branches.
In front of me is a dark entrance, portal-like, through a copse of trees. Behind me, a ways off from the carriage, is the
chatter of a crowd.
Bram is surrounded by Rhion and a few other courtiers I vaguely recognize from England. Emmett stands among them, looking
remote, no trace of what he just did on his face. Behind them are a few dozen more faeries, gathered around cocktail tables,
laughing behind insect-wing fans. A few are already drunk.
And beyond them are the stands. They’re packed with faeries who sit shoulder to shoulder, their voices blending together in a roar.
To my left is a carriage identical to the one I just stumbled out of, and next to it is my sister. “Lydia—” I whisper, but
Bram walks toward us and interrupts us with a hearty laugh.
“My girls!” he declares with a smile. He snaps and a footman steps forward with two long swords. Bram takes them and passes
them to us in turn.
It’s so heavy, I nearly stumble to the ground upon grasping it. It’s got a thick hilt, inlaid with rubies that shine like
beetle carapaces. The body of the sword is strictly utilitarian. A long blade spanning almost the entire length of my legs,
sharp enough that its delicate edge catches the morning sunlight.
He turns to face the crowd, who go wild. “In the woods there is a creature that has been marked on its haunches with my coat
of arms. The first person to bring me its body will be declared the winner.” His voice must be enchanted; it booms like thunder
over the clearing.
Bram raises a hand as they cheer. “I’m sorry we had to wait so long for such merrymaking. I know having two humans in charge
was dull. But never fear, I’m back!”
Lydia and I glance anxiously at each other. Bram looks between us both like we’re extraordinarily slow. “Go on,” he commands
under his breath.
“I’d like to make a request,” I blurt.
Bram nods. “I suppose that’s characteristic. What is it?”
“If I win this trial, I’d like you to let Marion and Faith out of the dungeons. Treat them like the guests they are. They
won’t run.”
Bram considers for a moment. “You know I love a deal.”
“You agree, then?”
He nods. “Bring me the creature’s body and your friends may have better accommodations.”
“Say it again, say it better,” I command, wary of a faerie trick.
“If you bring me the creature’s body, your friends may move into the castle guest rooms.”
“On the same floor as me.”
“Fine.”
“Tonight.”
Bram shrugs. “Fair enough.”
I spare one last look at Emmett, who is chatting casually with Rhion and the rest of them.
Look at me, I will, staring daggers into the side of his head, but he remains decidedly casual.
“Let us begin!” Bram claps and the trees themselves shake and groan, their leaves falling to the ground like gentle rain.
Emmett’s eyes flit to Lydia, who stands a few yards to my left.
“Good luck,” he mutters.
She smiles at him, like there’s no one in the world she’s more comfortable with, and in that moment I hate them both with
a fury so hot, I’m eager to pick up my sword. I want to turn to the nearest tree and start hacking and screaming until the
anger inside of me is burned up.
The crowd is so loud my ears have begun to ring.
Without any further fanfare, I step into the woods. If Emmett was also going to tell me good luck, I’m not around to hear
it.
“Ivy?” I hear my sister call a few moments later, but I’m so annoyed with her, I stomp off in the opposite direction without
answering.
I’ll win this trial for my friends and lose the rest. Lydia can be queen for all I care. I’ll rot in some backwater country estate with no one but sheep for company. Forgotten, as I was always meant to be.
But you love her. You’ll miss her.
Hot tears burn my eyes. I keep walking.
I don’t know much about tracking animals, let alone magic ones, so I wander, mostly aimlessly, through the thick forest.
I remember, vaguely, a scene from a book where a girl followed broken branches to a water source where animals gathered, though
for all I know animals in the Otherworld may not even need water. Maybe their rivers flow with something else, like champagne
or blood.
But it seems as good a plan as any, so I turn my eyes to the ground and begin scanning for anything that looks out of place.
It’s difficult to discern because everything in this forest is one shade off from normal. The acorns scattering the brush
are as large as two-pound coins, their caps shining gold. The leaves have pointed tips like tiny daggers, and in the treetops
above me, birdsong rings out in a sharp, minor key.
Eventually, I find a gentle slope and follow it downward. My arms are burning with the effort of carrying my sword and I feel
sick as the image of Emmett plays in my head in an awful loop. His eyes were so soft as he looked at my sister. There was
so much kindness in the way he said Good luck.
He kissed me, that must mean something; but he left me, too. The sides of my hands are bruised from where I pounded on his
door until the sleeping draught took me under. My ribs still ache from where he cut me out of my corset. I’m too wrung out
to go over it again and again.
It feels like I’ve been walking for ages when I finally hear the gentle babble of a stream.
I collapse to my knees in front of it and cup my hands to take a drink. It’s not champagne, just plain, cool water. It’s probably
unwise of me, but I fear I won’t be able to go on much farther if I don’t have something in my stomach. I’m ravenously, bone-achingly
hungry. I don’t remember the last time I had a full meal. It was back in Bath, but England feels so far away now, and time
is so slippery here.
The water tastes normal enough, perhaps a little sulfuric.
I take a deep breath but can’t stop tears of frustration from spilling down my face. They land on the rippling surface of
the clear water and slip under instantly, like they never existed at all.
Suddenly, there’s an odd clicking sound. Smooth river stones moving against each other.
There’s a splash and something hops out of the brook onto the grassy riverbank.
At first, I think it’s a fish—it’s about the same size, no larger than the silk slipper on my foot, and it glimmers an iridescent
fish-scale silver when the sun hits it.
I shriek and move back, then pick up my sword on instinct.
“Thank you,” a high-pitched voice chirps, and I scream again.