39. A Rising Tide

Chapter 39

A Rising Tide

LORI

S eth draws a rune in blood inside his palm to open the way to his mother's prison. I watch as he presses his hand flat to the pliable glass on our side of the sceawere, a spell clearly barring the way for anyone to enter that doesn't know the secret code—or possess the right pedigree.

Given the fact that Seth doesn't ask me to close my eyes, I figure it's the latter.

Considering Spring's acrimonious relationship with the Shadowlands, it's not surprising that they would take measures to prevent the Shadow King and his kin, along with the other high-born Fae who've been taught the ways of the sceawere, to walk in and out of their kingdom at will.

While runes serve as ever-changing addresses for the millions of mirrors peppered across the worlds, it's very difficult for a traveler to find a place he's never visited. And in this case, if someone managed to get to this mirror by design or chance, he simply wouldn't be able to walk through the glass.

Seth lowers his voice to a mere whisper. "The guard is an old friend of mine. We have maybe twenty minutes before her shift ends, and whatever happens, she can't know you're here." He points toward the corridor to our right and draws a timer rune over my arm, the clock set to fifteen minutes. "I'll make sure she's too occupied to bother with her last round and meet you back here."

With a rogue grin, Seth follows the path of bright torches on the left, and I wrap myself up in shadows. The mirror behind us is warded with a set of golden-leafed runes, confirming my hunch that even Damian wouldn't be able to enter this prison.

The ancient stones of the Secret Springs stronghold have been weathered by centuries of time. Moss creeps between the cracks, the murky air embalmed with pungent fragrances of mildew, overturned earth, and urine.

At the end of the hallway, a long, seemingly endless, corridor spreads on both sides. Doors of rowan wood, each with small, iron-barred windows, are set at regular intervals, all identical. There's simply too many of them to quietly look inside each one, but the low sound of water churning and frothing lures me to the northern side of the prison.

The stories my mother told about her time in captivity, with only the heavy rumble of the waterfall for comfort, are still fresh in my memory. If she knew her precious son had ended up in that place too… she would have been heartbroken.

After a dozen doors, cold sweat pearls above my brows, and I let my shadow cloak fall. "Foxtail? It's me."

My call reverberates along the claustrophobic walls. "Leave this place…" the night whispers, "while you still can."

"Hello?"

Faint footsteps echo through a few chambers, accompanied by the slow creak of chains dragging over stones. I catch a glimpse of long canines and black scales in the cell closest to me and grip my daggers tightly, my heart pounding.

"Foxtail?" I repeat, a bit louder and with more confidence, acutely aware that time is slipping away.

A rat scurries down the hallway.

"Nightshade?"

My boots thud along the long corridor until I reach the correct cell, where my brother's fingers are visible between the iron bars. "Foxtail!" I gasp, reaching for him.

Clammy fingers hook around mine, the space between the bars not wide enough for his entire hand to pass through, but my heart swells at the contact. I haven't seen him in almost a year, back when he formally decided to train as an arrow carver.

His hair has been buzzed off, his prisoner jumpsuit leaving his tattooed arms bare. Red, yellow, and blue patterns now cover his forearms, most of them new. Textured white scars streak along his neck and arms, the tattoos filling up the space between the marks, and I'm taken aback by the heavy muscles he's developed during our time apart.

"Oh, Foxtail. How did you end up here?"

He grins from ear to ear, his character unchanged despite his appearance. "Have you come to scold me or break me out?"

"Neither—" My fingers clench around his. "I got your sentence reprieved, but they're transferring you to Murkwood."

The joy on his face vanishes. "So instead of being executed, I'll waste away for decades? No one comes out of Murkwood alive, sis," he says in a scalding tone.

"Why would they send you there in the first place? It's a Summerlands prison."

Guilt flickers in and out on his face. His lips part like he's about to offer an explanation, but his features twist into a scowl.

"By Morpheus… you really carved a forbidden arrow. How? Freya herself isn't capable of sharpening them enough to pierce a Fae's heart."

"It's not that hard." He gives me the kind of nonchalant shrug that makes me want to strangle him. "With the right tools."

"You cocky bastard." I curl my fingers around the iron bars, testing their strength, but the metal doesn't budge. "Do you even know who it was for?"

Ayaan swats my question away with an awkward wave. "Oh, some spoiled Summer prince."

"The crown prince?" My eyes narrow, his evasiveness only sharpening my suspicions. "Was it the crown prince, Ayaan?"

"It might have been the crown prince."

"I will kill you myself! Who have you been associating with? Mom's old friends? She fled to the new world for a reason. You can't trust these people—" I press my lips together. My outcry sparked a multitude of footsteps in the neighboring cells, and I force a deep, cleansing breath down my lungs.

"What about you? Did you really enter the Yule pageant?" Ayaan asks, and the unspoken judgment in his voice irks me more than if he'd called me a whore to my face.

"How do you think I saved your sorry ass from being hanged?" I snap.

"I never asked you to do that."

I arch a brow that says, Are you fucking serious right now?

Ayaan crosses his arms, the red and blue shapes of his tattoos forming the silhouette of a crab over his chest. "Excuse me for not celebrating the fact that I'm about to be transferred to the worse prison in Faerie, when I know my friends will die thinking I betrayed them." He shakes his head. "Seth Devine might be a weed, but he's still one of them. Don't tell me you slept with that sly prince?—"

"Who I sleep with is none of your business." I study the inked patterns, the crab flanked by a roaring wave.

Ayaan angles his gaze to the sky like I'm the unreasonable one, unaware of my sudden interest for his tattoos. "Thank Eros… You're out of Wintermere, now."

I know my brother like the back of my hand, and his apparent relief, along with the peculiar new ink, starts to form dangerous puzzle pieces. Old memories of the crab pendant lying at the bottom of my mother's jewelry box flash into my mind, and Elio's stern voice echoes in my ears. For centuries, their followers have been scuttling about the realm in their name.

Crabs feed at high tide, my mother once said.

"I'm going back in a couple of hours, actually," I lie, the words flying out of my mouth with ease.

He frowns. "Why?"

"I'm going to marry the King," I whisper.

"Oof. Nice one." A bright chuckle pops out of his mouth. "You really had me going there for a second, sis."

"I'm not kidding."

Even though I'm bluffing, the words ring true. So true in fact that I begin to believe them myself.

Ayaan rolls his eyes at what he clearly considers not only to be impossible, but absolutely ridiculous. "You can't marry the Winter King, Nightshade."

"Why not? He needs a wife, and he chose me. The solstice ritual starts in only a few hours."

My brother's brows furrow, the lines at the corners of his eyes making him look even more like our father. "You're lying to get me to talk about our plans. Who put you up to this?"

"What plans, Foxtail?"

"I'm not going to say another word. I know for a fact that the Winter King picked someone else."

"News travels fast here, I bet," I muse, injecting a shit-load of sarcasm in my voice. Without giving myself the time to chicken out, I reach into my pocket and pry out the frost apple. "Are you 100% sure your sources are correct?"

Ayaan's face loses all color. "Is that—" He draws away from the door, his gaze fixed on the mythical fruit.

I rub down the apple with the sleeve of my uniform, its vibrant blue peel like a beacon in the murky air. "What's going to happen, Ayaan? Because like it or not, it's going to happen to me. Not a stranger, and definitely not some spoiled Fae princess."

His gray eyes dim. "The tides will rise tonight and wash the Winter King from our shores. You can't be standing next to him when it happens."

A hot pocket of grief flares in my chest. "Who's their leader? Morrigan?" I search for hints of recollection on his face, and a small wince escapes him.

"Don't believe everything you've heard. Morrigan escaped the Shadow Court. Rye is one of us, now."

" Us ?" I inch my shirt up to showcase my rotting scar. "See that? Your precious Rye did that to me." My teeth grit together as I summon the will not to yell. "Who's the leader? The Gray Man? Do you know who he is?"

"I've already said way too much. Just…don't go back to Wintermere, and let the Winter King marry someone else."

The rune pinches my arm, signaling the fifteen minute mark, and I tuck the apple safely back inside my pocket. "I love you, Ayaan, but I have to go."

"Don't marry him, Nightshade! You're going to get yourself killed!" he shouts after me, the door of his cell rattling on its hinges.

Shadows glide along my arms and legs as I break into a run. Seth is already waiting by the warded mirror with his mask when I return, his bloody palm pressed to the surface of the glass. I slip inside the sceawere without a hitch, and he follows after me. His tie is undone, and a smudge of red lipstick mars the white collar of his undershirt.

"Is everything alright?" he asks, the cold kiss of the sceawere biting deep into the sensitive skin of my neck.

"We have to hurry," I rasp, the tightness in my chest morphing into a dull ache. "The Tidecallers are coming for the souls tonight ."