Thane was smart. He might be on his way to save her now, but he would soon realize that he was walking straight into a trap.
A trap that neither of them would escape alive.
54
Tarrah
Her chest heaved as she stared out at the fallen city. Black stone hid amongst the piles of corpses, and blood painted every wall. The city had fallen easily. Only a thousand air fae warriors had manned the once-impenetrable walls. All this time, the Shadow Court had believed the city to be protected by ten thousand strong.
They’d been wrong.
And now Findius was theirs.
King Bolg clapped her on the back. “Come. The throne is just inside. Let us go see the Seat of Power that will now be mine.”
Hope and determination filled Tarrah’s gut. This was what they had worked so hard for, what they had fought for, battle after battle after battle. It had taken them weeks to plow toward the border. In the end, all the blood and guts had been worth it.
For this. The Seat of Power.
She followed the king, Teutas, and Nollaig as they crept through the dark corridors of the castle. When they found the throne room, Tarrah could not help but gasp. It was larger than she had expected, the roof so high that she swore it ought to touch the bottom curve of the red sun. Everything was a gleaming black, the shadows reflecting off each other. Large pillars were dotted throughout the room, holding the lofted ceiling off the slick floor.
At the very end of the room sat the throne. It looked like the very shadows themselves.
“Made of black stone,” Nollaig muttered beneath her breath as they all walked toward it with silent footsteps. “There is beauty in the darkness.”
Tarrah agreed. She had never seen anything like it. It was so void of any color at all that it looked as though it could swallow one whole. Only a true king could sit on that seat and never wither and die.
King Bolg puffed out his armored chest and turned to Tarrah. “You have given this to us. This city. This power. Have you had any more visions?”
She glanced at Teutas, whose eyes flickered with so much want and desire that she almost crumbled to her knees. He had yet to even kiss her.
Soon,she thought.
“I had a vision of a silver-haired female with a circlet on her head.” Tarrah’s eyes swam as she recalled the vision, two nights past. She had not brought it to her king’s attention as of yet. They had been so busy with the assault on Findius.
“A silver-haired female?” Nollaig cocked her head, her face still hidden beneath her dark hood. “An ice fae?”
“Aye,” Bolg grumbled. “That would be one of their princesses. Which one? There’s three of them now, I believe.”
Tarrah’s eyes blurred ever more. “I do not know a name. She had a snow owl by her side.”
“Reyna,” Nollaig said sharply. “She’s the only young ice fae with a familiar.”
It did not surprise Tarrah to know that Nollaig kept track of those with familiars. She was obsessed with her own.
“All right.” Bolg frowned. “Is that it? You just saw her face?”
Her eyes suddenly cleared, the gleaming black throne sharpening before her. “She’s important. I don’t know why or when or how. But the outcome of this war depends on something she must do. Wehaveto bring her here.”
55
Reyna
Reyna hung back, crouching behind a large rock. In the distance, Feurach Fortress rose up like boxy slabs of stone, punching the dark bellies of the low clouds rolling across the nighttime sky. Only a few hours earlier, Wingallock had soared ahead to spot the two warriors taking Eislyn through the open castle gates.
By the time she had caught up, the gates had been shut tight.
She frowned as she took in the castle. A single banner flapped along the wall, bearing the sigil of the Air Court: the glittering golden crown. Unlike the sigils of the other courts, the air fae had never concerned themselves with the elemental powers that they bore. The ice fae and their frozen wings, the shadow fae and their twisting, interwoven antlers, or the fire fae with their phoenix flaming beneath an orange sun.
