Chapter 35

I swallowed down the apprehension that rose in me when I thought of being stranded in the cavern, stuck hanging over the chasm below.

I forced myself to concentrate on the statue before me, keen to get as much as I could done before he returned.

A soft hoot from above made me jump in surprise and look up. There was a fluttering of wings, and a white owl swooped out of the darkness. A surprising rush of relief hit me at not being alone.

The owl soared down to the statues, dropping a single feather down to me before perching on one of the figures with no face. “ Heimskr .”

“Please call me Reyna.”

“No. This place has power.”

“I know. How did you get here?”

“I followed you. It was not easy, given how much stone I had to travel through, but my superior skills were able to seek you out.”

“Well done,” I told him. “Did you see who put the snake in my room?”

The owl froze. “Snake?”

“Yes. The massive blue snake left in my room to kill me.”

“I saw no snakes. When I returned to the palace you were not in your room. I assumed you were indulging in human affairs with the fae male whose bed you were in when I located you.”

“I was poisoned. By a snakebite. That’s why I was in his rooms.”

“Snakes are vile creatures,” Voror said, flicking his wings, and shifting his weight.

I tilted my head, trying not to smile. “Are you afraid of them?”

He ruffled his feathers indignantly. “I am afraid of nothing!”

“Of course you’re not. What about this place?” I spread my hand out, gesturing at the statues. “Do you recognize anything?”

He moved his head slowly, taking in each statue. “These are the fae of the five Courts. I do not know who these two are, but,”—he paused, lifting off then resettling on the statue that was much shorter than the rest—“this, I believe may be a dwarf.”

My eyebrows lifted. “Dwarfs? I thought they were a myth?”

He clicked his beak. “They were as real as the gods and the high fae were once,” he said.

I looked back at the statues. “Could one of the other two be a high-fae?”

“Possibly. What is your task here?”

I pointed to the inscription on the circle in the middle of the palm. “That says I have some sort of key. And the gold-fae statue has gold inside its staff. But something’s not right. The gold is bent.”

“You are repairing it?”

“I’m removing the stone first, and then yes.”

“Do you know how to repair it?”

“The gold runes will tell me what to do.”

The owl tilted his head again. “Do you think it wise to help the Prince of the Shadow Court?”

I bit my lip as I considered. I had no more reason to trust Voror than anyone else. But I did. “Whatever this place is, I am involved. This was inscribed centuries before I was even born. If I am truly the only one who can uncover whatever it is hidden here, then perhaps the leverage that affords me can take me further than running.”

Voror blinked. “Where is it you wish to go?”

“I want to be free. I don’t want to hide. I don’t want to move through Yggdrasil knowing I will be killed or enslaved for who I was born as.”

“You believe you can ransom whatever you might uncover for your freedom?”

“I think it is as likely to work as trying to escape.”

“And what if the knowledge you hand over to the Shadow Court in exchange for your freedom spells a worse fate?”

“Like what?”

“War. The loss of the rest of your kind’s freedom.” He ruffled his feathers again in what I thought was a shrug. “Cataclysmic disaster.”

“I see you’re an optimist,” I muttered. He was right, though. I had no idea what kind of power I was dealing with here, or what it might do in the wrong hands.

“I am not an optimist. I am wise.”

“You can’t be both?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I disagree.”

“Well, you’re not as clever as me.”

I scowled at him. “So you keep telling me. What, oh wise one, would you do in my position?”

“I would find out more about the power here. Then decide what value it has.”

I put my hand on my hip. “And how can I find out more about the power without repairing the staff?”

Voror was silent a moment. “You can’t. Continue your work, irritating human.”

I shook my head as I moved back to the gold-fae statue. “You know, if enough people keep calling me that, I may develop a complex.”

Hours passed, and I was able to uncover the top part of the statue without causing any damage to the gold. I could still only see one bent feather, and a little thrill came over me when it was finally time to fix it. Picking up the finest scalpel I had been given, I laid my hands firmly on the gold feathers and embraced the gold-vision. If I could work fast enough, then hopefully the Prince would still be gone when the dark visions came. It would be easier to lie about them to Voror; the owl couldn’t get into my head.

The runes began to float from the metal, and I slipped quickly under their spell. I was vaguely aware that they were different from the usual runes I saw. I couldn’t quite pinpoint how; it was something to do with the angle of the lines, and the sharpness of the points. Something subtle. Not wrong, or overwhelming. Just different.

I worked diligently on straightening out the feather, placing my scalpel carefully and rubbing my fingertips over the gold exactly as the runes instructed me to do. When I finished, I crouched, dropping my tools and allowing the gold-vision to lift.

“I find myself enjoying watching you work,” said Voror, his voice making me start slightly.

“Wow. A compliment.”

“It would appear you are not adept at taking them.”

“I haven’t had much practice. Look, Voror, there’s a… thing that happens after the rune-marked work. I need intense, uninterrupted rest for a short while.” I moved onto my backside as I spoke, laying the palms of my hands on the cool stone and making sure I was sitting in the middle of the hand-shaped platform. I would lose my real sight any moment, and I had no inclination to be anywhere close to the edge when that happened.

“Understood. Do you wish me to leave?”

“Yes. Please.”

“Very well.” I heard the fluttering of his wings and closed my eyes.

The first wave hit me. Darkness. And strong sense of unease, bordering on fear, but too intangible to solidify.

I took a deep breath, rubbing my hands on the stone, trying to ground myself.

But when the second wave came, my breath caught in my throat.

It was different.

There was no screeching laugh. A woman was crying instead. And the flashes of red illuminating shapes in the darkness were flashes of silver.

The vision faded as quickly as it always did, and gooseflesh rose on my arms. In my whole life, the visions had never changed. The third always started with an ear-splitting scream. I’d stopped rubbing my hands over the stone, instead balling them into tense, sweaty fists.

Never would I have believed that I would be hoping for that scream.

It didn’t come.

A wail sounded in my ears, long and raw, and filled with sadness. Two figures came in hazy view, a man crouched over a woman laid on her back. The smell of blood always came next, but instead, I became aware of the smell of flowers. Lilies.

The vision cleared, and I opened my eyes, panic crawling up my throat.

I hated the visions of the Starved Ones, but to see something different? It had thrown me almost more than anything else that had happened to me.

Would there be a fourth?

Darkness descended, and I instinctively wrapped my arms around myself, fear taking me in its clutches.

A face moved into view. Not the Starved One I usually saw. It was a woman, face pale and haggard. “My son.” I gasped at the words. Never had I heard words before. “If they find out what you really are, they will end you.”

A male voice answered, distorted and grief-stricken. “I have no magic without you. Please. Don’t leave me.”

“My death will give you enough for five years. But you must find the mist-staff by your thirtieth birthday.”

“No! No, mother, you can’t!” The woman’s face faded from view and then eyes shone out of the patchy gloom left behind.

The vision cleared as I groped for the stone beneath me.

Those eyes.

They had been gold, not gray, but there was no doubt in my mind who they belonged to.

The Prince.

I moved unsteadily, suddenly needing to be anywhere but trapped underground. I needed space, air, a chance to breathe.

I stumbled to my feet and remembered I was on a platform over a lethal drop.

Some of my confused, claustrophobic panic gave way to sense.

I had to wait for the Prince. Where was he?

Could it really have been him in that vision?

Turning to the waterfall, I half expected to see his form striding along the wrist toward me.

What I did not expect was the hooded figure standing just a foot away.