Fear punched her in the heart. Unseelie was everything she hated and feared, more so than most. She knew he wanted to use her, to twist her mind and drive her to the edge of madness so that she might destroy this world. And he was here now, transforming the wood fae into nightmare shells of their own selves.
She swallowed hard as she huddled in the dense trees.
Unseelie’s magic curled through the camp, his shadows whorling like wraiths. Every sip of blood drove these fae further and further from who they’d once been. Their minds were being twisted; their souls crushed.
As the night deepened, Reyna inched closer to the king’s tent. He was nowhere to be seen beside the bonfire. Only a few dozen warriors danced around the flames, prancing in circles with their eyes rolled back into their heads. She slunk into the shadows, and then backtracked, approaching the tent from the rear. Here, the darkness was deeper. But here, there were also guards. Three of them stood just outside the tent’s entrance, shoulders back, eyes hooked firmly on the distant trees. They weren’t feasting, and they weren’t dancing. Their eyes were bright and alert.
She might be able to take down three of them…
A sudden rush of wings snapped her attention away from the tent. Heart in her throat, she glanced up, her hand instinctively reaching for the missing half of her soul, for her familiar. But her heart quickly plummeted back into her stomach. The raven bird with its midnight wings and sharp, orange beak was not her familiar.
Sighing, she dropped her hand and watched as the bird rushed into the tent. Reyna inched just close enough for her to hear the words from within. The guards still stood stoically outside the tent, so she could only move so close without risking being spotted.
“Ah, a letter at last,” the High King announced. “Who is it from?”
“It seems it’s from Findius, Your Highness,” another voice replied.
Reyna frowned. A letter from Findius? From…Lorcan? But why would he ever send Ulaid Molt a letter?
“Well, would you look at that…” Molt murmured. He spoke a few more words, but she couldn’t hear them. A distant clamor drowned them out. Steel clashed against steel. Shouts erupted from beyond the bonfire.
“What’s that?” one of the wood fae guards barked, twisting toward the sound. He grabbed his bow and notched an arrow so fast that Reyna had to wonder if he actuallyhadbeen feasting on the blood, too. Could Unseelie grant that kind of speed through blood?
Footsteps thundered in the distance. Screams punched through the air.
The bow-wielder shouted at the two others beside him. “Go see what’s happening.”
The two guards nodded and vanished into the darkness, charging toward the fight that had erupted in the camp. There was only one warrior left to guard the High King, a tank of a male with buzzed hair and violet eyes. He glanced uneasily around him. Inside the tent, the king still continued his conversation with whoever else was with him. Their voices drifted out into the night, but they were garbled by the clashing of steel.
“…interesting that he…should move for the gates…” The wood king’s voice sounded relaxed, calm. And eager.
Must be nice to think you’re safe, Reyna thought with a scowl.
One of the guards suddenly rushed around the corner. Blood painted his sword, and his lungs heaved. “It’s the air fae. They’re attacking!”
The violet-eyed guard frowned. “Attacking what? The wall?”
“No, not the wall” the other wood fae said. “Us.”
“Fuck.” The violet-eyed guard glanced at the tent entrance, his face blanching white. “I’ll need to inform the High King. Stay out here and don’t let anyone come near. Not even one of our own.”
The second guard nodded, eyes wide. He planted his feet on the ground, raised his sword, and glared out into the night as if evil spectres might appear at any moment.
He looks scared, Reyna thought.The battle must be going well for the air fae then.
No thanks to you, the Ruin whispered into her ear. You’re the scourge of the earth, and—
Reyna ground her teeth and blocked out the Ruin’s stupid voice. Eventually, she would have to face it, she knew. It would not stay quiet inside of her forever. It would scratch its way into her head and stay there until it ripped her apart from the inside out. But right now, she could not deal with it. She had to find a way inside that tent.
17
Eislyn
Her quarters were nicer than she wanted to admit. Everything was draped in flowing ebony silk. Splashes of gold and crimson had been cast throughout her rooms, vibrant and intense. Thankfully, the Emperor had not made her join him in his bedchambers after their wedding. She’d scarcely seen him since.
His absence had eased some of her hopeless horror, along with the strange presence of the barn owl, who had taken up residence in her quarters as well. If she was not to be used like a naked puppet on a string, then she could learn to live in this place, biding her time until she could escape. Hopefully, today would be that day.
After breaking her fast, she waited until the druid’s footsteps faded down the corridor. She’d been tracking his movements for days. She knew where he went and at what time. She knew when the corridors would be empty while the Emperor met with his advisors. One day, she’d asked the druid for a tour through the castle.
