“What kind of business is it?” I ask. “My execution, perhaps?”
The glinting blackness explodes, rushing at me. I wince, but pain never comes. Only the tickling of a whisper in my ear.Do you wish for death? it asks, before curling back around and forming the silhouette again.
“Was banishment not punishment enough?” The creature’s voice echoes through the streets. “You are a hero in our court, my lady.”
I groan. “Don’t call me that. I am no hero, nor a lady.”
“Many in our world would disagree, did you not know that? The brave countess, willing to do anything to increase her court’s status. You are quite respectable in many circles. Beloved in some.”
I roll my eyes. “I murdered a fae prince and was banished from my own world. If that’s what you find respectable—then you’re all insane.”
“A fae prince that just so happened to be next in line to rule over High Court? A right unfairly stripped from the Shadow Court over a hundred years ago? Yes, we know exactly what you did, my lady.”
I grit my teeth, knowing I could never admit to being proud of my crime. Even though, in the darkest of moments—I am. That’s what scares me most. That’s what most assures me that I will become a wraith when I die.
“And if I told you my actions were not even remotely motived by anything political? I just killed a boy. That’s it. I am deserving of my punishment.”
“To be frank, my dear, your motives are meaningless. Your action spurred a worthy rebellion. You should be proud of that. You should own it.”
“I should be proud of the worst thing I’ve ever done, just because you all took it and used it for your own gains?”
“Indeed.”
I wince. The thought of being praised for something I still hate myself for is soul-crushing. “Why are you here?” I ask the wraith, my patience running thin. If he’s not here to kill me—a legitimate shock, to be honest—what the hell is he here for?
“I have been sent with a message, from your queen.”
I purse my lips. “The Queen of the Whisperwood? Sent me a message?
“Yeeeesss,” the black form hisses.
Well, this conversation has not been what I’d expected.
“For many years there’s been a campaign to reinstate your status. The Shadow Court argues that your actions were that of a soldier’s in war and you should not be punished so harshly.”
I blink and take a step back. That’s ludicrous.
“Of course, the High Court would have nothing to do with it, but your name is quite popular, and the movement has gained momentum. So much so that the council has... agreed to a compromise.”
I purse my lips. “What does that mean?”
“You see, our world is in peril. A plague we’ve dubbed thescourgeis spreading through the land. Magic is failing in the places the scourge touches. Children are dying at an alarming rate. And we are in need of a champion to save the world of wild magic from utter destruction.”
“You think I can be your champion? Of what? I’m no healer.”
“No, there is only one cure for this disease, and we know where to find it. That is where you would come in.”
I hold out my hand, palm up, waiting for the creature to go on.
“It is inside the Schorchedlands.”
I swallow. The Schorchedlands are essentially fae hell. With unbearable cold, dead plants and animals that live in a frozen state of decay, where the souls of evil fae are entombed in wraith form—though they’re occasionally set free by a bargain. “Only wraiths can go there,” I say, “And why would a cure be there?”
“Notonlywraiths.Mostlywraiths.”
Of course. If they were going to lift my banishment, this would be what they’d ask of me. Nothing less awful could be considered.
“The illness began with a curse. A curse given by a sorcerer banished into the Schorchedlands. And now we need to get his spell book in order to reverse it.”
