With a sad smile, he gave her a nod. “Good night, Eislyn.”
Before he could convince her to turn back, she pushed into her chambers and shut the door behind her. Her heart still thumped hard. It had the entire way back from the canals. Thane had sparked something in her that she could not allow. Perhaps she had been wrong in coming to the Air Court.
As she pushed away from the door, she noticed a book sitting on her bed. Frowning, she moved toward it. That had not been there when she’d sneaked out with Thane. Had her lady’s maid dropped it by for some reason?
She lifted the book from the bed and flipped open the weathered cover. A pen had scratched a title in a looping, twisting scrawl.
The Histories and Lore of the Sea Court.
Heart thumping, she dropped the book on the bed and strode over to the window. Had someone seen her out in the city? Was this some kind of warning to stay away from Thane? She had paid no heed to any books on the Sea Court before this night. It had been the last thing to interest her. Her focus had been on the lore of the ice, the snow, the blue-tipped mountains in the furthest corners of the north. And the mysterious flames that had destroyed the Fire Court’s lands.
Tonight had been the first time she had heard even a speck of ancient lore connected to the sea fae.
And there was no doubt in Eislyn’s mind that this was no coincidence at all.
Someone had seen her in the tavern with Thane, and they had put this book here to tell her that hidden eyes were watching her every move.
Or worse, had a new assassin tracked her to the tavern and then placed this here to scare her? If so, it certainly had worked. Terror tripped through her veins like acid.
Eislyn had not been certain she would sleep after discovering the twisted feelings of her heart, but now she knew that she would meet dawn with open eyes.
25
Tarrah
The king, it seemed, was as eager to retake the Findius Stronghold as Tarrah was. Not a week after receiving news of the Ice and Air alliance, Tarrah stood beside him on a field of ash, staring at the distant horizon where a flickering glow indicated life. Mist swirled around them. They had been travelling for days but only made forward progress at night, far off the road. They did not wish to alert the Air Court army that they were on their way.
Up ahead lay the first camp that they would encounter on their mission to retake their lands from the air fae. The camp had once been a small village called Bilivik with a population of around two hundred. Before the Fall, it had been popular with travellers and merchants heading toward the capital. The infamous House of Cleas lay in the center of the small cluster of buildings, a large, stone-walled theatre where everything seen inside was nothing more than an illusion, a specialty of the shadow fae from a time when magic had been alive.
Now, it was nothing more than a hollow pit. Air fae stood watch, an outpost meant to alert Findius of an impending shadow fae attack.
And this was King Bolg’s first target.
“They likely have not spotted us yet,” Segonax, the commander, said. “They will have grown complacent with time, and they do not anticipate an attack. However, they will be using the roof of the House of Cleas as a tower. It is quite tall for a village building, providing an excellent view of the surrounding area. As we draw closer, we will no longer remain hidden in the mists.”
“So, we charge then,” King Bolg said in a grave voice. “Provide them as little time as possible to scramble for their weapons.”
Tarrah glanced to her side. Teutas stood directly on her left, his longsword heavy in his hands. Warriors stretched far beyond him. The entire shadow fae army had gathered for this fight. They were numbered in the thousands. Only a few hundred would be inside the camp ahead. It would be a terrible slaughter.
But this was what Unseelie wanted from them. They could not show mercy toward the air fae, not when they had been shown no mercy in return. The Air Court had stolen their castle from them. They had exiled the shadow fae from the continent, cutting them off from the rest of their world.
They deserved to die.
“On Segonax’s order,” the king said, his voice drifting to the warriors in the distance.
Tarrah shifted in her black leather armor and withdrew her bow from her back with sweat-slick hands. Her heart pounded; her ears rang with dread. Even though she knew the truth—that they would be victorious this night—fear tumbled through her veins. Blood would paint her hands, and death would cling to her body like shadows.
Segonax lifted his sword. “Charge!”
26
Reyna
Exactly four moons passed before Lorcan knocked on Reyna’s door for their adventure. She yanked it open, excitement tripping through her veins. Life at court had returned to its exceedingly dull routine, and she couldn’t wait to be back to doing something other than wandering around corridors in a heavy gown.
Lorcan’s eyes widened when he got a look at her. She had brought out the garb she’d worn during their travel days. Hoarfrost trousers and leather boots, complete with a tunic in a shade of grey that would blend in with most shadows. Eislyn had stopped by earlier to weave her long, silver hair into a braid that hung down the middle of her back.
“Princess,” he murmured with a bemused smile. “Not another disguise. We need you to appear as yourself this night.”
