Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 132625 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132625 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
I don’t hear the rest of his warning because I’m dropping down into a vortex, the world around me disappearing.
There’s nothing but darkness all around me. I turn and flail in the water, trying to push myself back to the surface, but I’m stuck. There is no up or down. No surface, no bottom.
Calm, child. The words are spoken into my mind, the voice soothing and melodic.
What is this? I ask, flailing. Why is it so dark?
Because if you want to see your future, you first have to face your fears. You need to sit in the dark until you become it. You need to stop seeking nothing but sunlight when your gifts are born of the shadows.
I stop kicking and will my racing heart to slow. The darkness reminds me of his dungeons. I don’t bother explaining who he is. I have no doubt she knows.
Why? It could remind you of a night in your lover’s arms or of your sister’s court, of her power. The darkness could be a chance to shine your light. Why give it to him?
It’s not that easy.
It’s not that complicated either. Tell me why you’re here.
I’m looking for the witch I made a deal with. Everyone always speaks of the oracle as a female, and I always pictured a delicate fae female, sitting so serene, but she isn’t a person at all. She’s a presence. And yet there’s no doubt in my mind she is female. I traded my immortal life—every day after my eighteenth birthday—for a magical ring, and I need to get out of the deal to save my sister. Can you tell me where to find the witch?
The darkness seems to spin, and suddenly I’m in the throne room at the Midnight Palace and Erith, Patriarch of the Seven, is speaking with Mordeus, hands clasped as they make a deal.
But then it’s not Erith. It’s the witch. And I know. I know as surely as I know myself that Erith and the witch are one and the same.
Erith is an Echo. Like his daughter.
Which means I’m not looking for a witch at all. It was never some elderly woman from Elora. It wasn’t even a faerie glamoured to look human. It was Erith slipping into some unsuspecting human’s skin so I’d trust him.
If I want to get out of my deal, I need to find Erith.
Do you know what I can offer him? What does he want more than my life and my immortality? There’s nothing but empty silence for far too long. Please. I’m trying to save my sister and her court. If Mordeus takes over, I fear it will be the end of both.
When the words come, they are in my mind and somehow radiate inside me, like music. There’s nothing you have that Erith wants for himself. He is using you so Mordeus will get him what he desires—power, a crown, and a court of his own to rule.
I thought Mordeus planned to take my sister’s court. Will he share it with Erith?
Mordeus will share nothing, but once the shadow court is back in his control, he will reward Erith for his loyalty by using his legions to usurp the Wild Fae throne for the Patriarch of the Seven.
Misha’s court?
The court is vulnerable without a queen to balance the power. Erith and Mordeus will work together to exploit that weakness and Erith will finally have the power he has craved for so long.
I’m so busy trying to process this that I nearly miss her next words as she pours them into my mind.
Unless you offer to kill your sister and then find a way to give Erith the Unseelie throne, you have nothing to give that he wants more than what Mordeus has offered him.
My panic surges. Nothing to offer him. There’s no getting out of this deal.
No. I can’t think about that right now. I need to get back home. I need to warn Misha about what they have planned.
I flutter my legs to kick to the surface, but a vision floods my mind, and I freeze. The Midnight Palace is on fire. Flames lick at the starless night sky, flames so tall and so hot they’re unaffected by the pouring rain. The gates are down and bodies litter the lawn. Hundreds of soldiers in olive-green uniforms file into every door, through every window with torches, swords at the ready, the symbol of their allegiance to Mordeus tattooed on their necks.
My sister . . . my sister is strung up on the wall, her lifeless eyes looking into the distance as her palace burns behind her.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Jasalyn
No. My lungs burn like I’m running out of air, and for the first time since I sank to these dark depths, I’m conscious of the water surrounding me. I need to breathe, but I can’t go yet. How do we stop it? When does this happen?