"Marius?" Lochan's voice.
I can't answer. My throat constricts, choking back a scream. The Raven King's memories assault me with images of war, betrayal, exile, and death. His fury becomes mine, threatening to sweep away everything I am.
No. I have to fight him. Have to fight against everything I was born to be.
For her.
Brigid's face flashes in my mind. Her smile, her courage, the way she looked at me when—
The darkness recedes, just a fraction. I cling to that image, using it to carve out a space in my own mind. Brigid’s body, under my hands, my mouth on hers. Her taste. Her scent.
"I'm still here." My vision clears and the room is bright again.
Lochan moves closer, his massive frame tensed for action. "You better be."
I want to snap back, but it takes all my concentration just to breathe. The Raven King's presence winds around my thoughts, probing for weakness.
"Tell me," Lochan demands, "what do you see? Do you know where she is?"
I open my mouth to answer Lochan, but the words die on my tongue. A rush of sensation overwhelms my thoughts. It's like being submerged in an ocean of memories that aren't my own.
The Raven King's consciousness presses against mine, and I can‘see’what he’s feeling and thinking. Images flash before my eyes, too fast to process at first. Then, suddenly, everything snaps into focus.
I see through eyes that aren't mine, yet are. The world takes on a vague quality, reality overlaid with a gauzy veil, and I see a green-painted wooden sign with white letters.
The letters burn themselves into my mind.
“Brigid’s in a place called ‘Newton.’
Chapter Six
Callen
We gather at the edge of the academy grounds, ready to go back to that dismal place Brigid used to call home. The Morrigan must be toying with her, bringing her back there. It gives me hope that Brigid is still in there somewhere. Her face flashes in my mind, her gray eyes pleading, and there was nothing we could do to stop the Council. My chest constricts with guilt and anger. We have to reach her while there’s still time.
"Right then," Rory's usually cheerful voice carries an edge of tension. "Ready, Your Highness?"
I turn to face them, each a study in barely contained anxiety. Lochan's face is stone, his muscular frame like a spring ready to snap. Tiernan's acting calm, but the way he’s got his arms crossed in front of him gives him away. Rory shifts from foot to foot, like a restless animal. And Marius... Marius stands apart, his face an unreadable mask.
I feel the momentousness of the task that lies ahead, considering and discarding possibilities. The truth is, we don't know what we'll find when we reach Brigid. But we can't let doubt cripple us now. We have a job to do, one that’s more important than anything I’ve ever done. We remind Brigid who she is, what she means to us. To me.
We’re all thinking the same thing, wondering, hoping that Brigid is still there. Tiernan speaks, feeling our anxiousness, his words conveying his visions. "The threads of fate are tangled, but not yet severed. There's still hope."
I turn to Marius, noting the slight tremor in his hands, the sheen of sweat on his brow. The Raven King's essence battles within him, held at bay by Fiona's potion. For how long, I wonder?
"Are you ready?" I ask, unable to keep a note of challenge from my voice.
“Just open the fucking portal, princeling.”
I take a deep breath, not rising to the bait. When we get back, with Brigid—then I can knock the smugness out of him. Something to look forward to later.
The magic of the fae flows through my veins. With it comes thoughts of my birthright, the crown that awaits me. But those concerns are as insignificant as grains of sand compared to the urgency of getting Brigid back in one piece, both mind and body.
"Move your asses," I say, stepping forward to lead the way.
The asphalt squelches beneath my boots as we step through to the other side of the portal. Newton’s night air reeks of diesel and mildew—a far cry from the crisp metallic bite of the academy’s magical atmosphere. Streetlights flicker over potholes brimming with rainwater. A neon sign across the street sputters in broken cursive, washing the sidewalk in pink light.
It’s even more depressing than I remember.
