Iflail out of my obsidian prison and smack into a wall made entirely of turquoise glass. Dante rolls and bangs into my shins, his golden armor clipping my breath and my grip on Justus’s collar. My poor grandfather’s head bangs against the floor, and although a pulse still strikes the base of his neck, his lids close.
As Dante pushes onto his knees, I swing Justus’s sword at his head. The blade gets stuck in the sunray crown.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!
I yank my arms back up, tearing the crown and a few slender braids free in the process. As I shake the sword to dislodge it, Dante snarls and lunges for me.
I jolt sideways, cold sweat dripping down my nape and beading along my spine.Lore?!
As the Faerie straightens, I take all of one second to absorb my surroundings. The instant my eyes lock on the flight of stairs, I run, the soft soles of my slippers slapping against the white marble like fish fins. When I almost trip on my dress, I snatch up the silk and hoist it high.
Dante’s footfalls thud behind me, his spurs jangling. “I knew it! I knew the witch released your magic!”
I reach the landing and whirl. The tip of my sword bites into his forearm, tearing through the sleeve and nicking the skin beneath. He gives another stunned blink before his mouth twists and he lunges for me.
I back up, gripping my weapon with both hands and swing again. This time, my blade meets his armor, and the shock of the hit rattles my bones. I scramble away, putting as much distance as possible between him and me.
“I wasn’t going to hurt you,” Dante growls. “But the wards be damned, I will. Kill. You.”
When my shoulders thwack into a wall, my heart skips a long beat. I unfasten one of my hands from the sword and flatten it against the seashell-papered wall at my back. Keeping my eyes and blade trained on Dante, I sketch the lock symbol.
The skin around Dante’s jaw erupts with a throbbing tick. The Faerie King lurches forward, but not before I manage to fall through yet another wall.
Just as my tailbone thwacks into hardwood, Lorcan’s voice detonates between my temples,Behach Éan?
Lore!
For a long second, he doesn’t speak, but I can feel him there, on the other end of our link. I can hear him breathe, deep, raspy inhales that are no match to my chaotic pants.Where the bloody fuck are you, mo khrà?
Costa’s old home, which is now the Rossi estate.A glance around me reveals I’ve landed inside a bedroom.Eponine wasn’t lying, Lore. That’s where I’ve been since they took me. Underground. Meriam’s here, too. She’s being kept in a vault. She freed my power. She’s not—she’s not evil.
I hear him curse a blue streak, and then he grows so quiet that I worry our connection has been lost.
Lore?I all but sob out his name, scrambling onto my feet when I hear the creak of a floorboard.
I whip my head from side to side until I see a wall swathed in seafoam velvet drapes. Although my bleeding wrists throb, I hold on to Justus’s sword with all my might and race through the giant bedroom toward the curtains.
Why do your wrists hurt, Behach Éan?Lore’s words are slow and clipped, and so very,verylow.
It’s not important, I say just as the creaking stops just outside the closed door. “Merda,” I mutter, hunting the blue-green folds for the seam.
The second I spot it, I shoulder my body through, then squint into the darkness for the lever to open the single-pane window. When I can’t find one, I start to draw the symbol on the glass, but stop because, beyond the window, stands a garrison of Lucin soldiers.
Talk to me, mo khrà. Tell me what’s happening.
I’m surrounded, Lore.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are.” Dante’s taunting voice slips beneath the drapes, raising goosebumps along my skin.
Although the curtain has yet to move, I can feel his heart beat just beyond. I curl my bleeding hand over my injured one and squeeze the pommel as I raise the sword and brace it in front of me. If I go down, I’ll do so swinging, for if I’m caught . . . if I’m caught, Dante will either bleed me dry on Xema Rossi’s immaculate carpet or pitch me back under the earth.
“Wherefore art thou, moya?” Dante’s voice hits my thrumming eardrums.
When two boots dent the curtain’s hem, I raise my elbows, dragging the reddened tip of the sword against the heavy fabric, past where his chest must be. I’m so familiar with Dante’s physique that I position the sword just above my forehead . . . just where I know his throat will be.
Pulling in a deep lungful of courage, I sink my weapon through the curtain.
I hit flesh, not metal. Not only can I feel the wet slide of my steel blade, but I can also hear Dante’s startled gurgle.
