With a deep breath, she dropped through the window of the meeting hall and landed heavily outside of the door that led into the tower. Wingallock followed her inside, hooting softly. Shadows pulsed along her skin, and the tangy scent of iron filled her head. Wrinkling her nose, she padded across the room and listened for any noise on the other side of the door.
All was silent and still.
Holding her breath tight in her throat, she gently pushed the door. It swung wide on its hinges with a deliberate creak. She stilled, waiting. Terror spiked her gut. Moments ticked by without any sign of danger, but she scarcely dared to move an inch.
Finally, she tiptoed out of the meeting hall and stared at the throne. It was ugly in the dark. The vines were twisted, mottled things that stank of rot. Thorns shot up from the floor, and their spikes were stained with blood. Death seemed to swallow the throne, devouring it. The flowers were gone. The grass had grown parched.
She stared at the throne. It was almost as though the curse was bleeding out of the heart of it and spreading across the land. Not only would the fae vanish into madness, the curse would claim every living thing on this continent.
Newfound determination charged her forward. Dodging the vines and the thorns, she strode up to the throne and glared at it. She’d taken on far worse enemies than this. It was just a bloody seat built into a bloody tree. It couldn’t even stab something.
A knot of steel formed in her gut as she placed her hands on the wood. It pulsed beneath her, angered by her touch. She was not its owner, and it didn’t want her there.
“Too bad,” she hissed at it. “Right, Wingallock?”
Her owl familiar settled on her shoulder and gave her a tap on the cheek, urging her onward.
Closing her eyes, she called upon the power inside of her. She murmured the words Rhain had made her repeat a million times during their return journey to Murias. Fomorian words. Ancient words. They spoke of curses and epic battles of destruction. She poured all of it on top of the throne, focusing on the curse that had already been cast there, forcing the destruction upon the thing she hated most.
The curse tearing her beloved part.
“Cha toir thu air falbh bhuam e. Thòisich rud mallaichte. Gum bi thu air do sgrios.” Magic tore through her, rushing through her palms and skittering up the side of the throne. The force launched her back and shot her halfway across the floor. Her wings flared wide, catching before she slammed into the wall. Wingallock stayed locked on her shoulder, refusing to abandon her, even now.
She landed in a crouch, heaving. A smile curved her lips. “It worked.”
40
Reyna
When Reyna reached the others, she found only chaos. Cursed fae had stormed the walls. Rhain, Nollaig, and Thane were bravely fighting them back, protecting the city alongside less than a hundred guards. Glencora was nowhere to be seen. With her heart in her throat, Reyna spun through the skies, searching for her sister, dread growing like a tumor with every moment that passed.
She wasn’t above the canopy, so she must be below it. Reyna dropped through the trees, landing behind a cluster of screaming cursed fae. They whirled toward her, hissing.
“I’m really not in the mood for this,” she muttered. “Have any of you seen another ice fae who looks a lot like me? She has wings, too. It’d be kind of hard to miss her.”
The nearest cursed fae spit on her boots. Reyna frowned at the saliva that dripped down the leather.
“I’m going to take that as a no.”
The cursed fae screamed as he launched off the ground. Reyna tossed her dagger. It whistled through the air and struck bone. She ducked as another raced toward her. The fae’s teeth flashed, stained red from blood. Whipping her sword up before her, she let her body take over from her mind, spinning through the motions she’d practiced hundreds of time.
Her sword sliced through one, and then the next, until there were bodies littering the ground. With a heavy heart she wiped her blade and sheathed it before grabbing her dagger from the fallen fae’s neck. No matter that the cursed fae were attacking her. She didn’t want to kill them. They weren’t in control of their actions. The thirst for blood drove them mad.
It was the same with Lorcan, she knew. All this time, she’d hoped that he was in there, waiting for her to find a way to reverse what had been done to him.
Steel clashed in the distance. Whirling toward it, she stared through the trees at the battle raging outside the city walls. Guards had spilled out through the gates, and the enemies were locked in tense combat. The cursed fae were far outnumbered now. Even with the blood enhancing their senses, they would soon fall.
And hopefully none would make it over the walls.
She needed to find her sister while the others fought. Glencora had promised to warn her if the cursed fae attacked, but she’d never shown up at the tower. Reyna fisted her hands, worry rising up in her like a serpent in a storm.
With a deep breath, she pushed up from the ground and spread her arms wide. She called out to Wingallock, who soared beside her. “Find Glencora!”
She and her owl parted, though he would not go far. They’d made that mistake once. They wouldn’t make it again. She hurtled over the trees that backed up against the city wall, scanning the open ground for silver hair and wings.
But she only spotted cursed fae and guards, clashing together.
Pushing against the wind, she twisted toward the dense forest that stretched out as far as the eye could see. Had something attacked her? Could she have fallen and run? Reyna flared her wings and pushed out across the canopy, dropping down so that she could peer through the twisting branches.
