Vlad and Cadmael each took a suitcase and then we were racing so fast, I kept my head down on Clive’s shoulder to avoid my eyes tearing from the wind. And because it was nice. Clive smelled like love, safety, and home.
“Why are you limping?” Clive said.
“Ask your mate,” Cadmael growled back.
Gloriana’s memory was pushing at me, so I popped the soap bubble and…
I’m in a dark place. A ball of light shimmers in a delicate hand. It’s the queen’s hand still wearing my engagement ring. She tosses the light up and a golden glow fills the dark wood corridor. Directly ahead is yet another portrait of the prince. This one is full-length and shows him holding a great sword.
The queen makes a tsking sound and the portrait crashes to the floor. Centuries of dust and dirt cover every surface. As soon as I note it, it’s gone. Apparently, Gloriana isn’t going to deal with filth.
The dark wood floors and walls gleam. The rugs are thick and lush. She walks like she knows exactly where she’s going. She flings open the door at the very end of the hall and steps into a stark room. I would think it was for storage, if not for the remnants of seven pieces of fabric on the cold floor, the withered husks of fae women lying atop three of them.
Gloriana screams and Algar appears beside her. She points. “Look! Look what he has done to my children.”
Algar rests a hand on the queen’s shoulder in sympathy and solidarity. “Shall I take them home?”
“Yes.” She stands a moment more, taking in the scene, and then turns those fiery eyes on Algar. “Find out who spelled this palace to keep me out, to keep my people—even in death—trapped in. I want that person brought to me.”
Algar gives Gloriana a deep bow. “Yes, my queen.”
Storming out of the room, she trusts Algar to care for her dead and strides down the hall, back to the fallen portrait. She waves a hand at the door, making it disappear, and then throws another ball of light into the dark, fetid room.
The boarded-up windows are suddenly open to the night air. She walks to the moldering bed and looks down on the monstrosity that is the prince.
Skeletal and scarred, he opens the one eye that remains and gazes at Gloriana, disbelieving. His head is dented in on one side and he’s missing both his arms and legs. Given the large bloodstain on his rotting tunic, I think it’s safe to assume his genitals were removed as well.
He slurs, “What are you doing here?”
She stares down at him with disgust. “Who are you to steal my people?” Her voice is almost a whisper, as though she’s trying hard to control her rage. “Who are you to take my children, hide them from me, beat and rape them, kill them, and still keep them from returning to their home with me? Why would you believe you have that right?”
He turns his head away from her, casting his one eye toward the large portrait of himself on the wall of his bedchamber. “They deserved pain and death. Look what they did to me. Your precious females banded together to hack me to pieces,” he sneers. “And you never found them because you weren’t meant to.”
It occurs to me that his broken and missing teeth are contributing to his garbled speech.
“No,” she says, “you misunderstand.” Although the queen never moves, his head twists back fiercely. “I rejoice in your current state. I am proud of my children. I only wish they’d separated your head from your neck. Now, I want to know who helped you hide my people from me.”
He scoffs. “Someone you can’t touch.” He lifts his chin in defiance. “He’ll rule while you die slowly in a hidden prison.”
Gloriana glances around the room. “Like this one?” She shakes her head. “I’ll never understand why those like you and the king cannot comprehend that there is no Faerie without me.” She leans in, her eyes swirling with an angry black. “I AM FAERIE!”
She slams her hand down on the prince’s chest. What’s left of him shrivels up, leaving a twisted branch in his place. “You shall not return home, not even in death. You shall remain forever in this prison of your own making.”
She stalks out of the room and the memory goes black.
“Holy shit,” I mumbled, blinking my eyes open.
Clive was sitting beside me in one of the big, soft leather chairs in the plane, my hand in his. Vlad and Cadmael were at the two small tables on either side of the cabin. All three turned toward me.
“Are you all right?” Clive asked.
“Does she drop into visions often?” Vlad watched me closely.
“No. She doesn’t,” I said on an eye roll. I turned in my seat to Clive. “I asked the queen what happened with the prince, but we were pressed for time, so she gifted me with the memory and told me to run. I just watched the memory—lived it? Whatever—while you were all running here.”
I told them everything I could remember about what had happened. They sat silently, absorbing it.
“The queen gave you her memory?” Cadmael asked, his suspicion ripe.
