But it had been enough.
They were impossible to kill—immortal like fae, but even beyond our capabilities. There were a few ways to kill us: magic, cutting off our heads, and burning us alive. The gods, on the other hand, were indestructible, and their wickedness knew no bounds. When they’d first arrived in these lands thousands of years ago, they’d brought death, destruction, hunger, pain, and fear with them, along with the beasts that now roamed my mists.
And then they’d turned the humans of this world into nothing more than cattle to be brutally slaughtered whenever they needed their next meal.
“We’ll kill Oberon,” Alastair growled from my side. “It will put a stop to this, right?”
“It might.”
There was still too much I didn’t know about the prophecy. Mother had made me vow to kill whoever brought back the gods. She believed it would be impossible to stop them as long as that person remained alive, but she’d never explained more than that. For a time, I thought it was because she didn’t know. Now I wasn’t so certain.
Regardless, there was only one way forward. Oberon had to die. And I would gladly be the one to wield the sword that cut off his head.
* * *
Several hours later, we reached the sagging gates of Albyria. The air tasted of soot, and flecks of ash thickened the mists that had descended upon the crimson buildings. The city still burned. A smattering of small fires lit up the dark, flickering across the stone paths. There was little left for them to burn now, and yet they carried on, powered by the remnants of Oberon’s magic.
“This place smells like death,” Niamh said, wrinkling her nose at the stench.
She was right. A strange scent clogged the air beneath the haze of soot, a roiling, pungent odor unlike anything I’d ever smelled before, not even during all those months I’d spent at war with Oberon, picking my way through solemn battlefields and ruined cities. The feel of it seeped into my pores and filled my gut with an inescapable dread.
“Be on guard,” I said to the others when we slowly edged closer to the open gates. As we approached, three forms solidified in the mists. All decked in black fighting leathers, they tensed at the sound of our footsteps but relaxed when they saw my face.
“Your Majesty.” The front guard, a tall fae woman, lowered her sword and dipped her head in respect. “Apologies for the steel. We weren’t expecting you.”
“You were doing your duty.” I nodded to her and the two men who stood with her. “Oberon was spotted heading this way. Have you seen him?”
Alarm flickered across her dark features. “No, Your Majesty. We’ve been stationed here for the past several hours. No one has come or gone in that time. In fact…no one has come or gone since we got here. This place is cursed.”
“Knowing Oberon, he would have found another way inside. But keep an eye out, just in case.” I moved past the guards, thanking them for their steady service, and led my Mist Guard toward the broken castle that had once loomed on this hill, glittering in shades of gold and crimson. Now it was nothing more than a black smudge against a dark sky.
“The bastard has to be here somewhere,” Niamh said, falling into step beside me. “He’s notinvisible.”
“Sometimes it feels like he is.” I tried to calm my rising panic. I didn’t know what I’d expected. Oberon was not stupid. He wouldn’t have waltzed through the front gates with Tessa in his iron grip, but I’d still set all my hopes on finding him here. We’d sent Boudica scouting through the skies while we made the trek around the chasm and across the bridge. Oberon had not backtracked to the mountains, as far as we could tell.
He’d released the god on his way to Albyria. And then what?
What had he done to Tessa?
Rage gripped my heart, and my fingers buzzed from the temptation to loose my brutal power on whoever might stand in my way. Tessa was in danger. And I would tear this city apart, piece by piece, until I found her.
Niamh suddenly grabbed my arm. I lifted my eyes to scan the mists, half-expecting to find Oberon’s orange eyes glowing in the darkness while his hand wrapped tightly around Tessa’s throat. But all I saw were shadows as thick as storm clouds. Niamh leaned closer and hissed into my ear. “Do you see that?”
Alastair stopped beside us and opened his mouth to ask what she meant, but Niamh quickly pressed a finger to her lips. Delight danced in her eyes. Never a good sign.
Morgan, she mouthed at us.
My hand went to the hilt of the sword strapped to my back, dread curling through me. Silently, I scanned the courtyard. And then, just beside the entrance to the Tower of Crones, came a flash of silver. I ground my teeth together. Morgan was here, the fae who had tricked Tessa into believing I’d betrayed her.
The fae who had worked with Oberon to trap us in the mountains so he could steal Tessa away from me.
I stormed through the mists, my eyes narrowed on her unfamiliar form. Even though I had known her for centuries, I’d never seen more than her face and shoulders. She was tall and built strong—that was clear even beneath her steel-capped armor—just as most guards and warriors typically were, but there was something else in the way she stood. Some hidden strength—or hidden power. But Morgan was a common fae. She had no elite power running through her veins. And yet…
My boots crunched a pile of charred wood, and Morgan spun, her hand flying off the door handle at the base of the Tower of Crones. Her silver eyes flashed wide.
“Where is Oberon? Where is…the queen?” My steel whistled through the air as I pulled it from my scabbard, leveling it before me to prove my point. I didn’t know how long Morgan had been working against me or how much Oberon had made her lie. Deep down, I knew none of this was her fault. Oberon had tied her to his will centuries ago. But that did not mean I could trust her.
And if Oberon had done anything to harm Tessa, that didn’t mean I could forgive Morgan for her part in it.
