It’s the only thing that snaps me out of my stupor, drawing my attention from the charred, lifeless body before me to recall the iron blade Aspen had stuck in his thigh. I turn away from the body, retrieving the human’s Chariot and tucking it into the waist of my overskirt as I rise to my feet. I find Fehr slumped against the wall farther down.
“I failed you, Your Majesty,” he gasps through his teeth. “You may punish me.”
“Maybe later,” I mutter. There’s more ice to my tone than I intend, but all I can think about is Aspen right now. “The thief is dead and he’s given us vital information. Come.”
I don’t wait to watch the djinn rise; instead, I race down the hall, up the stairs, and to the dungeon.
Aspen is where I left him, but this time, Foxglove and Lorelei are there too, faces full of concern. I brush them aside as I kneel before him, eyes locked on the dagger hilt, mind trained on nothing but the task at hand. My heart races, but I force my surgeon’s calm to steady my hands.
“Tear a piece of cloth from my skirt,” I command, voice level.
Lorelei rushes to obey. As soon as the cloth is in my hand, I pull the blade out with the other. Aspen bares his teeth but doesn’t make so much as a sound as I throw the dagger to the ground and bind his leg with the cloth.
I wait for the pain to subside from his face before I allow him to stand. Foxglove and Fehr take up posts on each side of my mate as he favors his uninjured leg. With slow progress, we make our way up the stairs. Once we reach the atrium, we don’t bother going any farther. All I need is to be far enough from the weapons room for Aspen’s natural healing to kick in, so one of the couches near the windows will have to do.
“Bring wine,” I tell Fehr, hoping the food stores weren’t emptied when the household was expelled. After he brings a bottle of deep red liquid, I request cloth, needle, thread, and any other helpful tools from the seamstress’ room.
My fingers fly as I go to work, ignoring the ache in my chest that burns at every wince on Aspen’s face, every groan he suppresses while I clean and stitch the wound. Only a few tendrils of black branch off from the lesion, but his blood has yet to be tainted.
He will heal. He will heal.
The mantra keeps me sane, fuels my fire as I lay my hands over the bandaged wound, attempting to do what I failed to do for the human.
* * *
By the timeI make it to my bedroom, my sister is already tucked into the bed, sleeping soundly. It was a struggle to leave Aspen’s side, but he assured me he was well. He even managed—with the help of Fehr and Foxglove—to limp from the couch to the bedroom next to mine where he’s staying. Still, I laid next to him for nearly an hour, hand resting over his steadily beating heart until I was satisfied with his condition.
Only then did I come back to my room, remembering my promise to myself that I would watch my sister’s every move and renew her commands at my first chance. After the events of the night, my suspicion over my sister’s anticipated treachery feels weak in comparison to the real dangers I faced.
Not bothering to change out of my dress, I crawl under the covers next to Amelie. The fire I created in the hearth still burns steadily, and the shutters have been drawn over the windows, blocking most of the chill. Never would I have imagined nights could be cold in the desert. Although perhaps the ice I feel is on the inside, left by the thief’s chilling words.
The mainland army comes even as we speak.
Warships by the dozen.
The time of the fae is at an end.
I roll toward Amelie, burrowing deeper beneath the blankets as I try to shake the terrifying visions from my head. Seeing my sister’s sleeping face, my mind goes still. Her expression is so soft and innocent. So much like the girl I grew up with.
If I let myself, I could pretend we’re back home at the apothecary, young girls snuggled up in the same bed after a nightmare. Back then, we sought comfort in each other, taking turns stroking the other’s hair, depending on who’d had the bad dream.
It takes all my restraint not to nestle against her sleeping form.
* * *
When I wake,it’s to screaming.
Amelie thrashes in the bed, fighting the blankets, a blood-curdling wail tearing from her throat. It’s just after dawn, meager light spilling in through the golden shutters to illuminate the terror that rips across her face. “What have I done?”
I bolt upright as she scrambles out of the blankets, backing away until she comes up against the headboard. She brings her hands toward her face, eyes wide as she stares at them. “Whose blood is this?”
A chill runs through me. This is how she was when I awoke her in the cell at Lunar. I’d attributed it to the terrible power of Selene Palace’s dungeons, but now I can’t fathom what could cause such a state of distress.
“What have I done?” Another wail escapes her lips.
I crawl toward her and grasp her shoulders in mine, shaking her the way I did before. “Amelie, wake up.”
“No. No. This isn’t happening. It wasn’t me.”
