Chapter 15
Alette
My heart pounds as I slip on my cloak, the weight of the dagger at my side unsettling no matter how long I’m around it. Every time I feel the cool bone of the hilt of the dagger against my hip, it makes my heart skip a beat. I remember that I’m now caught in a world of fae magic and curses.
“You look ready for battle,” Lily says, standing behind me in the mirror.
“Do I?”
I have no idea what “battle ready” looks like, but the leather armor that the kings had sent over for me fits like a glove. I’ve never in my life even imagined leather this soft and bendable. It should be stiff and uncomfortable, and yet, I think I could sleep in this.
She comes forward to smooth a few stray strands that had escaped by my temple, then moves back to her place a few steps behind me. My hair is braided down my back, each strand now in place. It’s not how I typically wear my hair, but it makes sense for what I’m about to face.
Ellie opens the door and slips in. “The kings are waiting.”
I nod, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach. This is what I agreed to. Doing this will earn me both freedom and revenge.
Besides, I don’t have any choice.
As I head downstairs, I pause at a window and look down into the courtyard.
It’s packed, not just with fae, but with horses, banners, and what appear to be whole families of parents, grandparents, and children.
It has a feeling of celebration instead of one of doom, probably because they think we’re going to successfully return their powers.
And not a single one of them is thinking about what we might have to endure to do that.
My breath fogs the glass. Look at them. Not a single human face in the crowd, unless you count the ones who serve. I doubt anyone in that crowd cares if I come back at all.
I make my way down the stairs, head held high. The servants I pass bow their heads and move quickly aside, their expressions a mix of fear and pity.
But none of them look me in the eye.
The large wooden doors that connect to the courtyard creak as they open to reveal the morning light.
It’s blinding compared to the dimness of the corridors.
The cold, crisp air greets me like a slap, sharp and biting against my skin, and carries the scent of pine and earth from the forest surrounding the castle, earthy and grounding.
I pull my cloak tighter around me, hoping to shield myself from the cold, but my nerves chill me more than the air.
The fae that wait instantly go quiet, the sense of celebration dying as they spot me.
They don’t cheer or sing; they simply watch, their gazes sharp and hungry, as if they’re waiting for something to go wrong.
Their eyes are a hundred different colors, many of them impossible—violet, ice blue, gold flecked with green.
I glance at them, then away, keeping my eyes on the ground until I reach the foot of the stairs.
The kings are waiting for me. They stand together but apart, as if they hate each other so much that even being near one another is a challenge.
They’re all in battle gear, tough leathers dyed in the colors of their court, embroidered and etched with runes I don’t recognize.
Each wears a different kind of armor, but every set is fitted perfectly.
King Ashton’s long blonde hair is tied back.
King Sylvian’s hair falls in a thick black braid across his shoulder.
All their faces are freshly shaven. Weapons hang at their hips.
None are as strange as my dagger, but the blades, I have no doubt, are as fine as any that could be made.
The men look like they’re both off to war and to steal a woman’s heart.
King Ashton is the first to notice my approach. He flashes that infuriating, perfect smile and steps forward, bowing with a theatrical flourish. “Look at you, little one. Are you sure you’re not a fae in disguise? You make those pants look like they’re made for you.”
I glance down at myself. “I just want to be able to run if I need to.”
He grins wider, eyes sweeping over me in a way that makes my skin heat up, but not in a bad way. “If you do, you’ll have to be faster than me.”
King Cassius, ever the strategist, gives me a quick up-and-down and nods approvingly.
“Good choice. The labyrinth isn’t kind to those who dress for ceremony over survival.
” His eyes linger on the dagger at my side.
“Keep that close. The goddess gave it to you for a reason. You’ll need it before this is over. ”
I swallow. “Thanks for the warning.”
King Sylvian steps forward, taller than any of the others, his hair gleaming blue-black in the morning sun. His voice is soft but sure. “How are you?” he asks.
I blink. Not what I expected. “Alive,” I answer. “For now.”
He smiles, and the kindness in it feels genuine. “That’s all any of us can ask for.”
Last is King Oberon. He stands just behind the others, arms crossed, face set in a scowl like someone carved it from stone. He says nothing, but his eyes track my every movement, blue and cold as glacial water.
I meet his gaze and don’t look away, even though his scowl deepens. It’s a small victory, but I’ll take it.
Beyond the kings, five horses stand ready.
King Oberon’s is a massive black warhorse, its mane braided with gold thread.
King Ashton’s is white with a silver tail.
King Sylvian’s is the color of wet earth, its hooves already muddy.
King Cassius rides a blue-gray mare, graceful as a swan.
Mine is the only animal that looks ordinary, a plain chestnut gelding, its eyes soft, the only horse here that feels more human-like than magical.
I like him. Even though I miss my horse.
Stepping up to him, I run a hand down his neck. He nuzzles my palm, and I feel the old ache in my chest ease for just a second. “You’re not Goose, but maybe you could be Duckling,” I whisper, and it feels good to say Goose’s name.
King Ashton asks, “Ready to save the fae, Alette?”
I fix the buckle on my pack. “I guess...”
We both know I have no say in the matter, so why pretend?
King Sylvian raises his arms, and everything falls silent.
Even the wind stops. His voice rings out, deep and clear.
“Today, we ride to end the curse that has haunted our people for a hundred long years. With the blessing of the goddess, and the presence of her chosen, we will enter the labyrinth and break the chains that bind us. When we succeed, the fae will be whole again!”
He drops his arms, and for a heartbeat, no one moves. Then the earth fae clap, and the others shift around, like they’re thinking about clapping, but don’t.
King Oberon rolls his eyes so hard I can almost hear them scrape. “We will succeed because I will keep you all alive,” he says, loud enough for everyone to hear.
There’s a ripple of laughter from the fire fae, though it’s tinged with something sharp. The others ignore it.
King Cassius’s voice is quieter, but it carries through the morning chill. “The goddess chose this path for us. We must see it through.”
King Ashton can’t resist. “And if nothing else, we’ll make it a grand adventure. Come on, little one. Let’s show them how it’s done.”
Before I can answer, there’s a sound like a thousand wings beating at once, and the wind fae raise their arms, letting loose a piercing call. The other houses answer, the fire fae with a whoop, the water fae with a beautiful song, the earth fae pounding the ground in unison.
The four kings mount their horses. I climb onto mine, legs shaking so badly I almost miss the stirrup. Once in the saddle, I grip the reins hard, breathing through the rising panic. I scan the crowd one last time. No one meets my eyes. None of them care if I make it back.
Maybe that’s better. Because I probably won’t.
King Oberon nudges his mount forward, and we start moving. The kings lead, and I fall in behind them, the noise from the fae swelling and breaking like a storm at our backs. The castle gates swing open, and we ride out together. It feels like the whole world is watching.
I don’t look back. Not once.
If I fail, it’ll be on my own terms. And if I succeed… I’ll finally get revenge. I’ll get to go home. Back to my grandparents. Back to the farm. Maybe back to Mr. Clay.
I shiver. Don’t think about that now.
The wildness begins the second we’re clear of the castle gates.
The four fae kings spur their horses like they’re running from a ghost, and I have to fight to keep up.
My horse is solid, maybe not as big as theirs, but I hardly need a hulking beast. I urge him faster and feel the muscles bunch beneath me, the pounding of his hooves hitting my bones like a drum.
My cloak snaps in the wind. The morning air is so cold it cuts my lips, but it’s nothing compared to the sharpness of the world we’re riding into.
At first it looks like any other forest, the trees packed tight, the underbrush heavy with frost. But soon the landscape starts to twist, the trees bleeding color where there shouldn’t be any.
Trunks shimmer blue, green, even violent red.
Some trees aren’t trees at all; they’re twisted up like ropes of glass, light refracting inside them as if they’re full of lightning.
In other places, the ground pulses, moss blooming in spirals of white and indigo, the mushrooms clustered at the base of every trunk glowing with their own inner moons.