Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 123190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 616(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 616(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
“Jas, look at me. You need to take off your ring.”
The ring. That’s why I feel this way. The ring is meant for the darkness.
But I’m shaking too hard, and Kendrick has to slide it from my finger.
We take two steps toward our friends before my head spins. The world tilts on its side, and I collapse.
“She must’ve snuck away while we were sleeping.”
“We need to know where she went. If she told someone about our plans—”
“We can trust her.”
“I want to believe that as much as you do, but the fact is she used the ring to sneak away in the middle of the night. We need to know why.”
Their voices seem distant, but I know they’re not far. I’m somewhere safe. Soft. Warm. A bed.
“Answers can wait. She’s halfway to death.”
“And is that the cost of the ring’s magic?”
“Do you think she was telling the truth? About it giving her the kiss of death?”
“I’ll go to the archives today and find what I can.”
They need to know I blacked out. I want to tell them I don’t remember sneaking away. I should call for my goblin. Gommid could tell us where I was. But I can’t find the strength to open my eyes.
“I’m sure she had a reason for leaving and for going wherever she went. We’ll get our answers soon enough.”
“You’re assuming she wakes up.”
“She’s going to wake up.”
The last comes from Kendrick, and even though the rest of their conversation has my mind spinning and clawing to avoid sleep, those words soothe me. She’s going to wake up.
Chapter Nineteen
Felicity
“THERE IT IS.” MORDEUS’S SILVER eyes drag over her, assessing and bright. Satisfied. “There’s the power I was promised. It blazes bright inside you.”
She wants to spit at him but, again, has no control over her body. These visits are worse than the cell. Worse than the torture by the guards and the bugs crawling over her food. This paralysis is everything her sister was talking about when she warned her against the fae. And I didn’t listen.
The cry that rips from her lips is the only way she knows she has control of her vocal cords again. She tries to wiggle her fingers, to squirm from her chair, but nothing happens. Speaking is all she can do.
Tears stream down her cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You have a gift. I see it behind your fear.” He cocks his head to the side. “Why did the gods see fit to grant such magic to a human girl?”
He’s mad. A mad faerie king raving nonsense at a human girl he stole in order to play some mad faerie game. She has no power, and if she did, she would never use it on his behalf. Never.
“I have no power.” She’s sobbing and hates him for it. Hates herself for it. She’s so sick of being powerless, so sick of being weak and letting these horrible creatures know it.
Then the darkness grabs ahold of her—biting, clawing, pulling her in all directions, threatening to tear her apart. Her sobs turn to keening cries for help. She cries for her sister, who hasn’t come, for her mother, who left them long ago, for the gods, who left them to be preyed on by the fae.
The pain is there. It is one with the darkness. And then, in a flash of flames, it’s gone. The room reappears—the table before them with its flickering candles.
She flies to her feet and falls to the floor just as quickly, unprepared to have control of her limbs again. The pain is gone, but she can feel its echo in her bones. She curls into herself because moving is too terrifying.
Mordeus kneels in front of her. “The pain makes you stronger, little human. Endure.”
His face is blurry through her tears. Nothing he’s saying makes sense. The only thing she understands is her hatred. It boils and rages, a tempest inside.
If she ever has any power, she will use it to end him.
“Do you believe in destiny?” Maybe it’s a strange question to ask a goblin, but I trust Nigel more than I trust almost anyone, and I know that with the collective knowledge of the goblins, he understands this world better than I ever will.
“There are certain inevitabilities,” he says. He’s playing solitaire on the floor in front of my bed while I sit curled up in a chair by the window.
It’s a cold afternoon in the Wild Fae territory, winter threatening to blow in early, and though the castle remains warm, I always feel cold weather in my bones.
“Inevitabilities?” I ask. “Sounds like another word for destiny.”
“You can call them destiny if you like.” He flips over a card and cackles in triumph. He loves solitaire. I gifted him with his own deck of cards years ago, and he asked me to keep them for him—said he doesn’t like to play alone. He didn’t see the irony.