“No.” I lean back against the stones, though they aren’t as warm as I’d hoped.
“Then why are you spouting nonsense?”
“We have the same mother. Callandra.”
Her nostrils flare at the name. “Not possible.”
“Maybe it’s escaped your notice, but none of this is possible.” I wave my hand at pretty much everything. “Shathinor is alive, I’m his daughter, I’m your sister, I have an evil brother, there’s another me right here in this room, and we are trapped in a cave where the fires are purple and the guards are dead guys!” My voice rises with, I admit, more than a hint of hysteria.
Cecile glares at me. “Things are already bad enough without you harshing my vibe.”
“I’m harshing your vibe?”
“Yes. And I need positive feels to help my girl get better. So, I’d appreciate it if you keep any and all negativity to yourself.” She turns her back on me. “And we aren’t sisters. I have a sister, and she’s right here.” She grasps the other me’s hand again.
I don’t even comment on how ridiculous she is to claim I’m not her sister, but somehow my doppelganger is? What a mess. I lean my head back against the wall and yell for Leander again. But he can’t hear me. Our bond was so alive when we mated, but now that vibrancy has faded into black and white. He’s too far away.
“Mother would have told me, you know,” she says quietly. “She would have said.”
“She was trying to keep me hidden. I was born a long time ago, but she had to keep me away from my father. That’s why you didn’t know about me.” A thought hits me, and I laugh.
“What could possibly be funny?” Cecile snipes.
“I’m your big sister.” It tickles me for some reason, and I wheeze-laugh as Cecile scowls. “Maybe I can babysit you sometime.” Raucous, inappropriate laughter boils out of me until I double over and hold my aching ribs.
“You’re mental.”
“Maybe.” I sit back up and wipe my eyes, the (admittedly crazy) laughter fading. “Probably. But don’t worry about me, little sister.”
She rolls her eyes. “Mother sent me to find you.” She smooths the other me’s blanket. “I didn’t know why. But before she went to the Ancestors, she told me to go to earth and look out for you. I had to promise her, swore on the Ancestors and the old magic. When the time came, I fought it, but father wanted to separate me from my Taylor, so he was happy for me to go. I told myself it would be easy, that maybe it wasn’t so bad. After all, my Taylor is my best friend.” Her eyes narrow. “But then I arrived to my dorm room and met you.”
I ignore her barb. “All of it fits.” I don’t want it to. I don’t want to be Shathinor’s daughter, but there it is. I can’t deny how well his story matches up to what’s happened to me, but I still don’t know why I’m here. What’s his plan? To keep me around as a pet?
“My father is dead, isn’t he?” It’s a question, but she states it with such resignation that I can tell she knows the answer.
The question is an even gloomier change of pace. “He is.”
“Did you kill him?” Her shoulders hunch a little.
“No.” I don’t intend to volunteer that Leander did.
“Okay.” She nods. “I know he wasn’t … a good fae. But I’m glad you weren’t the one—”
We jump when a knock rattles the door.
A female undead shambles in, her head bald in spots, and her blue dress torn and tatty, but she holds an emerald green gown that seems fit for a queen. Walking to me, she lays the dress along a wooden chair, then reaches for my shirt.
“Hey!” I try to scoot back but knock my head on the stones behind me.
She takes the opportunity to begin yanking my shirt off.
“Stop!” I throw my hands up, but she’s surprisingly strong, and so is her stench.
Shoving myself to the side, I evade her grasp and hurry around the bed. “Go away.”
She gestures to the dress, her white eyes droopy, and moves toward me again.
“Look.” I hold my hands up. “I can dress myself. All right?”
She stops but doesn’t leave.
“She can dress herself, but trust me, she doesn’t have a clue how to dress.” Cecile’s usual snarky armor is back up.
“This is neither the time nor the place, Cecile.” I edge around the bed and grab the dress.
“Whatever.” She leans over Taylor on the bed and finger combs her hair.
I turn my back on them and the corpse and strip down, then stand and throw the velvety dress over my head. It falls almost to the floor and has a scoop neckline that isn’t too low. Not bad.
“I’m dressed. Now what?” I put my hands on my hips and speak with an utterly false bravado. Is this dress what I’m about to be sacrificed in? My knees go to jelly at the idea, but there’s nothing I can do except put my faith in Leander. He will come for me. He promised to the Ancestors that he would always come for me.
The woman shuffles to the door and opens it, then waits.
“She wants you to go with her,” Cecile offers helpfully.
“I figured that out. Thanks.” My fear hasn’t killed my sarcasm, so that’s a win, sort of.
I ease out the door, and one of the undead guards from earlier walks behind me, herding me down the dark hallway and up a flight of stairs that never seems to end. By the time I get to the top, I have to wipe the beads of sweat from my forehead and take in gulps of air. Apparently, more cardio is necessary to survive the evil mountain lair. The zombie behind me isn’t even winded.
“Daughter.” Shathinor’s voice carries on a cool wind, and I shiver.
The guard gives me a light push. I turn to glare at him, but his gelatinous white eyes have me turning right back around.
With heavy steps, I walk toward the sound of Shathinor’s voice. More guards appear, some dead, some alive, all of them stern. Soldiers line the stone walls that open onto a wide veranda jutting out into the cloudy night. There is nothing below but the valley of campfires that spreads as far as I can see. One misstep up here would spell doom.
“Come, daughter.” Shathinor stands near the very tip of the stone peninsula extending from the side of the mountain. His black wings are folded neatly behind him, the tips peeking over his shoulders.
Cenet stands beside him, his gaze no less lethal than it was before. But they aren’t arguing anymore, at least.
A wind whips past, and I stop as my gown flows out beside me and over the edge. That first step is a doozy.
“Come.” Shathinor beckons with what passes for a smile on his face.
My heart thumps out of tune, and I want nothing more than to flee back down the stairs. But one look at Cenet tells me he’d catch me and hurt me. And worse than that, he’d enjoy it. He has my obsidian blade at his side.
I force my feet to carry me all the way and stop next to the rotting king.
He takes my arm and pulls me to the very lip of the stone. I clench my eyes shut.
“Look down.” His voice slithers into my ear.
It takes effort, but I open my eyes and squint at the camps far below.
“All this is ours. Every bit of it.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders, and for a moment, I ponder throwing myself off the cliff. “I had already begun my work to rebuild my army, but the moment I felt you here in Arin, I knew it was time. More and more join my cause, and now we can take the reins of this great slumbering beast and turn its jaws toward first the summer realm and then to the true prize, my former home. Our home.”