The room before me reminds me of Malak’s throne room when he would hold garish parties to show off his latest creations and where Blacksmiths would eat and drink to excess.
My stomach turns at the memory.
Those were not happy times for me.
The ceiling soars high above us, glowing yellow orbs situated all around it that cast light across walls decorated with what appear to be living vines and flowers.
Wooden tables and chairs fill the left half of the room, although there’s plenty of space around each of them, giving force to Elowynn’s statement that these are the Queen’s ‘chosen’ companions.
About thirty fae with hair, complexions, and eyes of all colors sit at the tables, drinking and chatting with each other. There’s an equal mix of men and women. They’re dressed in fine clothing, from silvery gowns to dark-as-night pants and tunics, and they wear overly-bright smiles.
Darkly, I wonder what they have to do to be ‘chosen.’
A wooden throne sits at the far right of the hall, in front of which is an open stretch of floor about twenty paces wide.
The throne has the appearance of a tree trunk that grew out of the stone at its base and into the shape of the seat, its back extending all the way up to the high ceiling.
Lush vines curl around it and roses drip from them, while a rug of petals has formed at the feet of the woman resting on the throne.
She is extraordinarily beautiful with pale skin dusted with gold and long, blonde hair that falls in waves across her chest. Even from this distance, her eyes remind me of the sun, a glistening yellow color, like that of the sunflowers I saw in illustrations.
But my focus quickly shifts to the two people sitting in chairs to her left.
My sister, Tamra, has hair that is long and silvery, an unmissable color in the soft, yellow light. She’s seated closest to the Queen and turned toward the monarch, her hands folded in her lap and her countenance calm.
Thaden sits in the chair to Tamra’s left. When standing, he’s as tall as the Vandawolf and just as broad in the chest. His hair is bronze—as bronze as the dragon scales that coat his right arm all the way from his neck to his fingertips and down his right side to his waist. Only the scales on his forearm and hand are currently visible since he’s otherwise wearing a long-sleeved tunic rolled up to his elbows.
The pull toward Thaden is as electric as the draw I feel toward the Vandawolf. Blacksmith magic was used to change both men’s forms and is constantly ignited within them, acting like a magnet when I’m in contact with my tools.
Which I now permanently am.
It’s only because of the Vandawolf’s waning life that the strength of the pull toward him has lessened.
Three toolboxes rest on the floor between the chairs Tamra and Thaden are sitting on. I recognize the boxes as the ones containing Tamra’s tools, Gallium’s tools, and the third one—the black one—houses my last, remaining medallion. It’s the one I left behind when I went to fight the monstrous wolf.
Elowynn and Gliss precede me and Gallium, hurrying across the open floor toward the throne, where they take a knee five paces from it.
The women carrying the stretcher follow closely behind them, quickly setting it down slightly behind Elowynn and Gliss, but in an open patch to their left so that it will be fully visible to the Queen.
They, too, take a knee.
I try to keep up, but my footsteps are stumbling and, once again, Gallium veers toward me, stopping himself from touching me at the last moment, his jaw clenching as his focus flies to my left hand.
I can feel his frustration like a palpable force as he stays clear of me.
“I’m fine,” I murmur, although I’m conscious of the smirks from the onlookers.
Let them think that I’m weak. All it will take is some new pain or anger and my weariness will disappear again.
Ahead of us, Tamra has half-risen out of her chair, craning to see around the women as they settle to their knees. As soon as she has a clear line of sight to me, she gives a cry, her focus flashing across my face and my tarnished hair to the blood now drying on the outside of my boot.
I’ve left bloody footprints in my wake.
Her bright, green eyes are wide. “Asha! You’re hurt!”
She starts to lurch toward me, but the Queen’s hand wraps around her arm, moving at a flash and jolting Tamra to a stop.
Tamra’s weight is on her front foot, her startled gaze turned to the Queen.
