I let my eyes get lost in the dancing orange and yellow flame.
Lyrena’s blade sang as she applied pressure to a particular spot. “You could be back here in a second.”
The cold inside of me was not the same indifference I’d felt after Arthur’s death. Then, my focus had been singular, selfish. Revenge at the cost of all else. Now, too many emotions flowed through me to process. Too many responsibilities and too many friends to worry about. So much, that my mind and body began to institute an icy freeze to stop them from overwhelming me completely. “Maybe. Or maybe I’d end up back in Baylaur, or at the Crossing.”
“What are our other options?” Lyrena said, her voice still carefully diplomatic.
I did not answer her. So Cyara did. “Return to the faerie caves. Return to Baylaur. Or go to Eilean Gayl.” She paused, drawing in a delicate breath before adding, “And on to Wolf Bay.”
I ripped the dagger from my belt, hurling it through the air. Well over their heads. It embedded in a tree on the other side of the clearing, all the way to the hilt.
“We are staying here.” My voice was cold enough to freeze water.
The flames of the campfire flickered.
But Cyara did not back down. “You are the High Queen of Annwyn.”
I slid off the stump, landing easily on my feet. Towering over the fire, over my friends, all still seated.
“Arran is the High King. And my mate. I will not leave him.”
Lyrena and Cyara exchanged a look that I didn’t even pretend to ignore.
I stepped into the void, blissful and silent, free of their expectations, and went to retrieve my weapon.
4
VEYKA
I spent the afternoon sweating. But that ice inside of me did not thaw, no matter how many times I moved in and out of the void, pushing my power to its limits. Perhaps ice was better than fire. It kept the horror of the feelings at bay.
Through the void I went. Along the edge of the lake, ten feet, fifteen feet, another ten. My feet landed on grass and dirt and sand, but my eyes always went right to the center of that lake, to the mist-shrouded isle. I arrived in that cursed clearing where no one could heal. I did not let myself think about what would have happened if Avalon had stolen all of our magic, not just our healing ability. Even after two weeks, my sharp fae senses could detect the blood that had disappeared into the grass.
The scent of Arran’s blood on the shore nearly undid me.
This was not the blood I’d licked from his lips, tasted on my tongue. I did not shiver with delicious need. The blood that had disappeared into the sand and pebbles was fetid, old. It spoke of death.
I fell to my knees.
He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive.
I repeated it like a prayer. I let my focus go inward, checking that the bond was intact.
He’s alive.
The cold lake air filled my nostrils. Brine and waterweeds and… blood. But not Arran’s blood.
Slowly, I staggered to my feet. Willed my muscles to move, my nose to inhale deeply again. It was nearly impossible to sort out after all of these weeks… but there. I found it. Thin, mellow, a mere footnote in the cacophony of scents. Human blood.
I took one step into the clearing. Sniffed again. A few more. Then I was jogging. But that was too slow. I stepped through the void again, appearing at the edge of the clearing, pausing only long enough to inhale deeply, mark the scent, and disappear once more.
Humans moved slowly, but they’d had weeks. I had the power of the void.
They were not even trying to hide themselves, arrogant fools. The scent of human blood ebbed away as the miles stretched. I found no decaying bodies. Their wounds must have healed.
I paused beside a massive tree, its branches wickedly curved. A beautiful, ancient sentinel standing guard over the creatures of the forested mountain foothills. And a human man had pissed on it.
The green sludge in my stomach threatened to make another appearance at the intensity of the scent. The whole lot of them had used this area as a latrine. Not just humans… I realized as I pressed the back of my hand to my mouth. Fae as well. That is probably why the humans were still alive at all.
