We’re both right. We’re both wrong. And Ash is paying for it.
“Coffee,” I confirm, because it’s easier than saying any of the things that matter.
He moves to the far end of the bar. I stay by the fire.
The space between us used to be comfortable. Now it’s a demilitarized zone neither of us knows how to cross.
I push the kettle over the fire and turn back to Whispen, who’s now sitting on the bar top in child form, legs swinging.
I’m no longer fooled by the innocent appearance.
“Whispen has been holding out on us,” I tell the others. “Seems he can go to Ash but is on assignment. From The Morrigan.”
“Told you he was evil.” Orion’s voice is dreamy, half-asleep. Only partially invested in the conversation.
Kieran’s jaw tightens. “What else has he been keeping from us?”
“I suspect everything.” I stare at the wisp. “The question is whether we’re asking the right?—”
My chest ignites.
Not the Crown. The Seelie Court mark I’ve carried since birth, the one that brands me as hers to summon, hers to command, hers to break if she chooses.
“No.” I yank my shirt down. The mark is glowing gold, searing through my skin like a brand pressed fresh. “No, no, no?—”
“Amarantha.” Kieran’s voice goes cold. He’s in front of me before I register him moving.
Orion’s on his feet, wound forgotten. “Summons?”
“Summons.” The mark burns hotter. Hooks dig into my chest, dragging me toward somewhere I don’t want to go. My knees buckle. I catch myself on the bar, knuckles white, every muscle screaming against the pull.
“What do I do?”
My voice comes out cracked. Pathetic. The voice of an eleven-year-old boy watching his parents burn while the woman who ordered it brushes dust from his hair.
“Go.” Kieran grips my shoulder. “It’s the closest we’ve gotten since they shut us out.”
My stomach twists. Kieran was exiled. I left the Academy when my research dried up. Orion searched the wilds until the Cauldron was ripped from his chest.
This is the first time any of us have been summoned to court after the trials, after banishment. The first door that’s opened.
“What if?—”
“Go, you fool!” Orion bellows.
I stop resisting.
“There he goes!” Whispen giggles. “Luckily, it’s not the Seelie Court.”
I don’t have time to question what that means.
My body is sucked through time and space, compressed and stretched, reality folding around me like paper being crumpled. I’m spat out on cold stone floor, palms slamming down hard enough to sting.
Unseelie Court. The shadows. The cold. The wrongness of the magic here.
And standing above me?—
My body knows before my mind does. Every muscle locks. Every instinct screamsrun, hide, disappear, the same instincts I spent a century trying to unlearn.
