Ravella stands below, a fire already roaring on the bank of a frozen river. I calm the winds, and the rest of us drop to the ground. Gray grunts when his feet touch the snow—he’s about as fond of flying as Kyrin. Valen is a bit more graceful about it, but his color has a definite green tint. Thorn glides down as a white owl and changes form, landing on his feet at a slight run.
I sent word to Phinelas, but he may be too far away with Catcher duties to be of help. Branala is in charge at High Mountain while I’m away, and Gareth is recovering. I can’t reach Brannon, and I haven’t heard a whisper about him since I sent him to Silksglade to investigate Yvarra’s death. The Phalanx is spread thin, but I have warriors at my side who are ready to fight and die for my mate. I can ask for nothing more than that.
Ravella stares across the vast wasteland that leads to the mountain range. “Maybe we should have brought the army.”
“No.” I rub Kyrin’s muzzle. “We need to do this quickly and quietly. Get Taylor and get out.”
“You need rest.” Ravella points to a log next to the icy river. “We need full strength when we enter the Barren Lands.”
“We do.” I can’t disagree. But sitting down isn’t going to happen, not when I know Taylor is in those gray and black mountains. Possibly hurt and afraid. My hands curl into fists. If she’s been harmed … I shake the dark thoughts away and work on feeding Kyrin as Gray tends to his horse.
“You sure we can trust the information on where Taylor is being held?”
I lean against Kyrin. “We can. I made an oath that can’t be broken, just as she did.”
Gray runs a hand over his close-cropped hair. “She might break it out of spite, send herself to an even darker pit of the Spires.”
“Your suspicion hurts me, warrior.” Selene strides up, and the horses snort nervously.
“I don’t think anything hurts you.” Gray drags over a pail of water for his horse. “Though I’m happy to try it out and see.” He straightens and looks at her. “Why do you watch me like that?”
She clacks her teeth, her black eyes glinting. “Just imagining what your hide would look like in my cave.”
“I’m warning you, creature.” He steps toward her.
“Stop.” I put a hand to his chest. “We don’t need division right now. Selene has sworn an oath. Her information is good.”
She kicks her chin up. “Listen to your king, tasty warrior.” She cocks her head to the side at an unnerving angle. “Did you know your bones call to me? They tell me how I could use them in a stew.”
“I said knock it off.” I cross my arms and stare her down.
“Of course.” She does a curtsy with an imaginary skirt.
Gray glowers but backs away.
“Why did you insist on coming along?” I hold her shadowy gaze. “I gave you what you wanted. You gave me her location. What else is there?”
“I went back to my cave. My lovely, beautiful cave. Sat with my bones and flesh for a while. But then got the itch, felt the power in the air—” She sniffs like a hound. “Tasted it, I did. And I want to follow that scent all the way to the source.”
“The king beyond the mountain?”
She cackles. “He’s powerful, but there is one even more powerful. More glorious.” She sounds almost … smitten.
I didn’t anticipate an even greater foe, but I will fight through whatever the Spires can throw at me to get to Taylor. “I don’t suppose you’ll share any information on the king beyond the mountain or the other threat you speak of?”
“What are you offering?” She spins and clasps her hands in front of her.
“No.” I’ve already given up something of great value. I won’t give up anything else to this dark creature.
She pouts. “Too bad.”
“Let him rest, witch.” Ravella dumps some vegetables into the stew pot. “We eat, and then we ride.”
My magic is replenishing slowly, but we don’t have time for it to rebuild all the way. I won’t be as powerful out of the winter realm, but I send a prayer to the Ancestors that I’m strong enough to free my mate and get her to safety—even if that means I never return from the Gray Mountains.
“The Barren Lands.” The witch dances back, hands still clasped.
Valen sits on the log and stares at her, a mix of curiosity and disgust on his face. He’s never seen an Obsidian before, so I can’t blame him.
“What fun those dangerous pits of sand and hordes of double-fanged snakes will be, and then the mountains.” She puts the back of her wrist to her forehead, seemingly lost in reverie. “So much blood and bone, so much death to come. I want to bathe in all the—” She stills, then her head snaps around at an impossible angle, and her body turns slowly to match it.
“What?” I peer toward the mountains where she’s looking, an ominous feeling growing in my breast. “What is it?”
“Don’t you see it, winter king?” she crows. “The dark sparks, the purple blooms, the black bursts of death?”
Valen shades his eyes. “I see nothing.”
“I see it.” She dances a little unhinged jig, her feet nimble. “I told her she could free her aura when she was ready.” Her head snaps back around to me, her eyes vicious. “And, oh my dark, rotting stars, she’s ready.”
7
Taylor
The guards move aside as I sweep past, my wings aching and my heart pounding. I can feel each one of the dead, their lifeless husks silent and dull. But I can sense life nearby. That idiot Cecile and her pathetic human, the one who looks like me but not half as good.
I burst through the door, and Cecile stands from her spot at the bed.
Her eyes open wide. “What happened?”
I hold out my hand and watch as black embers spark and dance there. But it’s not enough. Something is holding me back. I’m caged, the dark heart of me wrapped in razor wire and stuffed down, down, down. Closing my eyes, I concentrate on the piece of me that’s bound, and I will it to let go, to free me, to release whatever hold it has. I cough, choke for a moment, then spit out a small, green pea.
My magic explodes through the room, tendrils of gorgeous death reaching and swirling, diving to the ground and twining like the roots of the great tree.
Cecile screams, and I turn to her.
“You’re a necromancer.” She tries to ward off the black tentacles and backs away to defend her pitiful human.
I want to hurt her. To suck her life away and leave her a desiccated corpse. And why not? I can feel that power flowing through me, the ability to control life and death housed in my immortal frame.
Holding my hand up, I stare at it, at the black streaks through my veins and the darkness that rolls off me like a fog. “I am death incarnate.” My voice is many, shaking the rock, shattering the glass water pitcher, and piercing the hearts of all who hear.
“A necromancer.” Cecile’s silver eyes brim with tears. “That’s what you were all along. Just like your father. An unseelie monster.”
My black tendrils wrap around her throat and lift her off the ground. “You throw those names around as if they might mean something to me. As if they could hurt me.” I advance until we’re face to face as she claws at her throat. I smile and treasure the terror that blooms in her. “I can smell your fear. I bet your father smelled the same way when he died. I remember his face, you know? How he looked when his throat was cut, his blood pouring all around.” I press the tip of my finger to her chest, right over her heart, and watch as my darkness spreads within her.