This, however, is far worse than both combined because the attack is unrelenting.
And now I know how my mother felt.
This thought pursues me into wakefulness as I come out of my cold slumber. My nightmares were plagued with memories of Mother trapped in the icy tub at her trial, and now I wake finding that same fate cursed upon me. I blink into the dark, the only light coming from that same illumination from somewhere down the hall. I find no sign of Aspen or the winter fae. It’s just me and Amelie, who sleeps in her tub, skin pale and tinged slightly blue. My heart squeezes at the sight, and a wave of terror writhes through me. Surely, this will kill her. Is it only our fae heritage that keeps us from succumbing to frostbite and death?
Again, I think of Mother. Mother trapped in a tub just like this one. Mother shaking and trembling at her trial. Mother with a bullet between her eyes. My breathing grows painfully shallow as a lump sears my throat as if barbed with razors.
I cry out, but it’s stifled by another memory that ripples through me, one shocking enough to dispel my pain at once—Mother, flames dancing over her fingers despite the water that holds her. Mother melting her iron cuffs, fighting the guards with her fire.
It’s the part I never recall. The part that always gets swallowed by the memory that follows this one. A bullet. Blood. Death.
This time, I push this latter away and linger on the former. Despite all odds, my mother was able to summon her flames to fight for her freedom. Could I possibly do the same?
My mind feels thick and heavy, but I seek my inner fire, searching for it buried beneath the depths of ice that tamp it down. Still, no matter how far I seek, it isn’t there. For a flicker of a moment, I feel rage or anger, but it doesn’t last. Each time a shiver runs through me, it’s gone. Only cold remains. Water. Ice.
If only I were like the winter fae—
The startling realization is enough for me to feel a momentary warmth heat my core. Iamlike the winter fae. I may not have a natural affinity for ice or water, but I am a queen, which means I have access to all four elements. I’ve already proven my competence with fire, air, and even earth. Water can’t be out of reach for me.
I shake my head to clear my mind, steel myself against the bitter chill that threatens to snap my bones. With the deepest breath I can take, I close my eyes and focus on the water that surrounds me. It hits me harder than before, as if I can feel the weight of every drop, every particle of ice that brushes my skin, that clings to my dress, the ends of my hair.
Focus.
I summon what I know about water. Hydration is obvious. Rivers, lakes, and streams. But if there’s anything I’ve learned about the elements, it’s that each contains layer upon layer of deeper meaning.
I recall my first visit to the Twelfth Court, and my meeting with the ethereal kelpie. He’d expressed his disdain over me and my kind, over our thoughtless invasion of fae land and sea. How did that relate to water?
My mind grows cloudy again, the chill threatening to drag me back to unconsciousness, but I bite the inside of my cheek to sharpen my thoughts. The pain brings me back into focus, and I home in on my memory of the kelpie.
Now I remember. We debated over whether the fae could feel emotion.
Emotion. That’s it. That’s the water element.
I sink into that, and an immediate rush of sorrow comes to greet me, swallowing me whole. The breath is stripped from my lungs as the moment Mother died plays over and over in front of me.
A bullet. Blood. Death.
It was over so fast, and it was all…
It was all…
It was…
“Evie?” Amelie’s voice pulls me from the endless chasm of grief, returning me to the present. To my cold tub and the oppressive walls of the cell. It’s then I realize I’ve been sobbing.
I swallow my tears and turn my head toward my sister to see her watching me with hazy concern, her lips a terrifying shade of blue. Memories of the sorrow that consumed me threaten to pull me back down, but I refuse to slip into them. Instead, I seek my rage, which slowly complies. No fire accompanies it, but it’s enough to harden my heart, thrust the dangerous emotions away.
“Evie, what’s wrong?” Amelie asks, voice weak and trembling.
I turn my anger—the only thing that makes me feel warm—on her. Narrowing my eyes to burn her with a glare, I speak through chattering teeth. “It was all your fault.”
Her shoulders heave as a violent tremor rips through her. “What?”
“All of this. Everything.” I swallow hard. “Getting caught. Mother’s death. It’s all your fault.”
Her eyes widen for a moment, then she nods and turns her face forward. “You never told me how she died.”
I let my rage grow, building a wall against her words. Even with the cold combatting all heat it could bring, the intangible barrier is an immediate comfort. “Yes, I did. Mother was sentenced to death because you refused to attend her trial.”
