28
It takes longer than usual to seek my fox form, like grasping water, only to find it shapeless and running through your fingers. I know it’s there. I know I can reach it. If both Aspen and Franco were able to shift in Eisleigh, where the wall weakens fae magic, then I should be able to from this predicament as well.
“Evie, are you all right?” Amelie asks.
“Stay silent.” My words come out harsher than I intend, but I can’t afford the distraction right now.
I ignore my sister’s worried protests and steel myself against the cold, trying to imagine the burning chill feels more like fire than ice. I let it wrap around me, ignite my rage. Focusing my mind’s eye on the faces of those who’ve put us here—Dahlia, Phoebe, Cobalt, that infernal winter fae—I seek my inner fire, even just a spark.
There.
The flame is tiny, just an ember at the center of my core, but it’s enough. Closing my eyes, I take that minuscule fire to the Twelfth Court.
At first, nothing happens. No violet haze, no buzzing particles of energy to swirl around me, shifting my form. I let my disappointment turn to fury, let fury turn to flame, let flames grow brighter, hotter.
Then it happens.
Violet falls over my vision, and just like that, my fox form feels near. I summon her forth, feeding her all my rage and sorrow, giving her the energy she needs to transmute it into physical change. I feel a buzzing in my hands, like flames dancing over my skin as my wrists grow narrow. The ropes that bind me begin to feel loose as my hands shrink to paws. A momentary pain shoots through me at the unnatural angle my fox limbs are being stretched, but as I shrink smaller, smaller, I slip from my bonds altogether.
Amelie cries out in alarm as I’m plunged beneath the icy water on my back. In a swift roll, I right myself and break my head above the water. As a fox, the chill is far more bearable, but I still can’t call it pleasant. Lacking much grace, I scramble out of the tub and shake the icy water from my fur. I’m panting by the time I’m freed from as much of the water as I can, but the warmth that envelops me outside the tub is more pleasurable than anything could be in this moment.
“Evie?” The word is strangled, quavering.
I turn my attention to my sister, finding her startled expression fixed on me. “Time to go,” I say to her and dart toward one of the tub’s handles where her wrists are bound. Grasping the rope between my teeth, I gnaw, feeling each fiber snap as I work my way through the thick coil. When it comes loose, I run to the opposite side and free her other wrist.
Amelie shakes out her hands, eyes locked on me. “Is that really you, Evie?”
“Yes, Ami,” I say. “Now hurry and untie your ankles. We need to get out of here.”
Her gaze lingers on me only a moment longer before she leans forward to work out the knot binding her ankles together. When her cold fingers don’t seem to obey, I have her swing her legs over the edge of the tub so I can chew the ropes apart.
Fully free, Amelie rises on unsteady feet, her dress dripping water on the floor of the cell. I run to the barred door, my heart sinking at the next obstacle that awaits. My fox form is slim enough to squeeze through the bars, but what about Amelie? I assess the length of the door, seeking a solution. It’s then I realize the bars are steel.
Steel. An iron alloy. In a fae prison?
Even though iron alloys are only harmful to fae who have been weakened by pure iron, I can’t imagine the fae would ever utilize something like steel. I remember how unbearable Aspen and Lorelei had found my steel surgery tools when they were recovering from iron injuries.
I shake the thoughts from my mind and refocus on my task. There’s only one solution I can think of. But for this, I’ll need hands.
Shifting back into my seelie form, I extend my palms toward the bars. “Stand back,” I tell Amelie. I can feel her wide eyes burning into me, but she obeys. I seek my inner fire again, horrified that it remains hardly a flicker. Shifting forms seems to have dried most of the icy water from me, but still, my connection to my magic feels weaker than ever before. I know the detrimental effects an attack by water can have, but…
Steel bars. Weakened magic.
My stomach sinks at what these implications must mean, but again I train my mind on what needs to be done. Closing my eyes, I summon my rage and fury, my sorrow and grief. Cobalt’s face flashes through my mind, then Dahlia’s. Ustrin’s. Duveau’s. I recall Maddie Coleman’s smug expression when she taunted me over taking my place as Chosen. I return to Mr. Meeks’ underground lab, feel the searing pain as his knife cuts through my arm. Mr. Osterman’s vile hungers. Madame Rose’s cruel brothel.
I let my anger grow, let it rush through my veins until an inferno roars inside me, begging to be released. Finally, I allow myself to think of Mother. But not the moment of her death. The moment she produced flame when it should have been impossible. The moment she told me to fight.
In a flash, fire ignites over my palms. Its heat warms me like a lover’s caress, soothing me, healing all remnants of cold and ice. I open my eyes, taking in the pinks, purples, and aquas of my flames before I return my attention to the barred door.
Air.
I breathe in deeply, feeling the air flood my nostrils, imagining it moving through my body and down my hands to join the flame. It surrounds it, moves it, sways it. I see where I want it to go, and the air obeys. My flames leave my hands to dance over a portion of the door. In seconds, the bars glow orange, reaching a molten state before my eyes. As the metal begins to drip and pool on the stone floor, I realize my plan is far from complete. While I may be able to leap over a pool of molten steel if I shift back into my fox form, Amelie cannot.
Earth.
Just like with my river of melted weapons, I connect to the liquid steel through the element of earth. Logic. Safety. Mixing with air, I lift what has spilled onto the floor, shaping it into an orb. As my flames melt what remains of the door, I gather the rest of the molten steel into my orb, letting it hover before me, my outstretched hands guiding it where I want it to go. I shift it from beneath the door, moving it into the hall.
“Come on,” I whisper to Amelie. Slowly, we step out of the cell and into the corridor, following the orb. Once on the other side, I guide the orb back into the cell, preparing to set it down near the tubs. Before I do, I separate a smaller piece and call it back toward me. The larger portion I allow to dissolve into a molten puddle.
