My mind continues to delve, trying to grasp hold of something tangible, but the memories slip past my fingers.
“Lady Auren, where is the king?” one of the men asks.
I turn to him and shake my head, remembering the crowned man with the cold eyes. “I don’t know, but he better hope he’s nowhere nearby,” I say, vengeance coating my words like the gold that coats the ground.
The man frowns.
My fingers press against my throbbing temple, a grimace slipping past before I can stop it. My mind might be muddled, but my body is speaking to me crystal clear—I’m run down and my strength is waning.
“Time to go,” I say once I drop my hand. “Anyone know the way out?”
A male fae with pointed ears lifts his hand. “I do.”
With a nod, he starts leading the way. We head down the long corridor and up the slatted stairs to the higher levels. My legs burn from exertion, and the rest of the inmates struggle too, but escaping imprisonment is quite the motivator.
Once we reach the top, we walk down a tunnel, coming out from a cave that’s right beside a thundering waterfall. The watergushes down off the cliff we’re inside of, kicking out spray as it falls far below us, and hits the awaiting river with churning mist.
We walk along a narrow path, the stone slick beneath my bare feet. We wind up and away from the cave, and then we reach sunlight and grass and fresh air. I take a deep breath, reveling in the freedom, my ribbons basking in it as much as I am.
The prisoners who’ve slunk out with me all stop and stare, eyeing everything warily while I look around. There aren’t any guards lying in wait, no soldiers here to try to shove us back into the dungeon. Instead, trees stand sentinel, proving just how arrogant the king really is. How much he’s underestimated me.
The forest is quiet, blue sap bleeding from the trees’ white-trimmed bark. Their green leaves hang heavy, like unrolled balls of wool bunched up along the branches.
Through these timber troops, I can see we’re on a tall, flat circle of land. The rest of the landscape sits in a sunken valley, with a river fed from this very waterfall. But my eyes drift to the grand palace straight ahead, standing right at the center of this plateau, with a mountain at its back and the valley below.
The palace is ethereal. Smooth white stone like quartz bolts upward in graceful arching lines. The top of the turrets bloom with geodes, and the sloping rooftops glitter with a spray of crystals that sparkle in the sunlight. Hundreds of stained glass windows decorate the lengths of every wall, like the building is adorned with elaborate pieces of jewelry in every color.
“Never thought I’d see Glassworth Palace,” the woman with the whip mark murmurs. “Now I want to get as far away from it as I can.”
I know what she means. It might be beautiful to look at, but there’s a danger that lurks beneath the allure. An elegant mask over a monstrous face.
Spinning in a circle, mind spinning with me, I know that I need to get these people safely away from here. I need to get somewhere we can rest and wait, where I can use more rot magic to exterminate the infestation in my head.
“I know who you are.”
The sentence startles me, making my heart skip a beat. Turning, I take in a stooped fae male. He has an iron collar around his neck and rotted teeth lining his gums. “You’re a Turley, aren’t you? That’s why you’re gold. You’re that dead golden girl the Vulmin always told stories about.” He looks me over, glassy eyes bulbous inside his thin face. “Didn’t think you wereactuallygold.”
That word again—Vulmin. That’s what Emonie and Wick are. I think that might be what I am.
“And the Vulmin are…”
His brows lift in surprise and he looks around at some of the others. “The rebellion, of course. Never was a part of it myself… For all the good it did me,” he adds bitterly before spitting at the ground that leads back toward the dungeon. “Still got locked up for ten years, didn’t I? This monarchy will arrest anyone who even thinks of looking at the king sideways.”
“I need to get you all away from here,” I say, looking around again.
“We need to get off the plateau,” a different male fae says, lips hidden behind a beard that’s twisted in thick, matted knots. He points with his pinky, for he has no other fingers on his hand. The nubs left behind all look like they’ve been hacked off long ago, the skin uneven and stretched. “This way.”
The other Oreans look at me in question.
I glance back at the palace. The urge for me to find Emonie and Wick is riding me hard, but I can’t storm the place. I don’t even know if that’s where they are. All that’s clear right now in my memories are their names and faces, and the king whoimprisoned us. I need to find somewhere I can get my bearings, find out more information, and formulate a plan.
“Lead the way.”
The prisoner starts limping ahead, while I take up the rear. I keep my senses peeled for any guards, and keep looking over my shoulder at the palace. It feels like its stained glass windows are watching me.
We walk for about five minutes past the waterfall before coming to another spot on the perpendicular cliff. A path has been molded into its side like a raised scar against skin, leading all the way to the bottom where the valley sits.
Some of the inmates shoot me worried looks, and I have to admit, the steep, narrow path does look daunting. But unless we want to go toward the palace, this seems like the only way to go.
