Chapter Six Felicity

Chapter Six

Felicity

I T'S DARK IN THE DUNGEON . Always so dark. And tonight the darkness is joined by rare silence. Usually there's a cacophony of horrific sounds coming from the other cells—wailing from the woman whose child was ripped from her arms, mad screams from the male down the corridor who was threatening death to his captors then howling because they took his hands.

In some ways, the silence is worse. At least the screams of the other prisoners remind her that she's not alone. But when it goes silent, the sound of nothingness fills her ears, her head, her whole body. In this dark so deep she can't see her own hand in front of her face, she wonders if she's ceased to exist entirely. If this is the nothingness that comes after .

When she first arrived, she cried for hours. Or was it days? Time has no meaning in this godsforsaken place. She cried until her eyes burned like white-hot embers at the bottom of a fire, sobbed until her chest ached from the exertion.

Tonight, she has no tears, and when the guard drags her from her cell and places her in front of the silver-eyed king, she doesn't sob. When he slices open her palm and presses it to his lips to drink, she doesn't cry out for her dead mother. When he reveals he is among the fae who drink the blood of their captives to learn their secrets, she doesn't cower.

Now she only wishes for death.

And when he cuts her wrists and she watches numbly as he fills a goblet with her blood, she hopes it comes quickly.

My heart swells at the sight of my old friends gathered in front of a small cottage. This might not be the same as going home, but it's the closest I've been in years.

I'd been awake for hours when Natan finally arrived at my cottage to lead me back to Hale. My earlier anxiety at the idea of going out in public in the princess's form eases as we join the others. I'm just thankful I can be part of this.

Part of ending Erith. Part of saving Elora. Finally.

Hale's busy talking to Skylar, so he doesn't notice I've arrived, but when I hop off my horse, Remme wraps me in a tight embrace. "I could just knock you out for running away the way you did," he grumbles into my hair.

"I know. But I couldn't be who you needed me to be."

He grunts in understanding, then steps back, chucking me on the chin. "You were just a girl. Don't be too hard on yourself."

Natan, Remme, Skylar, and Shae were always Hale's people—his friends and protectors who simply tolerated his pest of a little sister—but at some point they became something to me too.

I've missed them.

I scan the faces around us again, but I already know Shae's not here. I'm not sure I'd want to face him if he were. Would it still hurt? Would I still feel that twist in my chest that comes from wanting someone who doesn't want you back?

I push those thoughts of adolescent infatuation to the side and drop my hood, adjusting my posture. Princess Jasalyn, sister to the Unseelie queen, child of Mab, is small in almost every way. Slight in stature, standing just over five feet, with tiny hands, a soft voice, and a small waist. Even the way she carries herself is small. Chin tucked, eyes downcast, smile tentative. She moves through the world like she wants to disappear.

Remme nods in approval. "Not bad, kiddo."

My brother spots me from his periphery and does a double take.

A cackle bursts from my lips before I can stop it. I know that reaction. It's the discomfort of a male who's looking at someone who is the spitting image of the female he adores.

"Is something amusing to you?" he asks, eyes narrowing.

"Nothing." My lips twitch. Every time I take another's form, I am given a memory through a dream. About a month ago, my dream was a memory of Hale in the cell across from Jasalyn in Mordeus's dungeons. He protected her when the guards thought to torture her. I know him, so if he had told me, I wouldn't have been surprised, but seeing it for myself, living Jasalyn's memory in my dream, was something altogether different.

Hale folds his arms. "Lis. Don't bullshit me."

I shake my head. "It's not like you, that's all. To let a girl distract you from your mission."

His brows fly up. "Do I look distracted?"

Remme chuckles, but doesn't turn our way. I glare at his back. Coward.

Hale's frown turns to a scowl. "What'd you see?"

"Enough," I say, smoothing my skirts.

"Tell me," he presses.

I lift my gaze to his. "You saved her, being there for her like that."

He sets his jaw. "And your point?"

"My point is that you might've felt nothing more than protective of her then, but I'd bet my favorite sword your feelings are a little less innocent now that your princess is all grown up."

"You haven't even seen the way he looks at her," Remme mutters.

But I have. I saw it in that split second before his rational mind reminded him that I'm not her.

"Butt out, Remme," Hale says.

Skylar scowls, arms folded. "I don't know why you're all playing matchmaker, as if there can be any future there."

My brother's expression goes blank, and he drops his gaze to the ground. I'm not the only one who's not keen on the whole of my fate. But unlike me, Hale would never dodge his destiny. And therein lies the problem.

"We should get you inside to meet the princess," Natan says, appearing from the shadows between the cottage and its neighbor.

"I'll take her in," Hale says, waving for me to follow him up the set of wooden stairs into the tiny thatched-roof cottage.

I frown at his rounded ears as we head to the door. "Will you be traveling as humans or fae?" I ask.

"Fae," he says, not bothering to look back at me. "It's safer."

"The princess too?"

He nods. "I don't intend to travel around with her being recognizable."

I don't doubt it. And now I realize, more than ever, that protecting her isn't just about his mission. It's not just about destiny and the future of Elora. It's about the princess. It's about whatever connection grew between them during those weeks he was locked away in Mordeus's dungeons.

The house is small and dim, warmed by a blazing fire.

The princess sits in front of the hearth, staring into the flames as if they hold the solution to all her problems. I've seen that face in the mirror many times after taking her form, but seeing her in front of me is different.

I know from Jas's memories that her days in captivity changed her irreparably. She doesn't like attention, and she hates the fae, especially the Unseelie.

The princess is a conundrum. She's fragile and angry. She's delicate and sharp. She was once so soft and hopeful, and now she's hardened and bitter.

This princess radiates a certain something that goes beyond the smallness I've mimicked in her features. It's a sadness. A deep-seated melancholy I can only hope I'm never able to truly duplicate. And something else as well. Something ethereal perhaps. Something that can only be gifted by the gods.

Princess Jasalyn, the human heir to the Unseelie throne, has the presence of a queen.

When Hale clicks the door closed behind me, her attention snaps to us, and she jumps up from her chair. "Oh. Hello. You do look..." She swallows, but as she takes me in, I can't help but notice that her eyes aren't wide with shock so much as furrowed in concentration. She wants this to work.

"Jas," my brother says, guiding me deeper into the cottage to join the princess in front of the fire, "this is Felicity. My..." We exchange a look, and I realize he won't be claiming me as his family. We share no blood, but it stings. "We are old friends."

The princess frowns. "How did you come to know a fae shifter in Elora?"

He said he hadn't told her everything yet, but it seems he hasn't told her much at all.

"It's a long story that I'm sure I'll have a chance to tell you on our journey."

"I look forward to that," she says, gaze still fixed on me. "Would you mind giving us some privacy, Kendrick?"

"Of course." He slips out the door quietly, leaving twin princesses studying each other before the fire.

She cocks her head to the side. I know what she sees. Everything about my form in this moment is identical to her—or at least identical to her as she was when she shed the hair I wrapped around my finger and pressed to my heart before I went to sleep last night.

She reaches for my hand, hesitating before her fingers connect with my skin. "May I?"

I draw in a sharp breath, half shocked that she's bothering to ask permission and half miserable that I understand why she does. The princess hates being touched. I learned that the second time I took her form. In the memory I was given that time, she was sitting at a table with her sister. She sipped tea as the queen spoke, but she wasn't really listening. She was staring into the swirling eddies of her tea and wishing her sister would take her hand from her shoulder. How is it that I cannot even tolerate my sister's touch? she wondered in that moment, followed quickly by a fleeting thought—more impression than words—of I will never be whole again.

The memory was short, but so full of desolation that I've not let myself think about it much until now.

I turn my hand up for her and nod curtly.

Jasalyn's touch is gentle as she nudges my sleeve to my elbow, exposing the gnarled circle of scars on the inside of my forearm.

"Your ankles?" she asks, nodding to the floor.

"Scarred as well," I say.

"Show me." Her command is still somehow gentle.

I make quick work of the laces on my boots and pull them off, followed by my stockings, until she's staring at the scars that I already know match hers precisely.

"Before you ask," I say, clearing my throat, "I also have them on my hips and a patchwork of scars on my stomach."

"Always? Or only when you're in this form?"

"Only when I'm in this form. Are they from your time in Mordeus's dungeons?"

She swallows, and her eyes are haunted. "I don't know where they're from."

"Lying to me won't make this more successful."

I can't imagine what terrible things Mordeus and his cronies did to her just because they could.

"Don't." Her voice is hard.

"What?"

"That pity. Don't. There is a reason I agreed to go with Kendrick. I plan to find Mordeus and kill him myself this time."

My heart aches for her. For this broken shell of a girl. I will never be whole again. "Mordeus is dead."

She straightens. "You haven't heard. He's been resurrected."

A cold chill races up my spine, nausea following quickly after. If it's true, I'm in trouble. Mordeus was the one who discovered that I was alive and shared the truth with my birth father. If he's back, he will find me and use me as political leverage again. My mind is spinning with questions. And fear. Now I want nothing more than to stay in Jasalyn's skin and run off to the Wild Fae Lands, far from the silver-eyed wicked king.

"How?" I ask.

She shrugs limply. "What do I know of the fae and their magic? But I think rather than find the answer, I'll end him."

My insides tremble at the thought of him even breathing. But the idea of getting close enough to kill him? "How are you so brave?" I ask, but what I want to know is how do you think you can do something so courageous when you are so very scared all the time?

She smiles. "Magic."

"I thought you didn't have any."

"Not of my own. But I'll let others' magic help me when needed."

I'm not sure what that means, and I want nothing more than some reassurance that this girl is capable of saving my brother from an early death, but I get the feeling she'll only be more vague if I push.

"How do you do it?" she asks. "I know shifters. One of my sister's advisors is a shifter, but this..." Her eyes scan me again, like a particularly interesting puzzle. "This is different."

"How so?" I ask. I would always rather ask a question than tell a lie.

"I can't put my finger on it. You..." She shakes her head in wonder. "Perhaps I do not know any shifters as skilled as you."

I lift my chin. "I appreciate the compliment, Your Highness."

Something flashes in her eyes. "Please call me Jas. The only princess in this room for the next long while is you ."

I shiver at that sobering thought.

"Do you know how to shield your mind?" she asks. "Do you have any training?"

"Of course. This task would be impossible if I didn't."

She lifts her chin. "Misha will try to get into your mind. He's the one who taught me to shield, and he pokes to make sure I keep my defenses strong. You cannot be lax. Even for a moment."

"I was trained from a very young age," I assure her. "It's an essential skill for one with my gifts."

"Okay." She releases a breath. "I'm giving you access to the queen. To my sister. I'm trusting you because Kendrick trusts you. But if you touch one hair on her head, I will make the things Mordeus did to his prisoners look like a holiday, and you will wish he'd found you instead of me."

I know I'm supposed to be intimidated, but the princess's words only make me respect her. More importantly, they help me understand her. "I will protect your sister as if she were my own. She is a good queen."

Jas nods sharply. "Then tell me what you need to know."

"Everything."

Hale and his friends are in a circle discussing something in low murmurs when I exit the cottage in Jasalyn's riding leathers. I can't return to the palace wearing a castoff gown without raising suspicions, and she agreed to trade clothes.

I pull the door shut behind me and fold my arms, frowning at my brother. "Is it true? Mordeus lives?"

Natan blows out a breath. "Is that what you two talked about for so long?"

Hale is just looking at me, eyes worried.

"You didn't think I'd want to know that?"

Skylar scoffs. "We don't know anything for sure. You want us to debrief you on all the rumors flying around Faerie? You should hear what they're saying about this so-called plague. Some believe Mab is punishing descendants of her enemies from the Twilight. Others believe those fire gems they all wear to amplify their magic have turned toxic. Nothing more than superstitious hogwash."

I hold my brother's gaze. He knows what's at stake for me. I'm merely a pawn to Mordeus. If he thought that he could deliver me to my father to restore even an ounce of his power in this realm, he'd do it. Hale might threaten, but he's sacrificed too much to keep me alive, and I've always seen his threats for the bluster they are.

"You're still worth more to him alive than dead," Natan says.

I cough out a laugh. "Really? That's how you're going to comfort me?" I stomp toward them to untie my mare. "Thanks for nothing, Nate."

"Hey." Hale tugs on the long braid I twisted my—Jasalyn's—hair into before riding here, and I turn to him. "Try not to worry about it."

"Mordeus is the reason I barely remember my own face," I say. "He's the reason your father— our father—is dead."

"And if he really is back, you'll be safe in the Wild Fae Lands," Hale says.

My eyes burn with unshed tears, and my vision goes blurry. "And what about you? Am I not supposed to worry about you either?"

He cocks a brow. "Thought you hated me, little sis."

I sniff. "Just because I don't want you to rot in his dungeons doesn't mean I don't hate you."

"Gods, so much mushy gushy crap," Skylar groans. "Pull it together."

Hale pulls me into a hug, and I hear the scuff of Sky's boots on the gravel as she walks away.

I hug my brother back, my chest already aching with the loneliness I know will hit once I leave. "Three years is too long," I whisper against his chest.

"I was thinking the same thing. Mom misses you," he murmurs. "Find us that doorway so we can go home, okay?"

I pull back and nod, swiping at my cheeks. "I should get to the palace before nightfall."

Hale's gaze flicks toward the door. "Did she tell you everything you need to know?"

I huff. "Not even close, but I'll manage. She keeps herself isolated, so that will help."

"Don't be too isolated," he says. "You have a king to woo."

I shake my head and mount my horse. "I asked. Their relationship isn't like that."

"Make it like that."

I arch a brow. "And when we switch back? You'll be fine with the princess becoming the new Wild Fae queen?"

He backs away from my horse. "I'll be fine with the princess doing whatever it is she needs to do to be happy."

I don't even think he knows he's full of it. "You know she's only going with you so she can kill Mordeus, right?"

Skylar barks out a laugh from ten feet away, where she's obviously been listening while pretending to groom her horse. "She's scared of her own shadow. How's she going to kill a resurrected wicked king?"

Hale's broad chest expands as he draws in a long breath. "I suspected something like that might be involved." He pats my mare on her hind quarters. "Let me worry about the princess. You have enough on your plate."

I flip up the hood on my cloak, and he frowns. "That's not her cloak."

"She refused to part with it."

"She gave you the boots, though," Skylar says. "She wouldn't let me wear the boots."

"Get over it already," Remme mutters. He snags a silky bag from Skylar's hands and tosses it to me.

I snatch it from the air. I know its contents without opening it. More than enough hair for many months as the princess.

If I'm lucky, when this is all over, I might be able to see my own face in the mirror.