Dash pushes himself into a sitting position, his eyes widening more than I would have thought possible given his drugged state. “A sacrifice?”
“Just an animal. Not a person, obviously.” I push my sleeve back to examine the color of the ruby.
“Em, no,” he moans. “You shouldn’t have … done that. Especially not here. You don’t want to … end up … magically bound … to this court.”
“What?” My gaze snaps up. “Is that possible?”
“You’re fine,” Zed says from the neighboring sphere. I didn’t realize he was paying attention to us. “It takes … a lot … to sell one’s soul. You’re not even … close.”
“Still … isn’t right,” Dash says.
“It was just a bird.” Which is what I told myself repeatedly before twisting the poor thing’s neck, and it didn’t help me feel better at all.
“It isn’t right, Em,” Dash repeats.
“Look, I didn’t want to, okay?” I hiss. “It was horrible. But I didn’t have many options. I don’t have thousands of spells at my fingertips. I’m kinda new to this magic thing, remember? I needed a way to get back to you guys unseen, and that spell was all I could find.”
Dash says nothing more. He simply watches me through half-open eyes as he leans against the bars.
I let out a long breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I just … feel horrible about the bird thing, so it doesn’t help when you keep pointing out that it’s wrong.”
“Sorry,” he whispers. He gestures to my bracelet. “How long?”
“Another hour or two.” I squint at the ruby. “An hour and a half, maybe. I can’t tell exactly. How long until the magic-impairing drug wears off? I assume that’s what the guards were doing?” I add. “When they were writing on prisoners’ arms?”
“Yes,” Zed answers. “They do it … twice a day. So it obviously … doesn’t …”
“Doesn’t last a full day,” I finish for him. I know they can’t help it, but I’m finding it difficult not to get frustrated with their slow, slurred speech. “Okay. That’s good.”
“Some of the others,” Zed says, “are wearing metal … that blocks magic. A bangle … a ring …” He leans back against the curved edge of his sphere. “Seems the Unseelies have … run out … of those. This drunken drug thing … is new.”
“It’s better,” Dash adds. “The metal … can’t easily be removed.”
“Okay. So by this evening, you two should be able to move around and use magic?”
Dash nods, then groans and slowly lowers his head to the floor beside the bars. “It gets worse … now. Straight after … they write … on us.”
“Spinning,” Zed murmurs. As I watch, he slides slowly to the floor of his cell. “Spinning … spinning …”
“My magic is … so close … yet so far.” Dash’s hand inches slowly across the floor, as if he’s trying to grasp something. “I can’t … touch it … can never … touch it.”
As disturbing as it is to see him like this, I need to believe that he’ll be fine. “Hey, don’t worry about it. You’ll get your magic back soon. You’ll be totally normal by tonight.” I scoot closer to his sphere and lean my back against the bars. I pull my knees up, and as Dash and Zed become silent, I prepare myself for yet more waiting. I assure myself once again that everything will be all right in the end. Dash won’t remain confused and lethargic forever. We’ll both get out of here. We’ll return safely to the Griffin rebels. I’ll get back to Mom. I’ll put this disastrous Unseelie episode behind me and somehow—somehow—I’ll figure out how to help her.
Twenty-Seven
Some time later, Bandit begins squirming in my pocket. I straighten my legs so he can climb out. In his blue hamster form, he sniffs around on the floor, scurrying further away from me as he explores his strange new surroundings. I have to remind myself—when I start worrying that he might end up lost—that he’s successfully followed me across the fae realm numerous times, usually without my knowledge. I don’t think I need to be concerned about him.
As I lift my arm to check the ruby, Dash moves and opens his eyes. He holds onto the bars and manages to pull himself up until he’s leaning sideways against them. “Hey,” I say to him. “I thought maybe you were sleeping.” I shift around until I’m also leaning my shoulder against the bars.
He shakes his head. “Can’t. I sort of doze, but never sleep.”
“Your words sound less slurred now.”
“Whispering helps, I think. Takes less effort. My magic is still just out of reach, though.”
“Sorry about that. It won’t be for much longer, at least.”
He nods and closes his eyes for a moment. “I must look terrible, huh?”
“Nah, not too bad.” I raise my hand and run my thumb briefly along his stubbled jaw. “You’ve got that rugged look going on. Some girls dig that. The smell, on the other hand …” I pinch my nose before chuckling. “Well, that’s another story.”
He grimaces. “Yeah. Lack of showers down here. Not impressed with the … quality of this … establishment.”
A moment of quiet passes before I ask, “How did you end up in this fine establishment anyway? I was told you were allowed to return home. A guard even saw you saying goodbye to Roarke and climbing into one of the carriages, but that carriage obviously didn’t take you home.”
“No. Four guards were in the carriage with me. They attacked and stunned me almost immediately. I was completely knocked out until I woke up here. Where are we, exactly?”
“Beneath the gardens. Quite far from the palace. I was running last night. Not trying to get away, just … I needed to run.” I look down at my hands in my lap. “I discovered what Roarke plans to do with me, and I just needed to get out of that palace and figure things out. That’s when I found the trapdoor and used my Griffin magic to open it.”
Dash narrows his eyes. “What does Roarke plan to do with you?”
“He …” I bite my lip, then tell him everything about the witch spell and the words I’ve been practicing as part of my vows. The words that turned out to have absolutely nothing to do with a union.
“Bastard,” Dash breathes when I’m finished.
I look up in surprise. “Bastard? Really? I doubt your mother would approve of that kind of language.”
“He wants to possess your magic, Em. All of it. I can’t even … imagine … how you’ll survive that.”
I lift one shoulder uncertainly. “Apparently this spell is one of the few ways a person can survive having their magic removed.”
“But … your magic is part of … what keeps you alive. What will you be without it? Some kind of … of shell?”
A shiver skitters down my spine. “We don’t need to find out, because I’m not going through with the union or the witch spell. So, anyway.” I try to brush off my fear. “Did Roarke come to see you? Did he say why he didn’t just … kill you? I’m very glad he didn’t, obviously,” I rush to add. “I’m just wondering why he kept you alive.”
Dash’s half-open eyes stare past me. “He was here when I woke up. Said he plans to hand me over … to the Guild … and demand compensation for … a guardian getting involved in … Unseelie affairs without authorization. He’ll also inform them that … that I know far more than I’m supposed to about … the Griffin rebels. Said he may as well get some entertainment out of … my inconvenient appearance at his court.”
“Bastard,” I mutter.
Dash hesitates, his green eyes refocusing on me. “Yeah, you’re right. My mother wouldn’t like that word.”
I give him a small smile. “Even if I explain to her that it’s appropriately applied in this case?”
“Hmm. She might understand. Just this once.” He makes a weak attempt at a laugh, then adds, “You’re actually not such a potty mouth anymore. You’ve improved since arriving in this world.”
“You know, I never actually stopped to think about it until you pointed it out.” I screw my face up
in thought. “I think I remember my mom scolding me years ago when I was little for using bad language, but then I got to Chelsea’s, and she didn’t seem to care. In fact, she and Georgia used that kind of language all the time, so I ended up speaking that way too.” I shrug. “So do most people in my world, I think. It isn’t a big deal.”
“It isn’t a big deal for plenty of people in this world either.” His voice is close to a whisper again, which seems to make it easier for him to speak. “My mom’s the only reason I don’t use bad language.”
“The soap spell, yeah. I didn’t believe you when you first mentioned it.”
“Unfortunately for young fae all around the magic realm, that spell is very real.”
I pull my knees up to my chest again and wrap my arms around them. “Your mom must be so worried about you.”
He nods. “Probably. But … she’s my mom, and I’m a guardian. So she’s always worried about me. And I’m sure she knows that Ryn or one of the others is looking for me. That should give her hope.”
“Do you think they really are trying to get into the palace grounds? Roarke said no one can see the palace unless they’re in the company of an Unseelie guard.”
“That doesn’t mean they’ll stop trying to find a way in. And not just for me, but for you too. They would never leave you in the clutches of the Unseelies once they discovered you were here.”
I cover my face with my hands, guilt gnawing at me again. “This wasn’t supposed to happen, Dash. They were supposed to give up on me and move on to helping someone else. Because, you know, they hardly know me and I’ve only caused them trouble since I met them. Now they’ve wasted their time and resources on me. I can’t imagine how angry they’ll be when you and I finally get back to them.”
“Okay, your first mistake,” Dash says, “was assuming they’d give up on you.”
I lower my hands and look at him. “You mean my first mistake was assuming everyone’s as selfish as I am?”
“Em. If you were as selfish as you think you are, you would have left without me.”
I look away from his half-drugged gaze and decide not to tell him I almost did leave without him. That most certainly would have given Ryn, Violet and the others a good enough reason to be angry with me. I doubt they would …
Hang on. My thoughts take a detour as something occurs to me. “Hey, Dash,” I say to him. “I thought the protective enchantment on the rebels’ safe place kept us from thinking or speaking of it to anyone who doesn’t already know about it.”
“Yes. Something like that.”
“But how do they take anyone new there? How did they take me there? How could they think of it when I was with them?”
“The leaders—Ryn and Vi, Chase and Calla, a few of the others—had a different enchanted place on them. They can’t speak about the place … and they can’t think exactly of it … but they can think of … the area? I don’t know the specifics, but they can think of … the surrounding area … and once they get there, they can see the actual place. Something like that.”
“Sounds complicated.”
“Yeah. I guess it needs to be. To keep everyone safe.” His gaze moves down. “How long now? For your Griffin Ability, I mean.”
“Soon.” I push back my sleeve and squint at the ruby. “Half an hour, maybe.”
“Okay.”
Another few minutes pass with only the occasional sound of a groan or cry reaching us. Then a few repeated thumps, as if someone’s banging against the inside of their sphere, and then the muffled sound of crying. As the crying fades once more to silence, Dash asks, “How are you feeling about Chelsea and Georgia?”
Mild nausea lurches in my stomach the way it always does when I think of my aunt and cousin. No one else has asked about them since I told Roarke what happened, but that doesn’t mean they haven’t been on my mind. “I still don’t really know what I should be feeling,” I admit. “Whenever I think of them, it’s with regret and guilt. Like I should have made more of an effort with them while they were alive. Maybe I would have discovered they weren’t as awful as they always came across. And I should never have let Ada anywhere near their home.”
“You didn’t exactly have a choice about Ada showing up in Stanmeade. We don’t know how she knew you were there.”
“Yeah, I know.” I nod slowly. “I know it wasn’t directly my fault. But still … it all happened because Ada came after me.”
Dash hangs onto the bars and pulls himself a little straighter. “Remember I told you about my classmate and mentor who died?”
“Um, yes. I think so.”
“Did I tell you it was my fault?”
I hesitate, casting my mind back. “No. I think I’d remember if you mentioned it being your fault.”
“It was supposed to be a paired assignment with supervision. Meaning my classmate and I would do it together while a mentor observed. Just in case something went wrong and … we needed help. That’s how it works in … the early years of training. Groups, pairs, and a more experienced guardian observing and … getting involved if necessary.” He pauses to take in a deep breath. Even whispering, it’s clearly still an effort for him to speak. “On the day we were supposed to do this paired assignment, I ended up injured from a training session. My leg hadn’t healed yet, so the Guild gave my mentor and classmate a different assignment. Something they thought suitable for one trainee. But it went horribly wrong … and both my classmate and mentor were killed.”
“Oh, that’s horrible. I’m so sorry.” I swallow, then cautiously add, “But surely you can’t be telling me you felt like that was your fault? It isn’t the same as what happened with Chelsea and Georgia. I basically led Ada to their doorstep. But you couldn’t help being injured.”
“True. I couldn’t. But if we’d all gone on our original assignment together … maybe they would have lived.”
“And maybe they wouldn’t have. Maybe your paired assignment would have gone wrong too and they would have died anyway.”
“And maybe Chelsea and Georgia … would have died anyway. A car accident, or … some other random tragedy.”
I look away from him and shake my head. I press my fingers against my temples. “This is a pointless discussion.”
“Just like it’s pointless blaming yourself for … something you didn’t do. I know, because I had to figure that out for myself. So I could move on.” He takes hold of my left hand and gently pulls it away from my face. “You’ll figure it out too, Em.”
“Maybe,” I say quietly, lowering my right hand and wrapping it around my legs. My left hand rests on the floor of the sphere between two bars, still in Dash’s grip. I don’t pull it away. “But not yet. It doesn’t feel right yet to just move on.”
“Okay,” he says. “That’s okay.”
“Thank you for telling me about your mentor and your friend. It must be difficult to talk about them.”
“It’s been a few years since … since it happened. It’s easier now to speak about them.”
I lean my head against the bars as I watch him. “I don’t think I ever asked you why you chose to be a guardian.”
“Hmm. I don’t think I ever wanted to be … anything else. I always liked all the stories my dad told me of the heroic things he did … and the lives he’d saved. I wanted to be just like him. My mother thought … it was a horrible idea. She’d been afraid for years that she might lose him … and now she’d have to be afraid of losing me too. I understood where she was coming from, but … I chose this life anyway. And I’ve never regretted it. There are lives that might not have been saved if … if I wasn’t there to save them.”
A few months ago, I would have rolled my eyes at that last comment. But there’s no trace of cockiness in Dash’s tone. He’s simply stating a fact. “And just think,” I add with a smile, “of all the pretty young ladies who would have been deprived of swooning over their handsome, heroic rescuer if you hadn’t become a guardian.”
He manages a quiet
laugh. “Exactly. And I wouldn’t have met you.”
My smile slips away. “Yeah. You wouldn’t be locked in a prison right now.”
“Ah, well.” He looks away as he shrugs. “It’s worth it.”
Something stirs deep inside me. Something warm and weirdly pleasant. Something I recognize immediately and tell myself it’s ridiculous to be feeling right now. “You don’t actually mean that, do you?” I say to Dash.
He frowns as he continues staring into the distance. “I wasn’t really thinking about what I was saying, but …” He refocuses on me. His hand moves a little over mine, his fingers brushing my skin before becoming still again. “But I think I did mean it. I can’t imagine … not knowing you. You’ve been part of my life for years. A mystery I had no way … of solving, but a mystery I … couldn’t stop thinking about. And you looked so beautiful … at the ball. I wish I could have … danced longer with you.”
A shiver unrelated to cold or fear races up my arms and neck. I can’t help remembering what Aurora said about Dash: Nobody cares that much. Not unless they’re motivated by love. I argued then that Dash was motivated by his need to be a hero, and I’m still convinced this has nothing to do with love. That drug potion that was written onto his arm earlier probably has a lot to do with what he just said. What it doesn’t explain is why I’m suddenly feeling like a hundred butterfly wings are fluttering against the inside of my stomach, but that’s—
“Hey,” Zed groans. He pushes himself up just enough to turn his head and look our way. “Now … is definitely … not the time.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Not the time for—”
“Also … your mother would say … you’re too young for a boyfriend, Emerson.”
“I—Excuse me?” Fiery flames of embarrassment lick their way up my neck. I pull my hand away from Dash’s and wrap it around my legs. “That is not what’s happening right now. And you have no idea what my mother would say.”
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