by Jayne Faith
My legs must have given out because Jasper’s hands were under my arms and my back rested against his chest. The walls shook again, and there was a boom like a boulder blasting apart.
With a movement that was more reflex than anything, my right arm shot up. A second later, the grip of my broadsword slammed into it.
This particular spellblade magic worked great for busting down walls, but it left me so weak I couldn’t even swing the sword. Strong magic always had a steep price. If not for Jasper being there, the blood magic wouldn’t have done me much good.
I was being swept up off my feet and into Jasper’s arms. He was running. We both coughed as we inhaled the dust of Mort’s destruction. My vision began to clear, but I could barely keep my eyelids open to make use of sight. I was too weak to do much of anything except hold onto Mort and try not to fall from Jasper’s grasp.
Jasper’s short sword. Would he go for it? It wasn’t as valuable as Mort, but still. It sucked to lose one’s prized weapon, even if it could be replaced. I didn’t have the strength to ask him about it.
I knew he was carrying me through the giant holes that Mort had created. That was our only way out. There must have been enough confusion to mask our escape because it seemed we were moving unchallenged. Or perhaps Mort had killed the guards who’d been stationed in the hallway, and any new ones arriving hadn’t figured out what was going on.
I had no idea how Jasper figured out how to get outside, but at some point I felt the soft, cool touch of the sea breeze on my face. My left arm, the sliced one, ached. My head pounded. I was so tired. I just wanted to let go and sleep, but I fought for consciousness. It would make things harder on Jasper if he had to carry a limp body. I focused on his breaths. He was breathing hard, and I could feel the pounding of his heart against my arm that was pinned against his chest.
I floated on the edge of consciousness, barely dipping down and then back. Once, I opened my eyes to find a giant black-feathered bird so close I saw my reflection in its beady eye. I was jostled, settled atop the bird’s back on my stomach, riding it like a drunken cowboy on his way home from the saloon.
“Your sword is on your back,” Jasper said in my ear. “Hold on tight.”
Then feathers whipped my face, and powerful muscles pumped wings that took me aloft.
I managed a glance back and saw that Jasper had somehow gotten us to a large, open balcony that faced the sea. Trident men were running at him. Jasper was weaponless.
I saw him run to the balcony and hurl off the edge a split second before the Great Raven and I disappeared into the void of the netherwhere.
Chapter 20
MY HEART TRIED to jump in panic, but in the void there was no heartbeat. There was no body to feel. Still, the sense of alarm hung on me. And there was something else. This wasn’t my netherwhere. I hadn’t drawn the sigils or said the words. The Great Raven had taken me through. I didn’t even know it was possible for a raven to take a person into their doorways.
We popped back into the world, and freezing wind laced with icy particles hit me like a slap. Inhaling sharply, I raised my head and saw nothing but white mountain peaks. Another blast of wind seemed to cut clear to my bones.
I didn’t have a clue where the bird had brought me. We had to be still in Faerie, but I’d never seen a place on this side of the hedge where it was full-on winter. For generations, Oberon had kept the upper hand of power in Faerie, which had held the summer season. I’d never seen so much as an autumn-bare tree in Faerie in my lifetime, let alone a full snow storm.
Where in the name of the gods were we?
The raven seemed unconcerned, stepping carefully through the ice and shaking snow from its eyes. Then without warning it hopped a few times and took flight.
We blinked back into the nothingness of the netherwhere.
When we emerged, I began shivering. Getting hosed down, the shock of blood loss, and spending a couple of minutes in a blizzard had completely sapped the heat from my body. I rolled off the raven and fell with a grunt onto soft grass. The sun was low, but the air was warm. I curled into a ball and tried to conserve my body heat.
Instead of taking off, the raven came close and extended one wing, forming a sort of tent over me. It settled next to me. We stayed like that, with the warmth of the bird keeping my body temperature from dropping too low, while I drifted in and out of consciousness.
Each time my mind surfaced to coherence, I thought to stand and try to figure out where we were, but I was too weak.
Eventually, someone was saying my name. There was a hand on my arm. I cracked my eyelids open to find a pair of concerned, golden eyes peering into my face.
I pushed up to one elbow.
“It was winter,” I said, my voice a hoarse croak.
Jasper’s concern deepened into a frown. “Petra? It’s me. Is anything broken?”
“The Great Raven took me to winter,” I said. Echoes of the confusion and dread I’d felt on the snowy mountain top pinged through me. “It was so cold.”
“You were in shock,” Jasper said gently. “You were probably hallucinating.”
I shook my head vehemently. Bad idea. Nausea swirled through me.
“No.” I sat up. I needed him to believe me. “It wasn’t a dream. We were standing in the middle of a blizzard, and there were snow-covered peaks as far as the eye could see.”
He reached for my arm—the one without the bloody bandage—and carefully helped me up.
“Maybe we could talk about that later,” he said in an irritatingly soothing voice.
Frustration brought a small jolt of adrenaline. I clutched his forearm and clawed him closer until we were practically nose-to-nose.
“Jasper, listen to me. It wasn’t a hallucination. It wasn’t a dream. Full-on fricking winter has come to some part of Faerie. Do you understand what that means?”
He blinked and looked back and forth between my eyes. For a few seconds, he didn’t respond. “Winter in Faerie would mean the Unseelie are gaining strength. It would mean the swing of power from the Summer Court to the Winter Court, from Oberon to Finvarra, has begun.”
I let out a small breath of relief. At least he was listening to me.
“Yes,” I said. “Is there any way to find out where I was?”
He looked over at the two Great Ravens who stood a few feet off. One of them was pecking at the ground. The other had its head turned nearly backward so it could preen at its feathers.
“I’ll try.” He turned back to me. “But first we need to get you home.”
“Where the hell are we, anyway?” I asked, finally looking around.
We stood on a hilltop, one of many gently rolling hills. Streams wound through the ravines. The sun had sunk halfway below the horizon line.
“Spriggan land,” he said. “I figured this would be an isolated but safe place to come.”
My gaze sharpened on him as I remembered what I’d last seen before leaving the Undine castle. “How did you get away? I saw you jump off the balcony. It just about gave me a heart attack.”
I pulled back and looked him up and down. He was dirty and bruised, his clothes stiff looking from our dunk in the pit and then getting sprayed down. But he didn’t appear to be seriously injured.
A small smile quirked his lips as he took in my concern. “A bird caught me.”
“Of course. Very useful creatures, those ravens,” I said. “They’ve saved my ass, what, three times now?”
“Aye, they are magnificent,” Jasper said. He lifted my bandaged arm. “You need to get this properly cleaned and stitched.”
“Nah, I’ll be fine. I’m a very fast healer,” I said.
My arm ached, and sharp pain pulsed in a line where I’d sliced through my skin. It hurt, but what I said was true. Fae with enough New Gargoyle blood tended to have exceptional healing capabilities. It would take a few days, but I wouldn’t need stitches.
“In any case, you need to rest,” he said.
He w
as right. I needed a strong salt soak and some time in the mineral sauna.
“Where’s the nearest doorway?”
“We’ll have to fly.”
He whistled softly, and the two Great Ravens hopped over to us. Jasper helped me up onto the back of one, and he climbed on the other. A couple of hops and hard flaps of wings, and we were airborne.
As soft feathers brushed my face and hands, and the evening air washed over me, it struck me that I didn’t even know where we were going. But I realized that was okay because so far Jasper had come through every time. It made no sense on the surface. He was Unseelie, a Duergar by oath, a subject of a kingdom on the brink of war with my own sworn Order, and the blood son of a truly evil man. But in spite of everything, he’d shown himself to be honorable. Good.
I turned my head to the left, where he rode his Raven about twenty feet away and slightly ahead of my bird.
Jasper and I had battled servitors, sought out the Fae witch, and discovered difficult truths about our own bloodlines. And then there was the night in Melusine’s barn. The kiss. It was no wonder I felt some sense of familiarity and bonding with him.
The sharp feelings of jealousy that had surfaced as I’d watched Queen Doineann turn her seductive charms onto Jasper arose in my mind. So I was attracted to him. I didn’t want someone else to have him. It didn’t matter, though. After speaking with Finvarra and glimpsing winter in Faerie, I understood that Jasper and I were irrelevant. We were all just tiny moving parts in what was coming. I couldn’t forget that.
We touched down alongside a dirt road that led into a township. There was a cemetery with very old, crooked headstones. Burial sites were rare in Faerie because we generally did not bury our dead. Cemeteries were mostly for changelings who wanted to be laid to rest in Faerie and were more comfortable with that custom due to their time in the Earthly realm.
A path cut through the center of the cemetery, and there was a decorative arched brass sculpture marking the entrance. A literal doorway for the graveyard, and also a Faerie portal.
Jasper and I climbed off our birds and met near the arch.
“What are we going to do about Finvarra?” I asked.
I was achingly exhausted, but the things the Unseelie High King had said weighed heavily on me. Even more disturbing was the sense that there wasn’t anything anyone could do to stop him. Not while Oberon was missing.
Jasper looked off into the distance and drew a slow deep breath before responding.
“Every kingdom and Order in Faerie needs to know that he’s behind the servitors,” he said. “Everyone must understand that he intends to break us down, supposedly at the behest of the Tuatha.”
“I agree,” I said. “But what actually needs to be done?”
He shook his head slowly. “We need Oberon. We need the Summer Court intact and strong. Oberon is an Old One. He’s more powerful than Finvarra.”
It was absolutely true, but it was odd to hear an Unseelie say such a thing. Oberon wasn’t Jasper’s High King. But as I was understanding more and more, Jasper had a sensibility that was able to ignore the partisanship within Faerie. He saw the larger picture. The real threats. He understood that it wasn’t about Seelie and Unseelie.
My chest tightened as it really hit home: Jasper understood that we could only survive if we were united. Perhaps this was something he’d inherited from his father. Finvarra was, after all, the Great Uniter. But Finvarra was violent and ruthless and clearly wanted the darker and more chaotic Unseelie forces to prevail. Jasper seemed to take a higher-minded approach.
“So, we must appeal to our leaders to find Oberon,” I said. “This has to be our uniting focus.”
Our gazes locked.
“Yes,” Jasper said. “Someone must bring Oberon back.”
I nodded and then turned to the arch. My arm trembled with fatigue as I traced the sigils that would open the doorway and take me home. The chill of the netherwhere swept away my pain, but all too soon I was standing in the Golden Gate park. My aches and bone-deep exhaustion descended heavily. I trudged toward my Vespa, started it up, and shivered all the way to the stone fortress.
With a weary sigh, I went inside, squared my shoulders, and aimed toward Marisol’s wing.
I made it about a quarter of the way there before Emmaline caught up with me. I’d been spotted along the way, and someone had reported my presence. This was one of the things that had changed since I’d been named champion of the Stone Order. I used to be able to move around the fortress almost unnoticed. Those days were long gone.
“Am I gonna catch hell?” I asked her, recalling how the fortress soldiers had run after me as I sped away with Jasper on my scooter.
“I would have said yes an hour ago,” she said. She eyed my bloody bandage and my dirty, stiff clothes with a frown. “But something’s changed. There’s been news. Are you all right?”
My stomach tightened. Shit. I had a bad feeling I knew where the news had come from.
“News involving Finvarra?” I asked, ignoring her question.
“That’s the rumor,” she said. “But there hasn’t been any announcement yet.”
We walked in silence for a few seconds.
I peered at her. “You here to make sure I go straight to Marisol?”
She nodded and then gave me a head-to-toe sweep. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look like someone tossed you in a clothes washer with a knife and then set the machine on high.” Her eyes flicked down to the bandage again. “And you’re really pale.”
“There were a few rough moments, but I’m alive,” I said drily. “That’s what matters in the end. If you make it home, everything else is fixable.”
“You need a salt soak after this.” She peered at me, her lavender eyes intent. “Did you actually speak to the Unseelie High King?”
“Yeah.” I shook my head slowly. “I thought King Periclase was an asshole. Finvarra takes the prize.”
Suddenly a looming figure rounded the corner in front of us and stopped directly in my path.
Oliver.
Emmaline slowed. Oliver gave her a curt nod, and she turned and headed back the way we’d come. He waited for me and then fell in step beside me.
“Back in one piece,” he said.
“Barely, but yes.”
“You had to invoke your spellblade?”
I passed a hand over my eyes. “Yeah. But I’m fine.”
“You shouldn’t have left the fortress the way you did,” he said.
“I had to. Jasper and I needed to speak to Finvarra without all the official interference.”
Oliver’s stride stuttered almost imperceptibly when I said the Unseelie High King’s name.
“Petra,” he said, his voice low with warning. “I know you can handle yourself, but there’s protocol.”
I sensed a lecture brewing like a storm on the horizon. I also knew I didn’t have the energy for it.
“It was rash,” I said before he could start to build up steam. “But I think it was worth it. Besides, he wouldn’t have granted an audience to a diplomatic party. He’s beyond all that. Come with me to Marisol, and I’ll tell you everything that happened.”
I slid a glance at him. His jaw was working.
“By the way, what’s the news that has everyone freaking out?” I asked. “Emmaline said it was serious enough to distract Marisol from what I, you know, did . . .” I waved a hand in the air, not wanting to put a name to my little stunt earlier.
“Finvarra is starting to make his move in the High Court,” Oliver said. His voice was soft, but his words fell like lead. “He intends to take Oberon’s place as High King.”
My heart plummeted. Had Jasper and I set Finvarra in motion? I knew it was coming but hated to think I might have had a hand in hastening it.
“Already?” I asked, sounding strangled.
He shook his head. “He’d begun before you had audience with him,” he said, obviously reading my concern. “But your visit seemed to have pr
ompted him to throw more energy behind his efforts.”
I flinched but told myself I had no reason to feel guilty or responsible. Finvarra was going to forge ahead with whatever he’d planned, regardless of anything I’d done. Still, it didn’t feel good to know I might have played a part in raising his ire.
Chapter 21
WE’D ARRIVED AT Marisol’s door. Oliver pushed it open for me.
When Marisol caught sight of me, she rose swiftly from her desk and blinked a couple of times. I couldn’t imagine how I looked. My clothes were stiff with salt water in some places, still slightly damp in others, and filthy all over from the dust of Mort exploding through the walls and carving up the sandy fortress of the Undine. I was limping and battered, probably deathly pale, and I had a blood-soaked makeshift bandage hanging off my arm. I couldn’t imagine how I smelled—the competing scents of sea water, raven, sweat, and blood probably made for an eye-watering combination.
I could tell she wanted to be angry about how I’d rushed off to speak to Finvarra without consulting her, but I must have looked particularly pathetic, because pity and alarm seemed to be duking it out with anger, judging by the way her mouth was twitching.
“Petra—” she started, but her words cut off when I swayed unsteadily.
My head started to get fuzzy again. Oliver got me to a chair, and I sat down heavily. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to get a grip on the dizziness.
“Blood loss,” I heard Oliver mutter to Marisol. “She had to use her spellblade to escape.”
I opened my eyes and drew a slow breath. “I’ll be okay.”
Marisol leaned against the edge of her desk, her arms crossed, while Oliver went to pour a glass of water from the pitcher on a little stand against the wall. He brought the glass to me. I had to hold it with both hands, I was shaking so badly. I took a few sips, handed the glass back to him, and cleared my throat.