“Absolutely not. We can’t give the witch what she wants. If we do, calamity is sure to follow.” Brock keeps pace with me.
“What she asked wasn’t unbearable.” Not completely true. She asked for something I never expected. I don’t like it, but I’ll give anything to find Emma. The floor starts to get wavy, but I force the fatigue away and keep going. Eraldon’s poison is leaving me slowly, but I have to fight through it. Every second I remain here is a second lost; I can recover on the road. “She could’ve asked for far more.”
Everett sniggers. “Yeah, she could’ve asked for Brock to bed her.”
A scandalized Brock guides me around the next corner. “I wouldnever.”
“Lord Regent, would you truly spurn the advances of an obsidian witch when accepting her affections would see me delivered safely into the Nightlands?” I ask with as much conviction as I can muster. Teasing Brock doesn’t bring me as much mirth as it used to, but I have to take my pleasures where I find them in these dark times. “You wouldn’t make sacrifices for your king?” I try to keep a straight face.
Everett snorts a laugh. Charen punches him again while Bladin hides his snigger behind a cough.
“My Lord, I couldn’t cavort with an obsidian witch. It’s … It’s …” Brock is sputtering again.
“I offered to cavort, but she said I was too pretty,” Bladin huffs.
“If she asked, all you’d have to do is ride her rough while we’re gone. Would that be so difficult, Brock?” Charen deadpans.
Instead of pale, Brock turns an interesting shade of red as I raise my fist to knock on the witch’s door. It swings open before I touch it, and Selene watches us enter from her spider-like stance on the ceiling.
“My lords,” she sneers. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company again? Come to talk me out of my boon? It won’t work.” She snaps her teeth. “I want what I want. I can wait as long as I need to. I am obsidian. I do not break. But you, my lord—” Her gaze fixes on me. “You will. I feel Emma slipping away to her new master. Soon to be her lover.”
My day magic flares, the sun rushing from me in a bright flash.
Selene is unfazed. Perhaps because she’s from the Spires, or perhaps because of the story Tritus told us of her past. Crouching on the ceiling—the once-intended queen of the day realm watches us with hungry eyes.
“Is your tale true, witch?” Brock asks. “You’re the Selene who was supposed to be the queen of day but slew herself instead?”
“That’s an old story.” She makes a raspberry. “Full of fluff and no substance. The author clearly didn’t fawn over my beauty enough. I was a dish then. Just as I am now. Don’t you think so, Brock?”
He breathes out hard but doesn’t react otherwise.
“The story’s true, then?” Bladin presses.
“The one your book changeling told?” She creeps closer along the ceiling beams.
“My librarian, Tritus,” I correct her. “Yes.”
“Tis true.” She wrinkles her nose. “It’s why I never should’ve come back to this realm. I hate the day. Hate my mate. Glad he’s stuck, tortured by the Master of the Spires endlessly.” She smiles as if a warm memory has pirouetted across her mind. “Torment for him is bliss for me. He’llneverbe king. Never, never, never,” she singsongs. “Should’ve let me live free. I would’ve given him Arin. But instead …” She seems to snap out of her reverie. “Foolish king, if you hesitate, you’ll never see your queen again.”
“I’m not hesitating. I’m going to the Nightlands. Leaving as soon as I can. But first, you must fully revive Grimelda.”
She drops to the floor without making a sound. “My boon?”
Brock tenses as she approaches.
It’s probably a mistake, but I swore to give up anything for Emma. I would give up far more just to have her safe in my arms again. Despite my reservations, I give her a brisk nod. “Granted.”
“We have a deal.” She grins. “Now bring me that delicious pair of sisters.”
9
Emma
“The Nightkeep’s wards won’t stop us. Lex is just powerful enough to bring them down.” Eraldon leans over the table covered with a diagram of the Nightkeep. “I’ll handle my father, but we have to woo the nobles.”
“Woo?” Captain Graves asks.
“Or we could just kill the ones who don’t agree.” I stand and flex my wings. They ache and pinch, but it also feels good to spread them wide. The past few nights of flying have made them strong, if sore.
