Amelie gasps. “How are you doing this?”
“Not now,” I say, returning my attention to the hall. It is long, dark, and narrow with no windows. One side disappears into darkness, while the other ends with light—a single torch set in a sconce. We make our way toward it, past rows of black, empty cells. I keep my small molten orb before me, let it illuminate the shadows in the absence of torchlight. As we continue, the hall curves to the right, on and on. At first, I think it’s going to bring us back around in a circle, but as the cells come to an end, the floor takes on an incline, then stairs. The walls are empty stone now, with only the occasional torch along the way.
Finally, one last torch illuminates the end of the hall. A door. And a slumbering figure dozing against the wall.
The winter fae.
I motion Amelie to stop, but it’s too late. Our footsteps have woken him, sent him lurching upright. He blinks several times, as if he can’t believe his eyes. Then he raises his hands, long, sharp icicles forming in each fist like knives. Maintaining focus on my molten orb, I move air around it, let it shape the metal into an elongated point. Pulling back my flames, the steel begins to cool until a red-orange dagger remains.
His eyes widen and he swallows hard, looking from me to the threat that hovers in the air between us. The icicles tremble in his hands.
He’s scared. Ofme.
As he should be.
I could kill him. With the flick of my wrist, I could direct the makeshift dagger straight to his heart. Even if I missed, I could still strike him, disable him, melt the steel and embed it so deep no fae healer could remove it. But just like with the winged soldier I fought on the battlefield, I hesitate. Why do I hesitate? Why is it sometimes so easy to defend myself and other times I’m weak?
But am I truly weak? Or is there a difference between self-defense and cold-blooded killing? A difference between justice and cruelty?
I take a deep breath, keeping my weapon hovering in place. “I don’t have to hurt you,” I say. “You can let us go.”
He barks a laugh, but it doesn’t diminish his obvious fear. “Let you go? Why should I do that?”
I recall the bitterness he’s shown, the way he tended to us as if the duty were an insult to him. “Because you’re fighting for the wrong side.”
“I’m fighting for the side that would make me king.”
“And how’s that going for you?”
He shakes his head with a sneer. “It’s a joke. This is all a joke. Two humans for thousands. It’s a disgrace.”
There it is again.Two humans for thousands.“Let us go.” I inch my dagger closer, my eyes locked on his. “Or I will have to hurt you.”
Sweat beads at his brow as his gaze flashes to my blade. Silence wraps around us. One of us will have to make the first move, and it looks like it will be me.
“Fine,” he says through his teeth. Lowering his hands, the icicles disappear. “Go ahead and leave.”
I eye him through slitted lids, watch as he leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. The tip of my dagger remains trained on him with every move we make. Amelie and I inch forward, my sister pressed close to my back. Keeping a wide berth, we skirt around the winter fae to the door. When we reach it, I give him a reluctant nod of thanks.
He doesn’t bother looking at me. “Letting you go isn’t a mercy,” he says with a smirk. “Wait and see. I’ve just had enough of this patheticcouncil.” With a shudder, he shrinks, replaced a moment later with a sleek white ermine with a black-tipped tail.
Amelie bites back a startled squeal, and I push open the door. The ermine darts between our legs, disappearing into the night. We don’t wait long to follow suit, rushing up the short staircase that opens onto a stone walkway. We pause once under the open night sky, the moon bright overhead. Grasping the hilt of my dagger, the metal still warm to the touch, I begin to turn in a slow circle to gather our bearings. Amelie’s fingers grasp my free hand. I squeeze her palm.
The first thing I see is a towering structure. A lighthouse. Ancient and built from weathered stone, an undeniably human building.
My stomach sinks. The steel bars. My weakened magic. The reason Aspen has never seen the dungeon we were held in. It’s because we aren’t in Faerwyvae. We’re in Eisleigh. But where? Why?
The next thing I see is the crumbling wall that extends to either side of the lighthouse—an old fortification. The sight is so familiar, although it’s nothing I’ve ever seen in person. Perhaps in a history book? A painting? The smell of salt tingles my nostrils, followed by the rhythmic sound of waves.
Then it dawns on me. I know where we are. This is Varney Cove.
During the first war with the fae, the humans used Varney Cove as a naval base to defend against the sea fae, and the lighthouse was repurposed as a fort. But why in the name of iron are we here?
Amelie gasps, her grip on my hand growing suddenly tighter. I whirl to follow her line of sight. Behind us stand rows and rows of tents. Military tents, the kinds I’ve only seen depicted in the broadsheets.
I feel like my throat will close up from the effort it takes to suppress the scream that builds in my chest.
I can only think one thing.They’re here. They’re here. They’re here.The mainland army is here and we’re too late.
