“I came a very long way to get here,” Tarrah said quietly. “My mother died during a raid on our village when I was only ten, even though I was certain she would live forever. She had so much power, but she could not survive a cut to the throat. My father died a long while before that. I don’t even remember his face. He died during a raid, too, or at least that is what my mother said. She was what you expect from all shadow fae. A liar to her very core. I am not certain she ever spoke the truth. She lived before the exile, so she understood what it meant to be bound to your words. And she relished in the absence of it.”
Reyna nodded, wondering why exactly Tarrah was sharing these personal details with her. What did she hope to gain from it? Reyna knew it was not a simple conversation.
Tarrah continued. “After her death, that’s when I began to see the visions. There were only a few of us left in the village after the raid—I had a hiding spot in a cellar hidden beneath the floor with our stores of food. That year, the crops had yielded very little, as is often the case. You have seen the sun and our mists. Only a few plants thrive under the orange glow. Back before we were exiled, the shadow fae relied on trade with the other kingdoms. Now, we have to rely on ourselves. Raids are common…as is murder for goods.”
Reyna opened her mouth to speak, but Tarrah waved her hand dismissively. “No, do not offer me your pity. That isn’t what I want, and despite what I am certain you believe, that is not the reason I am telling you my story.”
Reyna dropped the silver flower to the ground. It was crushed beneath her boot as they continued ever forward. “Then, why are you sharing your past with me? I know this isn’t a simple conversation. There is a purpose to your words. To convince me to make vows to your king.”
“At the very heart of it, yes, but not in the way you imagine.” Tarrah rustled her fingers through the brambles, not even flinching when a thorn pricked her thumb. She licked away the blood that bloomed on her skin and smiled. “This isn’t some sort of trick or trap or strategy. I simply want to tell you what I know, to make you understand what is happening here. And then, I want you to consider what we’ve asked you. If you refuse, then…you are free to leave this kingdom.”
A strange dread slithered past Reyna’s heart like a snake, twisting and whorling inside of her, desperate to strike. “That’s a lie.”
Tarrah shook her head. “It isn’t. If you refuse, then I was wrong. You are not the warrior we seek.”
“And my sister?” Reyna asked, not even daring to allow herself even a sliver of hope. “What of Eislyn?”
“Come. We will get to Eislyn.” Tarrah continued to walk. For a moment, Reyna stayed rooted to the spot, staring after the warrior, watching the orange glint off her scaly armor. Reyna felt unmoored. Surely, after all these weeks held captive, they would not allow her and Eislyn to simply walk out the castle gates and return home to the ice and the snow and the soothing cold. It would be a long, difficult journey, with the Wood Court standing in their way…but they would finally get to go home.
No, she could not dare to hope.
Tarrah would not dangle freedom before her unless she was certain that Reyna would never take it.
Frowning, she followed after the shadow fae. When she reached her side, Tarrah continued on as if the conversation had not paused at all.
“The food stores beneath our cottage diminished quickly. I was only a child. I did not understand the concept of rationing, nor did I keep my food to myself as I should have. I shared them with the other survivors. Weeks passed, and then we were hungry again.” Tarrah sucked in a sharp breath. “When the starvation flickered like pain in my belly, that is when the visions began.
“At first, they were small and quiet and few. The faces in my mind were always blurred. I thought they were waking dreams at first. But then my mother’s old words came back to me. Words of visions, prophecies of the futures, images flashing before her until she drowned in them. I had once thought them lies, but now I was experiencing them myself. I thought I was going mad.”
For some reason, Reyna found herself believing the shadow fae. Tarrah’s voice sounded so raw, so earnest. Whether these visions were from the gods or not, Reyna was certain of one important truth: the visions were real to Tarrah.
“Soon, the visions grew and grew, and I was having wild thoughts of a king sitting on a throne. A king and a throne I had never before seen, not with my own two eyes. Only in my mind.” Tarrah smiled. “This time, I could see faces very clearly. It was our High King, Bolg Rothach, sitting on the shadow fae’s Seat of Power. Only we didn’t have the Seat of Power then. And our king was only a king. The images spurred me on, telling me to seek out Bolg Rothach and convince him to press forward against our enemies, to take back our own lands. So, I did. And then we did. The image I saw in my mind became real.”
Reyna’s heart thumped. It was eerie and unsettling. There was no doubt about that. It also wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough. “And now you’ve had visions of me fighting for your king.”
“No.” Tarrah stopped suddenly, twisting to face Reyna.
“No?” Reyna stared at the shadow fae, confusion rippling through her. “Then, why…but that is why your king wants me to fight for him, isn’t it?”
“My visions as of late have become like those I had before. Those with blurred faces.” Tarrah shook her head, furrowing her raven brows. “It makes it more difficult to understand what Unseelie is trying to tell me. I don’t understand what I have done for him to dim my power, but alas. In my visions, I see someone fighting for the king.”
Reyna’s heart thumped faster. Fear clutched her veins.
“That someone is without a doubt a princess of the Ice Court. She has long, flowing silver hair. She wears a circlet on her head with the Ice Court’s sigil carved from ice glass. She is strong and powerful, and a snow owl perches on her shoulder.” Tarrah’s eyes glittered. “It sounds like you, does it not? But I cannot see your face. And if it is not you because you refuse to fight for us, then it must be your sister, Eislyn.”
All the blood drained from Reyna’s face. At last, she had found Tarrah’s true purpose. Another threat against her sister’s life. Rage simmered in Reyna’s gut. “Eislyn does not have a familiar.”
“No, that is true. Not yet, at least.” That strange smile slithered across Tarrah’s lips again. “But perhaps when she becomes our warrior, she will acquire one then.”
Her rage boiled, poisonous and churning with hate. “If your visions are even real, you know as well as I do that you saw me and not my sister. Eislyn is a great many a thing, but she is no warrior. She wouldn’t last more than a moment on the battlefield. She’s never even held a sword.”
“Be that as it may, one of you will fight for us. I would rather it be you.”
With a roar, Reyna launched herself at Tarrah, fists curled. She fell on top of the shadow fae easily, knocking her onto the hard-packed ground. Tarrah’s eyes went wide, but she did not scream in fear, even when Reyna’s hand closed tight around her neck.
Reyna glared down at her, chest heaving as she dug her fingernails into Tarrah’s skin. Her entire body was alive with a pulsing hatred so deep that her body trembled from the force of it. “You have made a terrible mistake. Swear you will release my sister or I will kill you before the guards can reach us. You know I am not lying. I can’t. I mean every word I say, shadow fae. I will not let you harm my sister!”