The horses gallop past her, through the gates the guards failed to heave closed against the force of Alastor’s magic, and I turn to watch over my shoulder as we leave the walls of Elmere behind. Dragged out into the unknown by the murderous fae, I realize I can’t count on being rescued.
* * *
We ride through the night, deep into the heart of Trova. The city’s stone roads give way to the countryside’s dirt tracks, cutting through grassy hills and clusters of trees that remind me of the land around Otscold. I have no way to count the passing hours, and I instead let the rhythm of the horse’s movement numb me for a while, stilling the frantic energy that’s been coursing through my body since I was ripped from sleep to witness a murder.
When the stolen horses finally start to tire, the prince gestures to Alastor, and they search for a place to stop. They settle on a place to camp which even I can see is ideal—sheltered by thick trees and boulders and far from the road. No one would find us here unless they knew where to look.
The prince dismounts and offers his hand to me, triggering the now-familiar lurch of fear and revulsion as I imagine his skin brushing against mine. Ignoring his hand, I slide awkwardly from the back of the horse on my own. He doesn’t seem angered by the snub; he just offers me a smirk that brightens his gray eyes.
While the fae collect wood for a fire, I put as much distance between myself and them as the Nightmare Prince will allow. When I back up too close toward the trees ringing the edge of our camp, he lets out a warning growl.
“No further, princess,” he says without even looking at me.
I shoot him a resentful glare while he’s not looking, then slide down to the ground to sit and observe. The fae have taken their glamour tokens off—perhaps something about them is uncomfortable to wear for long periods of time—and I notice the way they move swiftly and precisely, even in the dark. I’ve always been told their senses are sharper than a human’s, and it seems that rumor is true.
The prince finds a sharp rock among the boulders and pulls my knife from his belt, striking the two together until sparks form. The fire grows steadily until it illuminates his features, surprisingly fine for someone who looks more like he belongs in a boxing ring than a royal court. His hair is cut shorter than most of the men I know, so it falls in waves just below his ears. I wonder if it’s a practical choice, something about being a soldier before he’s a prince.
Now I’m away from the heat of the horse, the cold starts to get to me, and I reluctantly scootch closer to the fire as the fae settle down on the other side, talking in voices too low for me to make out the words above the crackle of the flames.
I stare into the dancing heat, watching the way it consumes the branches in glowing, golden caresses. In my mind I see again the edges of the bright, golden light I conjured up with Bede, and I feel an echo of the impossibly fierce heat that roiled through my veins. I could save myself so quickly if I could just call on that power now. Once again, I reach deep within myself, searching.
Come on. Come on.
I frown into the flames, hoping to use them to inspire my magic.
Firesta, help me now in my hour of need, and I’ll build twenty bloody temples in your honor.
But either the goddess can’t hear me or she chooses not to answer.
“What are you doing?”
It isn’t a question so much as a demand, barked at me from across the fire. The prince stands, towering over me, with his sword drawn.
“Are you trying to conjure?” he asks me, then looks at Alastor, incredulous. “Really? With us three feet away? Try it, princess, and see exactly what we fae can do when it comes to terrial magic.”
“I wouldn’t worry, Leon,” Alastor interjects. “She doesn’t have magic.”
“What?”
Both the prince and I stare at Alastor.
“She was born without magic. It’s part of whatever illness she has. One of the guards told me, though it was just rumor at that point.” He turns to me. “It’s true, isn’t it? Otherwise, you would’ve used it by now.”
His truth magic tugs at me, forcing me to answer. Luckily, he hasn’t been very specific in his wording. I try to test the limits of his power, aiming for a loophole.
“My body seems generally too weak to sustain magic, yes,” I say stiffly.
The magic releases me, accepting my answer as truthful. Itisthe truth—more than I’d like it to be. My fire-magic has deserted me, and I’m once again the weak, frail girl who can’t save herself no matter how hard she tries. The two men exchange looks, and I hate the way my utter powerlessness settles on me like a lead weight. It’s a stupid response, but my frustration makes me lash out.
“Well, I’m no threat to you,” I say bitterly. “So what are you going to do with me now? I’m surprised you didn’t kill me the moment you escaped the city. Or did you want to wait to find the perfect spot for another murder?”
The prince is beside me in a blink, the tip of his sword inches from my throat.
“You mean like your parents?” he asks.
My heart should thud with fear, but it’s hate I feel pouring out of my mouth, black and poisonous.
“Perhaps to you, they were just another set of lives to snuff out—you were merely following orders, like a dog obeying its master—but one day I will make you understand what you took from me.”
