Well, here goes. With any luck, the queen had already caught Ryese in a lie, or better yet, found his lab. Then she would have no wiggle room out of our deal.
I stepped through the doorway, wondering where Ryese was now.
And found out much quicker than intended.
I expected to emerge from the doorway into the long ice halls. Instead I stepped into another room, one not much larger than the one I’d just left. But where my room had sported a bed, wardrobe, and other bedroom-like furniture, this one held several chairs bolted to the floor, each chair sporting large leather straps on the arms, legs, and at the waist area. In the corner was a desk cluttered with crystal beakers, tubes, and other chemistry-type equipment. Or really, alchemical-type equipment. And leaning over the desk?
Ryese.
Shit.
I tried to backpedal out of the door, but the threshold was gone. Great. Just great. The first time I’d traveled through Faerie, Rianna had taken me to the castle I’d inherited. She’d warned me to be careful of thresholds, that I needed to know where I was going before stepping through one. I’d forgotten that particular advice, most likely because every time since, I’d been escorted through Faerie by guards who’d told me which door to take. I’d never known where I was going, but my guides had, and apparently that was enough. This time I’d been wondering where Ryese was as I’d stepped through the threshold. Apparently Faerie had decided to show me.
Ryese hadn’t noticed my presence. Moving in slow motion, I fumbled for my dagger, drawing it without making a sound. It buzzed in my hand, reassuring me that we had the element of surprise.
I frowned at the dagger. Unless I was willing to sneak up and assassinate him in cold blood, the element of surprise did me very little good. If I made it across the room without being detected—and that was a big if—the dagger would have no qualms against directing my hand into a vulnerable but lethal strike. But I didn’t need any more blood on my hands. And I had no idea how to incapacitate an opponent. I seriously needed to start carrying a knockout charm. Well, okay, those were illegal. But I needed something. In a fair fight I didn’t stand a chance. I needed to get out of here. To find Falin and figure out why the queen hadn’t done anything about Ryese yet.
With the door behind me gone, the only exit from the room was on the opposite wall. The same wall where Ryese’s desk stood. At least it was on the far side of the wall. We were probably equal distances from it. Moving slowly, I edged around the perimeter of the room. The sleet continued falling around me, making soft sounds as it hit the half-frozen puddles on the ground and hopefully covering any noise I made.
I’d reached the halfway point when Ryese looked up. He startled as his gaze fell on me. Then a smile crawled across his face, but the expression was far from friendly.
“Dearest Lexi,” he said, his hand dipping into one of the desk drawers.
I didn’t wait around to find out what he might have, but dashed for the doorway.
He was faster.
He grabbed the back of the blanket, trying to jerk me off my feet. I released it, so all he got was the soggy material as I kept moving for the door.
Just another yard. Almost there. I could make it.
I’d just reached the threshold as I felt his body collide with mine.
Falin. I thought at the door. Take us to Falin.
Maybe, just maybe, Faerie would be kind to me.
It wasn’t.
Chapter 30
Ryese and I crashed through the doorway, him riding me down to the ground where he’d tackled me around the waist. I got my arms in front of me in time to brace myself so my nose didn’t slam into the sleet-encrusted floor, but the impact sent the dagger skittering out of my hands. Crap. I tried to scramble after it, but Ryese’s weight covered most of my bottom half, pinning me to the floor.
I struggled, kicking with my feet. Ryese sucked in a breath as my heel connected with something soft. Hit. He drew back with the pain enough for me to crawl out from under him.
I climbed to my feet and scuttled farther away before stopping to take in the room where we’d arrived. I’d been hoping to end up somewhere public, preferably wherever Falin was, but either the door we’d taken had a set destination, or Ryese had had other ideas when we crashed through the door.
The room was small and empty, aside from a pile of debris in the far corner. The only door was the one we’d crashed through, and Ryese was between it and me. Currently he was curled on the floor, cupping his privates and staring at me with hate in his wet eyes. I did not want to try to get past him without a weapon. Which meant I needed to find my dagger.
I scanned the floor, finally spotting it a few feet in front of the pile of debris. I darted for it but drew up short as I got closer to the corner. What I had taken for rubble or maybe broken furniture debris was a pile of bones, mostly picked clean but a few with scraps of flesh and hair still attached. Skulls stared at me with empty sockets, most human in appearance, but some had obviously belonged to the less humanoid fae.
Oh crap, where had Ryese taken me? Was this his killing ground?
No, he’d drained the fae in his laboratory. But their bones had been picked clean here.
I shivered and took another step toward the dagger. A soft crunch sounded behind me. A footstep.
Oh crap.
I half turned, torn between diving for the dagger and the need to see Ryese.
Something crashed into the side of the head, just behind the temple. The world shattered—or maybe that was whatever Ryese had smashed against my skull—and pain exploded behind my eyes.
I reeled, my head spinning. The ground rushed up to meet me, knocking my already shaky breath out of me.
Ryese followed me down, planting his knees in my chest. Cold slush soaked into my clothes as Ryese’s long fingers wrapped around my throat, denying me air. I thrashed, clawing at his shoulders as I kicked my legs. He’d situated himself higher this time, keeping all his bits and pieces out of range of my flailing legs.
“Do you enjoy the work of the fae you got murdered?” he asked, his hands tightening around my throat until black spots burst behind my eyes.
Work? He had to be talking about Tommy Rawhead, but what work? Distributing the Glitter? I didn’t have the breath to ask. My head pounded and my lungs burned, needing air I couldn’t draw with Ryese crushing my ribs, my windpipe.
“He was valuable to me.” Ryese squeezed harder. “He worked hard as long as I threw him my scraps. Changelings or lesser fae, it didn’t matter. Oh, he said they weren’t as good as children, but he still accepted with gusto. And bonus, no bodies for anyone to find. Just a pile of bones.”
I tried to swallow, but I couldn’t do that any more than draw air. That didn’t stop my stomach from rolling. Rawhead had eaten the fae Ryese drained. This was his . . . lair? Dumping ground?
“But you. You’re always in the way.” Another flex of his fingers. “You couldn’t have just cooperated, could you?” He leaned forward, close enough that spit hit my face as he yelled. “If you’d simply agreed to a union, my dear aunt would have officially recognized me as prince of the winter court and the line of succession would have made this all so much easier. But no, you consider yourself oh so much better than me all while swooning over her damn knight.”
I was having trouble focusing on him. From the lack of air or the blow to the head, I couldn’t be sure, but if something didn’t change soon, I’d be unconscious. I tried to buck my hips to dislodge him, but moving was getting hard. My body felt heavy, weakness eating my limbs.
“Why?” I could only mouth the question. I wasn’t even sure if I was questioning Ryese’s betrayal of his aunt or his hatred of me. It was getting harder to fight, harder to even think.
It didn’t matter. He was on a raging tirade with no intention of stopping anytime soon. “Now though, now you’ve gone and d
one it. All the cleverly laid plans I’d designed have to be scrapped. So you’re going to help me.”
Like hell I was.
He studied my face and laughed. “Oh dear, are you having trouble breathing? Here, let me help you.” His fingers eased off enough that I managed a shallow breath. It wasn’t enough, but it helped. “Don’t worry, dearest Lexi. I don’t plan to kill you . . . yet. You still have uses. The queen’s grip on the court has destabilized nicely—though I admit I didn’t anticipate her descent to make living here quite so miserable.” He shook his head, making the gathered sleet fly, several pieces pelted my already frozen cheeks. “Her court has lost faith in her and the other regents are questioning her capability to rule. No one will question me when I usurp her throne—everyone agrees someone must do it.”
Ryese switched his grip so only one hand held my throat. I managed a trickle of air, but the world was fuzzy now, my arms not responding. With his free hand, he dug in his coat. I tried to focus, but darkness clung all around me. My blink seemed too long, and I was sure I’d lost seconds.
“Her knight is a problem, though. I had hoped the challengers would soften him up more than they have. As you’ve probably noticed, I’m no fighter. In a fair duel I have no chance of winning against him. But he has a weakness.” Ryese pulled three vials of glittery red liquid from his pocket. “You are his weakness.”
Ryese uncorked the first vial with his teeth. I had a sinking suspicion I knew what he planned.
No. Oh no.
I pressed my lips together hard. No. No. No.
I was hurt, and I hadn’t had enough air in some time now. Ryese pulled the corks on all three vials. He smiled at me, all malicious delight. Then he released my throat and pinched my nose with one hand before lifting his weight off my chest.
I needed air. Needed to breathe. It had been too long. My body betrayed me, my mouth splitting. Ryese didn’t hesitate, but upended all three vials into my mouth.
I tried to spit. Fought the liquid dribbling into my throat.
I lost.
The Glitter was between me and much needed oxygen. My body swallowed compulsively before sucking in a jagged breath.
No.
Ryese’s smile spread further, the poisonous look of a happy snake. Then he rose in one fluid movement.
“I’ll leave you to it then, Lexi,” he said, striding toward the door. He paused before vanishing into the threshold and turned. “Enjoy your nightmares.”
Then he was gone.
Chapter 31
I lay on the floor gasping for several ragged breaths. Then I rolled onto my knees. My head spun, nausea sweeping over me. Actually, considering I’d just been force-fed an overdose, getting sick was probably a good idea.
I stoked the nauseated sensation, shoving my finger down my throat. The burn of bile crept up my esophagus, but as I doubled over, only dry heaves shook my body.
No. I couldn’t have absorbed the drug that quickly, could I? I didn’t know. I’d never used a recreational drug, and this one was a magical drug. Who knew how it behaved. That didn’t stop me from trying. But despite the growing sickness crawling through me, nothing left my body.
There was no help for it. I just had to get out of here. Get somewhere safe—which right now probably meant getting the hell out of Faerie. How long would it take for the drug to begin affecting my senses? I tried to remember anything useful from the victims I’d raised—but they’d all died. How helpful was that? Even the victims who hadn’t died from their hallucinations had died from some sort of magical burnout. I was fae, I had my own glamour, would that save me?
Three vials.
Shit.
I needed to get up. To get out. My head felt like it had been stuffed full of cotton, my thoughts sloughing through thick syrup to reach the front of my mind. I pushed upright and the world swam.
I swallowed hard, waiting for the dizziness clawing its way through my mind to clear. It took longer than I wanted, the moments passing with the pounding of my pulse in my temples.
My dagger was still several feet in front of me, and I crawled to it, picking it up. The familiar buzz against my hand, my mind, was reassuring. But what the hell could a dagger, even an enchanted, semicognizant one do to protect me from a drug?
Nothing. I had to get out of here. But I didn’t put the dagger away, instead I clutched it as I attempted to get my feet under me.
It took two attempts to climb to my feet, and as I finally reached them, a dry crackling sounded behind me. I stiffened, the skin along my spine going tight. I was alone in the room, I was sure of that. Which meant whatever made that sound, was probably created by the drugs.
I twisted, turning in slow motion, feeling like the extra in a horror movie. The stack of bones piled in the corner rustled, the entire pile shaking as if trying to dislodge the icy slush gathering on the bones. A skull tottered and then tumbled down the side of the stack. It rolled across the floor, stopping only a few feet from me, grinning its ghastly smile.
I stared at the skull for several panic-filled moments before my gaze darted back to the pile of bones. They rustled and cracked like dry reeds. Then a meaty hand burst from the center of the pile. A second hand followed, like a zombie clawing its way from a grave.
I backpedaled, trying to ignore the way the room lurched around me. I nearly fell twice, my feet tangling under me, my legs so very heavy.
I reached the far wall and glanced around. Ryese had gone this way, I knew he had. But now there was no threshold, no door.
Damn.
Had Faerie moved it? Or was I hallucinating it away?
My gaze jerked around the room, looking for where the door might have gone. There wasn’t a door. Not anywhere. The bone pile continued to shake as the creature in it pulled itself free.
I was so screwed.
I gripped my dagger tighter. It sang in my hand, but even its ever-ready bloodthirst did little to pierce the fog in my head.
“There is a door.” I told myself, trying to convince myself, Faerie, the drugged state of my mind—I wasn’t sure which—that it was the truth. Despite my words, no door appeared.
A head emerged from under the bones. Blood streamed down the thick, wide face, welling up from the skinned scalp. I recognized the flattened features immediately. Tommy Rawhead.
“You’re dead,” I told the hallucination.
The hobgoblin smiled at me, his long tongue darting out to lick chapped lips.
“You’re not real.”
Real or not, the bones tumbled down around him as he freed himself of the pile. He jumped clear, landing predator-soft on the icy floor. Then he turned, studied the pile of bones he’d emerged from and grabbed two thick leg bones, one in each hand. Lifting them, he swung them in front of him like a pair of bleached-white clubs.
He was a hallucination, conjured by my drug-addled brain. I knew he was. He had to be. I’d seen him die.
Then I’d cannibalized his soul.
Oh crap. Could the drug have found whatever was left of him inside of me? Could it have given it form, life?
No. No, that wasn’t possible. I’d taken his energy until his will alone wasn’t enough to hold him together. But I couldn’t actually absorb his being, just the life force. This was a hallucination. A living nightmare.
That didn’t stop a very real-looking Rawhead from stalking forward, lifting the bone clubs.
My grip on the dagger felt slick, but I didn’t dare switch hands long enough to wipe my palm as the hobgoblin stalked toward me. He was a hallucination given form by the drug and glamour. I knew that. And glamours could be disbelieved.
I dropped my shields.
The pile of bones glowed with the tortured souls still stuck inside. The hobgoblin, on the other hand, had no inner glow, no soul, nothing that should have given him life. He should have vanished with the confi
rmation that he was nothing but a hallucination, but Rawhead remained just as solid. Just as real. Glamour couldn’t create life, but Faerie had accepted this hallucination as solid, if nothing else. And since it was from my own drug-addled brain, I provided the live feed for his actions and personality.
Which meant I could change it right? Instead of a super-creepy bogeyman determined to rip me apart and suck the marrow from my bones, maybe I could redirect him into something nice. Something harmless. Something fuzzy and cute with a propensity for flower arrangement.
Tommy Rawhead lifted one of the bone clubs over his head.
I scuttled sideways, my concentration shifting to not falling over my own weak legs. The bone whistled through air inches from my shoulder. A miss. But barely. I had to keep moving. To put distance between myself and the glamoured bogeyman.
Rawhead spun, giving chase. And he was faster. A lot faster. Not surprising considering my head still felt a little too heavy.
I couldn’t outrun him—not that I had anywhere to go. Where the hell is that damn door?
I didn’t know. Couldn’t remember. The bones had been in the corner, but now I couldn’t remember which corner in comparison to the door.
There was no way out. I’d have to fight. I’d often heard that the best defense is a good offense. Unfortunately, I wasn’t exactly trained in fighting. With my recent history, I might have to change that.
Of course, first I had to survive now and not end up getting killed by my own imagination.
Crouching, I shifted my grip on the dagger and waited. Rawhead rushed forward, his bone clubs lifted. I didn’t know much about fighting, but the move looked more crazed barbarian than anything skilled. I guess that was the only good thing about not having a great imagination. Rawhead was limited to what my waking nightmare could conjure.
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