“Inspect me?” I scoff, but Arax does not respond, instead staring blankly ahead.
Is there really a point in arguing?
I am in Baev’kalath, far from the shores of home, in a wrecked ship surrounded by hundreds of winged warrior Fae. So I do as Arax says, but before I follow him out of the cabin, I rush to the table to collect the one other thing I brought with me across the Untold Sea, apart from the clothes on my back.
In a wooden bowl cradled by rich, dark soil, a serpentine vine unfurls, its pale green tendrils writhing gracefully, mottled with delicate white patches. Seven arrowhead-shaped leaves sprout from its twisting form, vibrant and full of life. These resilient vines weave through The Grove, intertwining like the bonds of The Tenders and the Souls of the Forest. My Sisters of the Vine gave me this plant before I left to remind me of home.
I scoop the bowl into my arms, holding it close, feeling its heartbeat against my chest.
It may be the last piece of home I’ll ever have.
I step onto the deck beside Arax, greeted by the howl of the wind and the sound of waves smashing against rock. The shipfeels abandoned once more, not a single Mordorin in sight. But then I catch Arax’s gaze, tilted upward, and I follow it to a night sky alive with Fae cloaked in leather and steel, their faces masked beneath their helms as the rain pounds down upon them. Despite the roaring wind, their ebony wings hold steady, unfurled majestically against the backdrop of the stars, a breathtaking sight that sends a shiver down my spine.
Though their eyes hide within the recesses of their helms, I feel their stares piercing through me, weighing and measuring the human who will be their princess. Drenched in my sodden dress, I look less like royalty and more like a drowned rat, an overwhelming sense of inadequacy crashing over me.
The Mordorin do not move or speak. They hover overhead in silence as Arax leads me across the deck toward a ramp lowered onto the dock. His boots thump loudly as we descend, while my ruined silk shoes slosh with water, my feet aching with blisters as I follow.
“Behold the stronghold of House Mordorin. The power in the Untold Sea.”
I look up, and beyond the hovering wall of Blades, the gargantuan black fortress of Baev’kalath rises from the jagged peak. Massive floor-to-ceiling arches and long, sweeping balconies jut out dramatically, centered around a vast courtyard bathed in the orange glow of blazing pyres. Towering spires and ornate turrets stretch upward, vanishing into the thick, gray clouds, which loom like restless spirits, threatening to engulf the fortress entirely.
This place is dark, desolate, and seeps despair.
But somehow it is also the most hauntingly beautiful thing I have ever seen. We humans know of Baev’kalath, but very few have actually seen it. Compared to the other Fae houses, the Mordorin stronghold is the most remote and dangerous to reach. The part of me that craves knowledge and discoverystands in awe. But the bargained bride I have become realizes that this wicked place is now my prison, and soon that naïve wonderment will wash away, and I too will seep despair.
Arax mutters in Mordorin tongue and his wings erupt from his back and pound the air. He opens his arms to me, and I’m not sure how I’m supposed to respond.
“I will carry you to the castle,” Arax explains.
I frown. “I’m quite capable of getting there myself.”
Arax grumbles irritably. “By all means, spread your wings and I’ll meet you there.”
I reply with an unamused frown.
“The castle is only accessible by air,” Arax explains in one long breath. “You will need to be flown. There is no path.”
I glance at his outstretched arms, unsure if I’m really expected to let him pick me up. I’ve been handled by more Mordorin in one night than I have by humans in my entire life. Taking a step forward, I move close enough for his chain-mailed hands to scoop me up—one cradling my back, the other supporting my knees.
I gasp at how effortlessly he lifts me from the ground, but I catch the way he hisses through gritted teeth as his shoulder sags.
“Are you sure you’re strong enough to do this?” I ask skeptically, reminded that I pulled a tooth the length of his arm from him not long ago.
He swallows his discomfort. “I have been commanding armies and slaughtering enemies since before you were born. I’m sure I can manage carrying a little girl who asks too many questions.”
“Well, make sure of it,” I say curtly. “After surviving that journey, the last thing I want is to fall out of the sky and splatter across the rocks because a surly old Fae dropped me.”
Arax grumbles as he pushes off the ground and soars into the sky.
It feels as if I’ve left my stomach on the dock as he flies higher, clearing the jagged rocks of the cliff face, his wings beating the air with an unworldly power that sends a puzzling shiver through me. I hold my vine close to my chest, while my other arm loops around his neck, the sharp steel of his pauldrons pricking at my skin. But I ignore the discomfort. I’m far too busy pretending that being this high in the air isn’t absolutely terrifying.
I thought my arranged marriage to the Mordorin prince would be the worst thing to happen to me when I left The Grove. But since stepping foot on that ship, I’ve had to share the agony of Arax’s wound, fight a sea monster and now be slung hundreds of feet in the air, all before even setting eyes on my dreaded betrothed.
At last we reach a grand balcony high upon the castle where the Mordorin obviously come and go from. Arax touches down heavily on the wet stone and the rain lashes my skin. I feel the cold creeping into my bones.
“This way,” Arax says, marching forward with his helm tucked under his arm.
I follow him towards the dim light of the castle and standing before the massive structure, I’ve never felt smaller. It is three times the size of The Maledannan ruins that overlook The Grove. Before we enter, I catch the indistinct murmur of voices drifting up from below, their words blurred by the steady downpour. I wander towards the stone railing, inching closer until my eyes find a circle of Blades surrounding a Fae male who kneels dangerously close to the edge of the wall, above razor sharp rocks and the violent swell below.
