But that could not be right. Vreis had done too much to abandon her now. Something else must have happened. Had he stopped at a stall? Perhaps she’d raced too fast through the crowd, and he’d lost sight of her.
Frowning, Eislyn retraced her steps through the market, heart squeezing tight. With every step, the worry cinched tighter.
“Hello there, princess. How strange it is to find you here in these parts. We thought you were an air fae now.” The voice that rang behind her was rough and cruel and terrifyingly deep. Eislyn swallowed hard and turned.
The silver-haired male was a tall warrior, clad in the light armor of the Ice Court. He wore a glistening hoarfrost cloak around broad, muscular shoulders. His grin was wicked. His dagger was sharp. Several more fae fanned out behind him. Murder glinted in eyes that should have been safe, familiar, and kind.
“What do you want?” she whispered, stumbling back.
“I think you know what we want,” he growled.
She flew through the market, her feet pounding hard on the dirt-packed street, her hair flying behind her like a dozen silver wings. The males followed close behind. No matter how fast she ran, she could hear them on her heels, their breath ragged, their own feet heavy and loud on the dirt.
“Better give it up and stop now, princess,” one of them shouted. “You can’t outrun us all.”
Eislyn let out a cry of terror, but she did not dare slow her feet. They were right. There were too many of them. She would never outrun them all. Her only hope was to run long enough to catch Vreis’s attention, wherever he’d gone. He would help her. He would know what to do.
She raced back through the stalls, searching wildly for any sign of Vreis. There was none. Every head she saw was silver or white, eyes lit like crystal shards. Fear formed a lump in her throat. They’d seen her with Vreis. They knew he was there, protecting her. Had they taken him out first?
Had they killed him?
Tears sprung into her eyes. She wanted to continue her search for Vreis, but the warriors were hot on her trail. Several jumped into the path ahead. With a frustrated cry, Eislyn whirled on her feet and charged through the canopy that surrounded the market.
There was only one place she could go. She ducked beneath the stone arch that led away from the castle. She raced into the forest, praying to the Dagda that the snow-laden trees would hide her escape. Her silver hair and pale clothes melted in with the snow.
Heart aching, she ran.
36
Mariel
Mariel peered at the lords. It was another day at court after a long line of them. Each one was becoming more uneventful than the last. She had hoped for her plot to move faster than it had, for the realm to finally come together, for the royals to toss Aengus straight into the Bay of Wind.
But court was never that simple.
And now it seemed they had something of a coup on their hands.
She stepped away from Aengus’s side and strode down the dais, stopping to stand beside Lady Regan, who had not mentioned Dalais once since that night at the feast. They’d spoken many times, of course, but it had always been minced words and faked niceties.
Mariel leaned in and murmured into Lady Regan’s curving ear. “My eyesight must be failing me because Lord Munch and Lord Arlon have a strange look about them this day. In fact, they appear to be entirely different males.”
Indeed, it was the oddest thing. Two of Aengus’s most loyal lords had arrived just as they did every day. They wore their standard garb. Silken tunics dyed gold and trousers cinched with leather belts. Their hair swooped just to the side, revealing their pointed ears. Same as always.
The only thing was, their faces were wrong.
Lady Regan stared straight ahead. “Oh dear. Could your memory be failing you?”
“Oh, is that what it is? Silly me.”
So, Lady Regan wouldn’t admit it, which meant either she was involved or she knew who was. Then, it was likely linked to the other new arrivals, Lord Neil, Lord Malcom, and Lady Keely. It also meant that Lady Regan would not explain a word, not here, in court, where Aengus was nearby.
Still, her curiosity was piqued.
“No, I am quite certain they have changed something,” Mariel whispered insistently. “Perhaps a new haircut. It looks quite nice. I should suggest Aengus take a closer look so he can replicate it. He doesn’t seem to have noticed their new style at all.”
“I daresay he hasn’t,” Lady Regan said, her voice tightening. “The Grand Alderman is as blind as a bat.”
Mariel arched a brow and glanced back at Aengus. That would certainly explain why the Grand Alderman hadn’t noticed that his loyal lords had been swapped out right beneath his nose. He hadn’t recognized Mariel either when she’d first come to him as Princess Eislyn, even though he should have. Was his eyesight truly failing him? How had she not noticed it before? Her heart beat faster, a thrill slinking down her spine.
The loyal lords had been replaced, which meant her plot had worked.
“Tell me, Lady Regan. Do you believe in the curse of that bloody seat over there?”
Lady Regan slid her gaze toward the twisting, thorny throne. “I imagine you’re referring to the High King and what has happened to his family.”
“You imagine right.”
“Well then. Just between you and me.” Lady Regan shifted closer. “Sloane Selkirk murdered the Dalais king, and look where he ended up. He was so frail before he died that he was practically a pile of bones. Imogen Selkirk was executed by her own lover. Their children, save Thane, were murdered by the shadow fae. And our new High King? He’s gone. If you ask me, I’d say it won’t be long before he’s dead, too. So, when Sloane Selkirk killed our king, he cursed his whole damn family. But that’s between you and me.” Lady Regan dropped her voice so low that Mariel could scarcely hear her. “Your Majesty.”
Shivers stormed across Mariel’s arms. Her back stiffened, her shoulders straightened, and her chin lifted high. Against all odds her plan had worked. The courtly intrigue war was in full effect, and it would only be a matter of time before the entire house that Aengus built came crumbling down. And he would never truly know what had hit him.
Mariel gave a nod and turned back to the throne. A soft voice followed her, whispering devilish things. “Seeing as Aengus was Imogen’s lover, it’s likely Sloane Selkirk’s actions cursed him, too. And if they didn’t, I hear Imogen put her own curse on the little male. I have no doubt his end will come soon.”
Mariel smiled.
37
Lorcan
They set up camp halfway up the long and winding path through Cinder Ridge. The journey had grown wearisome for Tarrah, whose feet ached and fingers bled from where she’d fallen after an unexpected encounter with a vine. It had turned out to be a perilous journey. As they’d begun to trek up instead of forward, a harsh wind had rushed across the path, threatening to knock every one of them off the side of the mountain. Coiling black vines had appeared not long after. One had twisted around Tarrah’s ankle and yanked her off her feet.
It felt as though the very mountain itself was trying to prevent them from reaching the portal. And perhaps it was. Lorcan could feel the hum of a great, ancient power pulsing beneath his feet. Every now and then, he noticed Reyna look down with a frown. She felt it, too. But the others made no mention of it at all.