Terror iced my veins, and my gaze shot to Endymion, who dipped his chin ever so slightly.
He’d warned me I’d have to resist; that this would happen. But a naïve part of me had refused to believe it would come down to that—until now. Until those cerulean eyes plead for me to understand. And I did. Endymion couldn’t stop this.
Surveying the Great Hall I was startled to see just how many soldiers had flooded into the room, the hallways now bursting. There were a hundred. Maybe more.
Swallowing hard, I finally accepted that we were out of options. ThatIwas out of options.
I squeezed Artton’s shoulder.
“Ny, no!” Tarrin called.
I looked at him, at all of them, and offered a sad smile.
There was no miracle coming our way. The only thing I could do was trust that this would buy time for Endymion to find us another way out. Even then, it might all be for naught.
Pressing my hands on my thighs, I stood, readying myself for the very real possibility that resisting wouldn’t work and Thaddeus and Wymond would rip every last drop of power from me—regardless of the cost.
Chapter 58
No, Little Star
The rain had stopped, and I swore I could’ve heard a pin drop as the Great Hall descended into silence. Though soft, my footstep felt like the sound of an avalanche breaking free—only instead of walking away from the danger, I was walking toward it.
Toward Wymond.
Endymion placed a hand low on my back under the guise of escorting me to his High Lord, and the single caress of his thumb against my leathers gave me the strength I needed to move forward as it reminded me that I wasn’t alone; that he had a plan. Gods, I prayed that plan of his would work, and not just for my sake, but for Lumnara’s.
Who knew what would happen to her should Wymond and Thaddeus get their way?
The two rulers stood imperious as I approached.
Now standing before them, it took everything in me to stay still.
Once in early spring, I’d come across a massive beast in the Nettorian Mountains. I’d never forget the sensation when we’d locked eyes, its deep brown irises sizing me up. Eithan’s words hadplayed through my mind then, “Remember, if it’s brown, lay down. Black, fight back.” The thick coat matching its eyes gleamed in the early morning sun, but despite Eithan’s words there was no way in seven the hells I would lay down—though, I also wasn’t stupid enough to run away. Instead, with my arms low by my sides, I’d shown it my empty hands to show I wasn’t a threat.
Like the moment I’d waited for the beast to decide my fate, and I trembled.
Wymond’s honey-brown eyes were soft as he looked down at me, and it took me a moment to realize he was pleased with me.
“That’s a good little Spark,” he mocked as he patted the side of my face with his hand. I weathered the touch, Endymion’s hand stiffing on my back. “Now,” he said, puffing his chest out, “before you get any stupid ideas about using your powers to kill us, know that in doing so you’ll sentence your friends to death.”
He looked over my shoulder, and I had to crane my neck past Endymion to see the black magic coating the exposed skin of my companions, like an inkwell had tipped, overwhelming the parchment below with its contents. It was then that I noticed Artton kneeling, chained to the ground between Tarrin and Sidrick. He looked like hells as he struggled to focus, as if the healing hadn’t quite taken full effect just yet. Or perhaps that was as much as Adian was able—or permitted—to heal him.
My nose wrinkled, the sinful magic palpable from where I stood, and I couldn’t shake the sense of familiarity it evoked.
Wymond must have seen the question on my face as I turned back to him. He smiled, if that’s what one could call the sinister look.
“Death Thrall,” he said plainly.
My mind raced as if searching for a buried memory. The name was new to me, but hadn’t someone once told me of Wymond’s powers? Yes. They had. They’d explained that instead of pulling energy from the Mother to heal like Myron did, Wymond was capable of pulling life force from a living soul and returning it to her like all things in autumn—and somehow I knew all the healingpower of the Spring Court wouldn’t be able to revive those touched by this malignant magic.
“Death Thrall,” I whispered, understanding the cost.
He nodded with a self-satisfied smirk, which seemed to be an Autumn Court trait; one I wasn’t particularly fond of. Though, outside the Mother’s beauty, I wasn’t sure there was a single thing I’d ever come to appreciate about this gods-forsaken court.
“Now,” the High Lord said, “I’m going to lift the poison block, allowing you to access your full powers. And when I do”—he paused giving me a warning look—"you’re going to remind yourself of the consequences should you use those powers against us, aren’t you?"
Swallowing, I nodded.
