Chapter 13
Ash
Terror ghosts down my spine like the slide of a fingernail.
Finnian is gone. Amarantha’s hand on his arm, her smile sharp as glass, and then, nothing. Vanished into whatever hell she’s constructed for him.
The bond at my wrist flickers. Gold thread pulsing with something that feels like panic. His or mine, I can’t tell anymore.
I don’t ask where he went. It’s obvious.
I don’t scream his name. I want to.
I’m not a crier. Not usually.
It’s probably one of the few things my cousins found strange about me. That I just didn’t cry. Not at funerals. Not at goodbyes. Not when Graves pushed me past breaking and expected me to thank him for it.
It isn’t that I’m an ice queen. Or that I have no heart.
I like to think it’s the opposite, actually. For so damn long, when a moment passed me by where tears stung the back of my eyes, I took that feeling and buried it deep inside of me. Locked it away. Kept moving.
Sometimes I wonder how many emotions I have stored there. Behind my sternum. Buried deep in my soul. A graveyard of everything I refused to feel.
And watching Finnian disappear with Amarantha, the woman who killed his parents, who’s been obsessed with him for centuries, who looked at him like he was a toy she’d finally gotten her hands on—
A dam begins to fracture inside me. And now? I can’t stop the tears as they consistently come. Maybe that’s the trial of survival. Maybe it’s nothing more than my mate falling victim to his court.
I walk out. It’s the only control I have.
One foot in front of the other. Don’t run. Don’t scream. Don’t give Moros the satisfaction of watching you fall apart.
He’s watching anyway. That look of interest on his ancient face, like I’m a specimen. A curiosity. Fae are so old they’ve forgotten how to feel, so when emotions bubble up in someone else, they’re fascinated.
Predators watching prey bleed.
I keep walking.
The bond pulses again. Faster now. Gold flickering like a warning light.
Don’t think about what she’s doing to him. Don’t think about—
I think about it anyway. Every horror story Kieran’s ever told me about his cousin. Every shadow that crossed Finnian’s face when her name came up.
Left foot. Right foot. Keep moving.
I’m halfway down the corridor when the realization hits me like a blade between ribs.
I’m Fae.
And all this time, all along, I’ve been doing exactly what they do. Stuffing emotions down, down, down until I can’t feel them anymore. Building walls so high I forgot there was anything behind them.
Graves taught me that. The military reinforced it. I thought I was surviving.
I was just becoming them.
I stumble, palm pressing to the stone wall. Small bits scrape my skin, drawing pinpricks of blood.
Something cracks in my chest. Not breaking, opening. And underneath the numbness, underneath the walls, underneath twenty-seven years of don’t feel, don’t show, don’t let them see —
Rage.
So much rage I could burn this whole court to ash.
“Ash.” Kestra rushes to my side, looping her elbow through mine. “Oh, Ash.”
“Don’t.” The word comes out harder than I intend. Then, softer, “Kieran’s room. I can’t go back to that tower. I just can’t.”
Kestra nibbles her bottom lip, gaze darting up and down the hall before returning to me. Little wrinkles form on her forehead. “Father didn’t give me instructions. Just said to gather you.”
“Well then.” I force my spine straight. “We should take the win for the day.”
“Come on now.” She guides me in the direction of Kieran’s quarters.
The hall’s light isn’t much more than a sliver straight down the center. Dark sconces project shadows, like a bulb projects light. Everything in the Unseelie Court is exactly as dramatic as its prince.
I lean on Kestra. And for a moment, I pause.
My heart aches. Not just for Finnian, though gods, yes, for Finnian, but because it’s been so long since I’ve allowed another person in. Other than the guys, who battered down my walls whether I wanted them to or not.
But friendship. Chosen family. Someone who isn’t trying to fuck me or use me or break me.
There’s this strange bond between Kestra and me. A kinship. One that grows every day I’m trapped in this hellhole.
I love my cousins. But they’re back in the human world, living lives I can’t return to.
Kestra is here. Sure, it’s a forced proximity situation, but she could have rejected me. Could have kept her cozy life at the Academy. Could have stayed far away from the chaos I bring with me.
But this strange little Fae chose me. And I’m trying, really trying, to choose her back.
It’s a habit to break. Every day, consistently choosing another person. Trusting that they won’t leave or betray or disappear.
“You’re pensive,” Kestra murmurs, pausing before a door.
“I am.” I eye the door, all darkness and shadow and exactly what I expected. It’s his. I know it’s his. Even the door looks like it’s brooding.
Kestra reaches not for the doorknob but the center of the door, pressing her thumb against a hidden panel. She gasps and pulls back, sucking on the tip.
“Blood lock,” she says around her thumb.
The door creaks open and actual light fills the space beyond.
It’s him. Completely.
I step inside to find a small sitting area. A fireplace blazes, two chairs facing it. The opposite side holds a small table and chairs. A counter that looks more suited for spell work than cooking, with rows upon rows of books tucked beneath it.
And a door that I hope leads to his bedroom and, please, gods, a bathroom where I can soak and cry and feel.
The door shuts behind us with a soft snick, and I glance at Kestra.
“We’ll be safe in here,” she says. “We can speak freely. Kieran has this entire space warded against prying eyes and listening ears.” She moves toward the counter, pulling things from the shelf above it. “Just don’t bring any mirrors in. Tea?”
“Actually, yeah.” I sink into a chair that’s far more comfortable than it looks. Leave it to Kieran to have secretly cozy furniture. “I’d love some tea.”
The bond pulses at my wrist. Gold. Still wrong. Still afraid.
I grip the armrest until my knuckles go white.
“I feel lost,” I tell her. The honesty rises from that place where all those emotions remain buried, the graveyard behind my sternum. “And for some fucked-up reason, I want to dig into the storage unit and dust off the cobwebs.”
Kestra sets a kettle on a heating slate and settles onto the other chair. She looks like she belongs there. Like she’s sat in that seat many, many times before.
Waiting for her brother. Worrying about him. Being the person he came home to.
Now it’s me she’s helping.
I wonder, who asks about Kestra? Who checks on her?
Me. I can ask. I can be that person.
Because right now I can’t think about Finnian alone with Amarantha. I trust him. But not her. Never her. And whatever is happening in there right now, we will have to work through later.
“I’ve just had the delightful realization that I’m Fae.” I laugh, but it comes out cracked. Another tear tracks down my face and I swipe at it angrily. “Burying emotions until the dam breaks. Very on-brand for a species that treats feelings like a disease.”
“Ash—”
“Ever since the damn trials, I’ve been leaking like a broken faucet.” I sniffle. “It’s embarrassing, honestly. I used to be good at this.”
Kestra’s smile is soft. Knowing. “This is the Trial of Survival.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re living it.” She gets up as the kettle whistles, pouring tea into two cups. Sets them on the table between us. “So much happened so fast,” she says, “no one explained anything to you, did they?”
“Not really.”
“By design.” She flutters her hands as if it doesn’t matter anymore. Or at least not right now.
I doctor my tea, maple sugar, some cream, and cradle the warmth between my palms. “Something’s been bothering me. How is Amarantha a queen?”
“She isn’t a true queen in the traditional sense.” Kestra sighs, stirring her own cup. “Amarantha killed for her place.”
“Didn’t she have to go through the trials?”
“All who claim a crown must complete the trials. But it isn’t for our benefit.” Her expression sours. “It’s for the power of the court itself. You can only rise by the death of the previous queen. Now, how she dies...”
She trails off. Leaves the thought open.
The bond pulses. Gold. Desperate.
Focus, Ash. This matters.
“So the trials aren’t a test. They’re a transfer mechanism. The court needs to verify the new vessel can hold the power.”
Kestra’s eyes light up. “Exactly.”
“And Amarantha killed Tatiana, but...” I’m putting pieces together now, years of training finally useful for something. “She didn’t complete the transfer properly. She has the throne, but not the full power.”
“Now you’re seeing it.” She sips.
“Why is your father king?”
She smiles, and it absolutely transforms her face. “Now that is the right question.”
“Your mother was Queen.”
“She was, yes.” Kestra nods, something old and painful flickering behind her eyes. “My father spent a long time manipulating her from the sidelines. Until...”
“He killed her.”
Interesting.
Which means Kestra is the rightful Queen of the Unseelie Court. Unless—
“You said the power of the crown. A person must complete the trials to...what exactly?”
She adds more sweetener to her tea. Takes a sip. Making me wait.
“In your case,” she says finally, “you came to Faerie. Woke quickly. You claimed the Wilds. You claimed court space at the Academy. The power already recognized you.”
The bond pulses. Gold. Desperate.
Half of me is here, sipping tea, absorbing information that could save my life. The other half is with Finnian, wherever Amarantha took him, hoping he’s holding on.
Both halves are terrified.
“The first two trials rip you apart.” Another sip. “They just didn’t tell you the third begins immediately. It is the ending you must prepare for.”
I sit back. Processing.
“The ending.” I roll the words over in my head.
“Eventually you will start to see the magic of the trial swirling in your aura.”