“Look, Vi, as someone who’s dealt directly with Zell, your input is valuable, but you have to see that a complex and dangerous investigation such as this one is more suited to guardians with decades—centuries, in some cases—of experience. You’re not there yet. It was entirely inappropriate of you to keep this information to yourself. You should have known that.”
Crap. I am so not used to disappointing my superiors.
“I’m sorry.” I hang my head. “But,” I continue carefully, “what would you have done differently if I had told you about it? This woman only wanted to give me the information.”
“We would have followed you to make sure you were safe and that it wasn’t some kind of ambush, or that somebody didn’t place a tracker of some sort on you when you weren’t looking.”
“But . . . I didn’t actually meet with any real person.”
“That isn’t the point, Vi!” He clenches the papers in his hand. “The point is that you should have told us about this earlier.”
“Okay, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I really am. “But this is happening in three days, Bran. We need to do something. Don’t you need to have a meeting with all the other Council members, like, immediately? Don’t we need to plan so that we’re ready for this?”
“Yes,” he murmurs, scanning his eyes once more over the pages as he paces across the width of the corridor. He stops. “Why haven’t our Seers Seen this?”
Hmm. Good point. “I don’t know. Maybe they’ll start getting glimpses of it now that the final plan is in place.”
Bran’s expression grows doubtful as he looks at the pages in his hand. “I’m not sure we can trust this information. It could be that someone is trying to mislead us.”
“I guess it could be. But what if it isn’t? We can’t not do something about this.”
Bran squeezes his eyes shut and mutters something I can’t hear.
“So, will you call a meeting?”
“Of course,” Bran snaps. I can’t remember him ever snapping at anyone before. He shuffles through the pages and holds the last one up. “Three days,” he mutters. “We can be prepared in three days.”
“Wait, do that again,” I say. I take the page from him and hold it up to the light. The faint outline of the Unseelie Queen’s insignia becomes visible in the center of the page.
“Well,” Bran says, “at least we know these pages really did originate inside the Unseelie Palace.”
Which, I suppose, still doesn’t confirm that the information is legitimate.
“I need to go,” Bran says. “I’m taking this with me.” He holds up the comm-glass before striding away from me toward the stairway. “And do not tell anyone about this, Vi. I don’t want panic spreading.”
*
I sit in the gargan tree and wait for Ryn. I spent all day trying to focus on the elf assignment and, for the most part, failed miserably. All I could think about was the fact that we might all be fighting for our lives in a few days’ time. On the one hand, it’s a good thing the showdown is finally upon us, and we can stop wondering if and when the carpet is going to be yanked from beneath our feet. On the other hand, what if we lose? It’s unlikely since we now know it’s coming, and we’re guardians, after all. This is what we’re trained for. But . . . what if there are too many of them and we don’t have enough power?
When I left this evening, Council members from all over the fae realm were arriving. They tried to remain cool, greeting one another as if nothing was wrong—probably for the sake of the confused guardians around them who have no idea yet what’s going on—but I could see the unease behind their smiles. Adair and the few other senior guardians I passed on my way out also looked grave. They must have been told already.
I’m starting to wish I hadn’t gone off on my own to retrieve the information from D. If the day arrives and no one shows up to attack us, well, it will be a good thing, but I’ll also be in monumental trouble. I’m the one who brought this information to the Guild, so I’ll be the one responsible for causing all the panic and the meetings and the preparation and then . . . the anticlimax.
Crap. Why didn’t I think of this possibility before I went charging off on my own little mission? And where is Ryn? I glance up at the position of the moon. He’s usually here by now. I send him an amber message, but I get no response. I try to remember if he told me he’d be working tonight. My memory comes up blank.
I wander through the faerie paths and come out in my sitting room. Perhaps Filigree will play a card game with me to take my mind off things. We never did finish that game Ryn interrupted a few weeks ago. I climb the stairs and find Filigree curled up in armadillo form on my pillow. I haven’t seen that one in a while. I flop onto my stomach on the bed and poke him—just as a buzzing sound comes from my bedside table.
My amber? No, it’s in my pocket. So that only leaves . . . the second comm-glass. I yank the drawer open and stick my hand in, pushing the eternity necklace aside to get to the rectangular piece of glass.
Things have changed. I need to give you new information.
I turn over to get my stylus from my boot and wind up rolling onto the floor. Crap, that hurt. I sit up and quickly scribble onto the glass. What? The Guild Council is already meeting to look at the information you gave me this morning.
When?
Right now!
Then I need to meet with you immediately.
Why can’t you just tell me here, on the comm-glass?
It’s too much. I need to meet with you.
Isn’t that too dangerous for you?
I don’t care anymore. Come to the Rose Hall.
Now?
Yes!
I scramble up off the floor and open a doorway. “Don’t wait up for me!” I shout to Filigree as I enter the blackness. I jump out onto the dark Creepy Hollow lane and run toward the Rose Hall tree. What am I going to do once I have this new information? Just barge into the Council meeting? Maybe I can convince D to come with me. That would definitely help. I stop myself against the tree with my hand out. I raise my stylus to write a doorway, but then I notice a tiny scrap of paper nailed to the tree. One sentence only.
Keep playing the game, Violet.
What? The game? Since when is this a game? A shiver zips across my arms as I look around. Just like this morning, there seems to be no one here, but I can’t help the feeling that something weird is going on. Something I’m missing. I have to go into the hall, though. Zell has changed something in his plans, and I need to know what it is.
So I do what I did this morning. I gather power from the core of my being and hold it above my hand, ready to use it at the first sign of danger. I open a doorway to the hall and walk slowly inside.
What I see at the other end of the hall makes me want to be sick. In front of the stained-glass window, hanging upside down from the ceiling, is a dead body. A headless dead body. Without really realizing it, I let the power above my hand fizzle away. In horror, I start walking toward the other end of the hall. There is a round object sitting on the floor beneath the body, and every shocked instinct within me screams that it’s a head. It’s the head belonging to the hanging body. And I need to know who it is.
My fingers shake. My legs shake. Even my breaths are shuddery as they escape my lips. But I keep moving forward. The head is facing the back wall, but as I get closer, I see the color in the hair. I see the crimson streaks, and I know. I know. But I step around to face him anyway. I step around and see his glassy crimson eyes.
Zell.
With a shaking hand I cover my mouth to stop myself from throwing up. Then I see the words written on the floor.
Violet,
You can’t win this game. I know your every move before you make it, and I will always be one step ahead of you. I want you to know that everything that happens now is your fault.
Draven
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Draven? That’s what I used to call Nate. Mr. Draven Avenue. But this can’t be him. I
t can’t. Nonononono, please say he didn’t do this. Oh, dear Seelie Queen, what has he done? What have I done?
A crackling sound rips through the quiet night as lightning flashes somewhere outside. It strikes the ground with such force that I have to throw my hand out against the wall to stop the shudder from knocking me to my feet. I hear a thud and crunch as something hits the ground outside. Compelled by the terrible fear that my entire world is about to be torn apart, I sprint across the empty hall and out into the lane.
The strongest gust of wind I’ve ever felt sweeps through the trees and slams me down onto the ground. I hear roaring. Roaring and crackling. And I smell smoke. I manage to turn onto my back just as another bolt of lightning strikes the ground nearby. I see flickering orange light. It grows brighter as I watch. The roaring becomes louder and the smoke denser.
Oh, hell. There’s a freaking inferno out there, moving with the speed of the wind.
Get to the Guild.
I roll back onto my stomach and write a doorway on the dirt. I fall into the darkness and focus my attention on the interior entrance of the Guild. Maybe I’ll still be in time to warn them of what’s coming.
I drop out of the faerie paths onto my feet—and that’s when I realize how wrong I am. My world isn’t about to be torn apart. It’s already been torn apart. Shock seems to suck the air from my lungs because I don’t have any left to gasp.
The Guild is destroyed. The entire Guild.
Rubble litters the ground for as far as I can see. Marble and debris and smoldering pieces of intricately carved wood. Splintered trees and ashes and smoke. The complex glamours and architectural spells that hid the entire Guild within a single tree must have been destroyed somehow. My mind conjures up awful images of what would have happened after that: the interior of the Guild exploding out, demolishing the forest around it.
I take a few shaky steps forward before dropping onto my knees. I can’t take this in. It’s too much. I see guardians scattered here and there throughout the rubble, some injured, some stumbling around looking lost. Scraps of whispered conversations reach me.
“. . . saying Tharros has returned.”
“. . . must have taken more power than any single person should possess.”
“The first explosion came from inside the room the Council and senior guardians were in.”
“Did any of them come out alive? I haven’t seen a single one . . .”
Oh no oh no oh no. This can’t be happening. How many people are dead? Where is Tora? Ryn? Flint? Where the hell are all the people I care about?
A blinding flash of white light fills the wrecked clearing. I throw my hand across my eyes until the light diminishes. When I look again, I see the Seelie Queen dressed in silver armor, stalking across the rubble. “WHAT is going on here?” she shrieks.
“My lady.” One of her guards runs after her. “You shouldn’t be here. It’s too dangerous. There might be—”
“I want to know what is going on,” she shouts. She stops and circles on the spot, staring down at the guardians who have come forward to kneel before her. “I want to know how this Guild could be stupid enough to call a meeting of almost every Council member from every Guild and then get itself blown up.”
Cold laughter greets her words. I look for the source of the sound and see a woman sauntering toward the Queen. A shiver passes through my body as I recognize her. Angelica. No longer trapped in the center of her own labyrinth. She holds her head high, looking down on everyone as she swishes her long black and silver hair over her shoulder. And in that instant, I realize why I thought the Seelie Queen looked so familiar when I met her.
“Hello, Mother,” Angelica says as she comes to a halt. “Did you miss me?”
Mother? Are you freaking kidding me?
“Like I’d miss an ugly spot on a white gown,” the Queen sneers. “And do not call me ‘mother.’ You are not my child.”
Whispers of ‘runaway daughter’ surround me as people realize what’s going on here. The Queen’s guards point their weapons at Angelica, but none of them make a move. I suppose hurting a Seelie princess doesn’t exactly come naturally to them.
“Not your child?” Angelica repeats. “I suppose it’s hardly surprising, then, that I was far happier at the Guild than I ever was at your stuffy palace.” The Queen’s eyebrows twitch a fraction. “Oh, didn’t you know?” Angelica asks, her voice full of exaggerated surprise. “How shocking. I spent over a decade at the Creepy Hollow Guild, and you didn’t even know about it.”
“They obviously managed to teach you nothing,” the Queen spits, “since you appear to be consorting with the enemy now. What are you doing with the Unseelie Court?”
Angelica lets out an exaggerated sigh. “You see, Mother, this actually has nothing to do with the Unseelie Court. It has everything to do with my son.”
Confusion and anger war in the eyes of the Queen.
“That’s right,” Angelica says. “Your grandson. A prince of the Seelie Court—”
“A halfling,” the Queen growls.
“Your own flesh and blood! He is in possession of the lost halfling Tharros’ power, and there is no one in the world who can defeat him now. He is the one who will strip you of everything you have. The Unseelie Palace lies in ruin, and the Seelie Palace is being destroyed as we speak. The Guilds are all under attack. When daylight breaks, there will be no difference between Seelie and Unseelie. There will only be those who are for my son and those who are against him.”
Nate. What did you do?
“And as for how this Guild could be stupid enough to get itself blown up,” Angelica continues. “One of your guardians very kindly sent an enchanted bomb device into the Council meeting. And that same guardian then told us the meeting was taking place tonight. It was all very easy after that.”
Is she talking about me? Nonono, please, no. Please don’t let all of this be my fault. How will I ever face anyone again? My eyes comb the clearing in desperation. I still don’t see Ryn or Tora. I have to find them. I can’t think about all this damage and destruction. I can’t think about how it’s all my fault.
Find them.
My stylus is still clutched in my hand. I bend forward and write on the ground. I slip into the darkness just as the first rain drops begin to fall. I head to the gargan tree first. Perhaps Ryn is there waiting for me. Perhaps that part of the forest is still and quiet and has no idea what’s happening in the distance.
But something is wrong. When I exit the faerie paths, I find myself falling through the air. A scream escapes me as I attempt to open another path in the moving air. I can’t. I drop toward the ground, managing to slow my fall at the last second. I hover above the ground for a moment before dropping the last few inches of the way. I push myself up and spring to my feet.
Destruction.
The gargan tree—one of the most ancient and majestic trees in the whole forest—has fallen. It’s burned and smoking and fallen. It took most of the surrounding trees down with it. Everything is dead here.
Dead.
Nate did this. He destroyed my most favorite place in the whole of Creepy Hollow. I clench my fists and let out a wordless scream. On and on and on until I have no breath left. “How could you do this?” I shriek into the slowly pattering rain. “I hate you!”
Tears join the raindrops trickling down my face. I run through the faerie paths to Ryn’s home. What I find there makes my tears fall faster. It’s destroyed, torn open, just like the other faerie homes I can see through the broken trees as I twist to look around me. I search through the wreckage, but there’s no one here.
I go to Tora’s home, and I’m greeted by the same sight. And again, no one here.
The only place left to go is my own house. Maybe Ryn and Tora went there to look for me. And Filigree! I have to rescue Filigree!
I prepare myself for destruction, but the sight of my ruined home is still enough to make me feel like something has just been ripped from my chest. Nause
a invades my stomach.
My home is gone.
“Ryn!” I shout. “Tora! Filigree!” There’s no answer.
I climb over the mess that was my kitchen. The table no longer has any legs, and I’m about to step over it when I notice a sharp knife embedded in its surface. The knife is holding a piece of paper to the table. A folded piece of paper.
My blood burns like fire as fury courses through me. Was it not enough for Nate—Draven—to rip my whole world away from me? Did he also have to leave a damn note rubbing it in my face?
I yank the knife out of the table and unfold the paper. My heart almost stops at the sight of Ryn’s handwriting—and then it breaks all over again as I read his words. There are a lot of them, but I can only focus on one sentence: Don’t try to find me. I squeeze tears from my eyes as I shove the note into my pocket. “You promised you wouldn’t leave,” I whisper. “You promised.”
It’s then that I hear a faint voice. Tora. Calling my name. I swivel around, searching desperately. “Tora?” I call. I hear her voice again. I jump off the ruins and run around the side of the mess. There she is, pinned down by a tree that landed across her abdomen. A tree with splintered branches and bark and—oh, dear Seelie Queen, I don’t even want to look at the damage because I know instinctively that it’s too much for even a faerie to recover from.
“Tora!” I run to her side and take hold of her hand. “Oh crap oh crap oh crap.” I have to try and heal her. Even if my brain tells me it isn’t possible, I still have to try. “I can move the tree,” I say, getting ready to lift it with magic.
“No.” She touches my arm to stop me. “It won’t help. My magic,” she gasps. “It isn’t . . . strong enough to . . .”
It isn’t strong enough to heal her. That’s what she wants to say. But I have magic that can heal her, I realize. The eternity necklace. If she wears it she can’t die, right? I climb the rubble of my house faster than anything I’ve ever climbed before. I find my bed. My bedside table. The drawer has been knocked out and is lying next to splinters of my desk. I search through the contents for the eternity necklace.
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