“I’m not throwing you—”
“Yes, you are!” he thundered.
She flinched in reaction to his raised voice, but Malachi couldn’t find it in himself to be sorry. Didn’t she understand how deeply she had hurt him? He felt as if he were being torn limb from limb.
“Don’t fix your lips to tell me that this is anything other than what I just said,” he growled from between clenched teeth. “You’re tossing me aside without giving me a choice in the matter.”
“Please, Malachi,” she choked out on a sob.
“Please, what?” he challenged. “Make this easier for you, when you’ve ripped my heart from my chest? Very well, my lady. What might I do to make this easier for your royal eminence?”
Her chin quivered as she raised her gaze to meet his, and he knew he had hurt her. “Perhaps it would be best for you to return to Snowbank. You could continue to work in service to Mollac by helping to protect the people there.”
He inclined his head. “I will leave for Snowbank immediately.”
“There is no need,” she said, softening her voice. “You haven’t slept. You should rest first.”
“It is no longer my lady’s concern whether or not I sleep,” he snapped, avoiding her gaze. “I will depart for Snowbank the moment I am gone from this room. Is there any other way that I might serve my queen?”
Desdemona took a step toward him, but then faltered as if thinking better of it. Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides, as if she wrestled with a decision.
He held his breath and waited, hope blossoming in him even when he felt as if she had crushed him. Part of him wished she would take it all back and tell him she could not let him go. Because he loved her, he would forgive her without question. He would forgive her for just about anything.
“Perhaps ...” she paused, drew a deep breath, and let it out in a rush. “Perhaps you could help me to ... forget.”
The last of his hope vanished, and something he could not name seized his chest in a vicious hold. Not quite anger or sadness; perhaps some mixture of the two.
“Forget?” he scoffed. “Forget me?”
“Maybe it would be better—”
“If you had never known me at all?” he prodded, his voice growing harsher with every word. Would there be no end to the pain she would inflict upon him? “Am I to understand that you no longer want me, but are willing to use my abilities when it suits your purposes?”
“That’s not it,” she replied. “I would never—”
“Never what?” he interjected. “Use me and toss me aside? Isn’t that exactly what you’re doing?”
Desdemona sank down onto the nearest chair and folded her hands in her lap. Neglecting to meet his gaze, she sighed. “You should go. I do not think there is anything else I can say to make you understand why I must do this. I am so sorry if you’re angry with me. The last thing I wanted was to hurt you.”
But, you did, he wanted to say.
There were many other things he wanted to say to her. He wanted to beg her not to send him away—to haunt the hallway outside her door and remind her every day why they belonged together. Instead, he turned his back on her and strode toward the door.
One thing he had come to understand about Desdemona, was when she made up her mind about something, no force on earth could change it. It would seem she had quite firmly decided that he could not be a part of her life.
Pausing with one hand on the door, he glanced back at her over his shoulder. “The answer is no. I will not use my ability to help you forget me. If I must suffer through thinking of you every day and knowing I cannot have you, then you will suffer right along with me.”
Without waiting for her to respond, he threw the door open and fled the room. The sound of it slamming behind him reverberated through the corridor and startled the two guards standing watch. Ignoring them, Malachi retreated the way he had come, determined to gather the few possessions he had brought, and leave for Snowbank; the sooner the better.
Chapter Twelve
PHAEDRA SLOWLY FLOATED upward from Pixie-induced sleep, awakening to the clamor of running footsteps and low, murmuring voices. Interspersed with those sounds were those of sniffles and sobs—the cries of other girls.
Opening her eyes, she blinked several times to clear her vision. A Pixie dust hangover made her head spin and nausea well up in the back of her throat. She fought against the sensations, determined to get her bearings so she could understand what was going on.
Turning her head to the right, she found that Maxine remained next to her. She had come awake and begun staring around in confusion just as Phaedra did. Beyond her, the other three girls seemed to be stirring awake as well.
More noise drew her gaze left, where she discovered that the remaining six cots had been filled. The footsteps she had heard were those of the Dark Fae—bringing their captives into the large room and chaining them to the beds. A few of them had been knocked unconscious, but the others were wide awake. Their fear and confusion brought tears to Phaedra’s eyes. She couldn’t imagine being like them—unsure of what exactly they were here for, but still understanding that their lives were in danger.
Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she reached up to grasp the chains attached to her shackles. Giving them a swift tug, she tested them against the metal headboard there were attached to. Much to her dismay, the chain was strong and the bed—despite being old and rusted—held up under her abuse.
“No,” she whispered, as it became more and more apparent that she’d run out of time. “No, no, no!”
Panic gripped her, and she began jerking on her bonds, rattling the chain against the headboard in her desperation to get free. Beside her, Maxine began to sob, as if she, too, understood the gravity of what was about to happen.
“Quiet!” one of the Dark Fae snapped. He appeared over her, his pale face contorted into an expression of annoyance. “There’s no getting out of this, so you may as well cease your squealing.”
“Let them cry,” Eranna’s voice said from beyond Phaedra’s field of vision. “As you said ... no one knows where they are, and by the time they are discovered, it will be too late.”
The Eendi who had taunted her shrugged and backed away, disappearing from her line of sight.
Raising her head, Phaedra craned her neck and found Eranna standing a few feet away, in the center of the room. She seemed to be waiting for the last of the girls to be settled onto their cots.
The ritual was about to begin.
The dark queen wore voluminous black robes with a hood, with a silver mask covering her face. Yet, Phaedra knew it was her by the way she stood and surveyed everyone and everything around her—as if fully aware of the fact that she was in complete control.
As if sensing Phaedra’s gaze on her, Eranna turned her head. She could feel the queen’s withering gaze set on her from behind the black eye slits of the mask. Phaedra glared at her, clenching her jaw so hard it began to ache.
“Don’t give me that look,” Eranna taunted, sashaying toward Phaedra’s cot. “If you and your little friends hadn’t attempted to break into my penthouse, you would not be here.”
“You do realize you messed up, right?” Phaedra retorted. “By bringing me here, you’ve ensured that Rothatin and the others will not rest until I’ve been found. And when they do find us, they are going to tear this place apart.”
At least, that was what Phaedra hoped would happen. She knew as well as everyone else that the prophecy coming true depended on all seven princesses of Fallada living until the end. If Eranna didn’t realize she had the seventh lost princess—The High Princess of Fallada, at that—she soon would once she had sucked them both dry. This would mean all the battles they had fought and won would mean nothing. That alone would motivate her friends to leave no stone unturned looking for her.
Please, she prayed for what had to be the hundredth time. Please help them find me.
Eranna’s laughter filtered out fr
om behind the mask—amusement tinged with a taunt. “My darling, even if they did discover where we are, it is far too late.”
Without another word, Eranna began backing away from Phaedra’s cot to where she’d originally stood in the center of the room.
Phaedra’s chest burned as she choked back a sob. She was going to die—right here, right now. Her sister would lose the only constant family she’d ever known. Fallada would never be the same again. Arrian would never know how much she loved him.
“Phaedra?”
Maxine’s soft voice drew her attention, and she turned to find that the other girl had tears in her eyes as well.
“I’m sorry,” Phaedra whispered. “I’m sorry you never got to discover who you really are or what you’re capable of.”
“Then they are real,” Maxine replied. “The dreams ...”
She nodded. “They’re the realest part of your life.”
Closing her eyes, Maxine sighed as if in relief, even though they were so obviously doomed.
“I knew it,” she murmured. “I always knew—”
Maxine went silent, just as some unseen force slammed into Phaedra with the power of a freight train. A white beam of light flooded her vision, seeming to coat her skin from head to toe. A scream ripped from her chest, followed seconds later by cries of pain from the other girls in the room. Her back arched up off the bed, as the force of the power seemed to pull on her from within.
Gritting her teeth, she glanced around and realized all the other girls were glowing as well. The white beam originated from Eranna, who stood with her hands outstretched, as if pulling the light straight into her palms.
Clenching her chains, Phaedra bent her legs at the knee, the action taking far more strength and energy than it should have. She felt as if a weight were trying to compress her down to the bed, but she fought it. Bracing herself against the mattress, she physically pulled against the power, which sucked at her like a magnet.
The light around her shuddered, almost as if she’d shook it with her resistance. Through the pain lancing within her, she was struck with the sudden realization that she could fight this. Sucking in a deep breath, she continued pulling away from the light, even as it wrestled against her in a tug-of-war. Her strength had begun to wane, but she was determined not to simply give up her life without a battle.
“Max!” she managed to scream out between whimpers of agony. “Fight it! You have to fight it.”
Beside her, Maxine’s screams seemed the loudest of all—echoing from the rafters of the building.
“I ... I can’t!” she cried, her voice gone hoarse.
“Yes, you can,” Phaedra urged. “You are so much stronger than you think you are. Dig deep, Max ... fight!”
Suddenly, the girl on her other side went limp and silent. Casting a glance at her, Phaedra noticed that her face had taken on a ghostly pallor, and her cheeks had sunken in until her bones protruded unnaturally, her lips tinted blue. Closing her eyes against the gruesome sight, Phaedra choked down a sob and continued to fight for her own life. She couldn’t think about the girls dying around her, or she would lose all hope and the will to fight.
“Your struggles are useless, Princess,” Eranna called out, her voice rising to echo as if amplified by her growing power. “As the other girls feed my power, you will become no match for me. I will take your soul.”
Shaking her head, Phaedra sucked in a deep breath. The cries of some of the other girls had died out, but she couldn’t give up.
I will not rest until I have found you.
Arrian’s words echoed in her mind. It wasn’t over yet ... not until he had found her or she had died. And she was not going to die without giving Eranna hell.
Beside her, Maxine’s screams sharpened, sounding as if some new agony had been added to the current torture of having her soul sucked dry. Daring a glance to the cot beside her, she gasped at what she found.
Maxine’s eyes had taken on a white glow, while the roots of her hair had begun to turn pristine white. The color bled along the strands of her hair, the black disappearing as if the white eroded it away.
Then, just as suddenly as she had screamed, she went silent, collapsing against the mattress with her eyes closed.
A tear escaped Phaedra’s eye at the sight, and she couldn’t contain a sob of despair.
Fallada’s high princess was dead. Which meant, even if Phaedra survived there was no hope.
The thought nearly drove her to let go—to allow herself to die along with Maxine and end her torment. If the high princess was gone, what else was there to fight for? Yet, before she could act on the impulse, the sudden sound of shattering glass chased the thoughts away.
Opening her eyes, she furrowed her brow as she tried to determine what she could be hearing now. The sounds of a struggle, it seemed ... along with the flap of birds’ wings? Gigantic wings by the sound of it.
Gazing straight up, she caught the shadow of something flying over her, just as a person jumped from its back and landed on its feet on the ground. Her heart soared while more of them seemed to drop from the ceiling, the sound of Fallada’s birds of prey swooping overhead becoming like music to her ears.
Raising her head as much as the force fighting against her would allow, she spotted a flash of white-blond hair and a silver spear—Rothatin. Grunts and curses interspersed with metal striking metal clued her in to the battle going on around them. It seemed the Dark Fae were trying to prevent anyone from getting to their queen before she had completed the ritual.
“Now, Gretchen!” Rothatin’s voice called out, resounding through the room.
The crackle of lightning followed the command, and within seconds, the overwhelming force sucking the life from her had faded.
Phaedra exhaled with relief, and closed her eyes. She wasn’t dead, and Eranna had been stopped. However, she felt as if she’d been hit by a truck, and couldn’t be certain how long she would continue to live. The sounds of battle continued to go on around her, but she couldn’t even open her eyes to see what was going on.
“It is too late,” she heard Eranna say. “You might save your princess, but I have more than enough power to return to Fallada and reclaim Mollac!”
“Your continued lust for power will be your downfall,” Rothatin retorted. “The people of Mollac have already risen up behind Desdemona and proclaimed her their queen.”
“We shall see how long she remains queen,” Eranna growled just before a frigid blast of cold air erupted through the room.
Phaedra shivered against the cold, and the sensation of being stabbed with a dozen icicles tore across the surface of her skin.
“Get them out of here!” Rothatin bellowed, the sounds of a fight continuing around her.
She forced her eyes open just as someone’s face appeared within her field of vision. At first, it was only a smudge swimming in the haze of her unfocused eyes. She blinked a few times, forcing herself to stay awake instead of sinking into the deep sleep that seemed to call to her.
“Phaedra.”
The voice calling her name was the sweetest she’d ever heard, bringing tears to her eyes. Suddenly, his eyes—as blue as a river—came into focus in front of her. Then his nose, lips, and chin ... until she could make out his entire face.
“Arrian,” she croaked, her voice rough and raspy. “What ... happened?”
His hand slipped gently beneath her head, then the other beneath her shoulders, urging her slowly into a sitting position. Unable to force her useless limbs to work, she fell limp against his chest, inhaling his comforting, woodsy scent.
“Gretchen distracted Eranna long enough to stop the ritual,” he murmured, wrapping her in something warm and causing her trembling to cease. “She’d taken enough power to make her escape ... she’s headed back to Fallada, I imagine.”
“We have to ...”
“Shhh,” he urged, scooping her into his arms and standing. “Don’t worry about anything right now. I must get you home.
There are healers waiting.”
Nodding, she buried her face against the soft fabric of his shirt. “You came.”
His lips brushed her forehead, and she registered that they had begun to move. He was walking with her, taking long, swift strides away from the sounds of the fight going on around them.
“Did you doubt that I would? I’m only sorry I couldn’t get here before she ...”
He trailed off, his voice hitching on the last word. She glanced up and found tears shining in his eyes. His gaze, which was always as calm as the rivers they took their color from, were haunted and turbulent.
He’d been worried about her.
“It doesn’t matter,” she whispered. “You came.”
Clenching his jaw, he nodded, one tear escaping and racing down toward his jaw. “I told you ... I always will.”
He left the rest unsaid. Even though she’d told him not to, he would be there for her. Tears sprang to her own eyes as she realized she could never deserve him.
“Are you ready?” a third voice asked.
Phaedra swiveled her gaze to find one of the Warrior Fae standing by, his massive eagle waiting patiently to take them back to the apartment. All around them, ten others sat, waiting for their Fae masters to return. Ten birds for ten girls.
Her heart sank at the realization that not all ten of them would be going home alive.
“Arrian,” she murmured as he walked her to the eagle.
“Yes?” he replied, keeping a tight grip on her as he slid into the bird’s saddle behind its Fae master.
“The girl who was beside me ... with the white hair.”
Arrian glanced left, then right before answering her. “We have her.”
Closing her eyes, she finally surrendered to the fatigue dragging her down. The words fell from her lips just before she went under.
“She’s the high princess ...”
When Phaedra awakened, it was not to the comfortable surroundings of her bedroom in the New York apartment. Instead, she opened her eyes to a dimly lit, cramped room. A cabin aboard The Adrah, she suspected, as she registered the gentle dip and sway of the large vessel sailing the skies. Furrowing her brow, she attempted to sit up, but was immediately gripped by nausea and dizziness.
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