“We’re here,” Estel says.
Aspen’s guards break from the group, unsheathing their swords as they flank us to investigate our environment. I turn in a slow circle, hand on the hilt of my dagger as I eye an enormous courtyard surrounded by a tall sandstone wall. The sun beats high overhead, blindingly bright with its glow. Peaks of mountains in shades of brown and gold hover in the distance far beyond the wall while fluffy green palms and spiky cacti decorate the sandy landscape.
Next, my attention turns to what’s inside the walls of the courtyard, glimpsing the perfect symmetry spread before me. Two rows of palms stand sentinel along each side of the courtyard, lining two rectangular, crystal-blue ponds that flank a red tile walkway—and that’s when I see what the walkway leads to.
A set of immense blue double doors decorated in gold filigree await at the opposite end of the tile floor, surrounded by a breathtaking palace that spans from one side of the wall to the other. Its base is of brown sandstone that gives way to slender white towers ringed with circular balconies. Some towers are peaked with tiled turrets while others end in bulbous white marble domes. Three larger domes are clustered over the center portion of the palace, each carved with intricate flames and floral designs.
My mouth falls open as I study the structure. If I thought Bircharbor and Selene were incredible feats of architecture, this puts them both to shame. I’ve never seen such beauty, such craftsmanship that defies the norms and seems to favor art over function. “It’s beautiful,” I say under my breath, shoulders relaxing as my hand finally leaves my dagger.
Amelie whirls to face me. “I’ve never seen anything like it!” Her expression is so bright, so much like the sister I grew up with, that I forget for a moment the tension between us. Without realizing it, my grin has mirrored hers, and I’m about to grasp her hands excitedly in mine.
That’s when I remember the wall I must keep firmly in place. I can’t grow lax in my trust, not until I know the truth about her.
I clench my fingers into fists and avert my gaze, returning my attention to the palace. From the corner of my eye, I see Amelie lower her head, her disappointment at my rejection so palpable, it makes my heart clench.
Remember what she did to Mother,I repeat in my head, allowing my fire to replace my guilt.
A flicker of red hovers at my shoulder, and Breeda lets out a squeal. “We’re home, Your Majesty! Do you just totally and completely love it?”
I stand tall and give her what I hope to be a regal and composed nod. “It’s quite adequate.”
Aspen snickers at my poorly concealed awe, and my lips curl into a smirk. He opens his mouth to speak, but movement near the front doors of the palace catches my eye. The others notice too, and silence falls over our group as one of the doors swings open.
Aspen’s soldiers rush to the front of our retinue, standing between us and whatever is coming out to greet us.
Once the door opens fully, a bronze haze funnels outside. All I see is a vicious face and two gigantic hands thrusting forward before everything is replaced with a cloud of dust and sand. It builds before the door, growing higher, higher, blocking out the light of the sun.
Then it speeds straight for us.
10
Iclose my eyes and spin away from the dust cloud as it crashes into me. Gasping for breath, I fall to my knees, feeling sand barrel into my back. My first thought is that I was right. This really is a trap. Queen Estel betrayed us after all.
But it’s her voice I hear, shouting over the din of my companions’ coughs and the swirling of dust and sand beating relentlessly overhead. At first, her words are incoherent, but then I hear, “Stop! Queen Evelyn of Fire is here to claim Irridae Palace. Stand down before your queen!”
To my surprise, the dust storm abates. Once I no longer feel the sand pelting me, I rise to my feet, coughing through gasping breaths. I try to open my eyes, but grit stings them so badly, I dare not attempt to rub it away for fear I’ll simply irritate my eyes further. Instead, I allow my tears to well, allow them to push the grains away. But it’s no use. There’s too much—
I’m struck by a sudden splash of water that drenches me from head to toe. From the gasps I hear around me, I take it I’m not the only one. When I’m finally able to open my eyes, it’s to Aspen’s face, concern written in the crease between his brows as he takes me by the shoulders. His blue-black hair hangs limp around his antlers, dripping brown, sandy water.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
I nod. “What happened? Where did the water come from?” I glance around us. Everyone but Estel and Breeda—who were apparently immune to the attack, likely due to their less-corporeal forms—are covered in a mixture of sand and water. Amelie is slumped on the ground, blinking rapidly while Foxglove and Lorelei take turns brushing debris off each other’s faces.
“I pulled water from the ponds to clear the dust,” he says. “Can you see?”
“Yes,” I say, looking from him to the two ponds flanking the palace, a sense of awe washing over me. Even though I know my mate holds power over water, I’ve never seen him use it before. It’s a chilling reminder that there’s still much about him I don’t know.
“Which one of you is this supposed queen?” a voice calls out from near the palace, filling the courtyard with its deep, echoing resonance. I face it, finding Aspen’s guards already edging forward, swords pointed at the figure standing before the doors. He wears no shirt, only loose, brown trousers that reveal a wide torso, broad shoulders, and thick arms roped with muscle. His skin is a deep bronze, his eyes dark and deep set below thick black brows. Strands of long, wavy black hair brush his shoulders. From this distance, I can’t tell exactly how tall he is, but he appears even taller than Aspen.
Foxglove nearly trips in his haste to rise to his feet, grasping Lorelei’s wrist for balance. “For the love of oak and ivy,” he mutters, his tone full of fear…or is it awe?
I take a few hesitant steps forward, squaring my shoulders as I force myself into as regal a posture as I can, despite how haggard I’m sure the dust storm has made me. “I am Queen Evelyn of Fire.”
The domineering fae crosses his arms over his chest. “Is that so?”
“Who is he?” I ask, quiet enough so only my companions can hear.
“He’s a djinn,” Lorelei says.
