Chapter 33

Thirty-Three

“It’s ironic, isn’t it?”

Her voice sounds behind me and I whirl around.

Where Sam stood a second ago, now stands the queen.

“Did you think you were the only one clever enough to use a decoy? To use illusion magic?”

“ No ,” I say, but it’s a desperate cry. I don’t want to believe my eyes.

I turn back to Sam kneeling on the floor and she lists to the side, her eyes growing heavy as the blood pours out of her body, from the wound I inflicted.

“Oh god no.” I sink beside her and catch her as she spills forward. “Sam!” I hurry to untie the gag, freeing her voice. She was trying to tell me all along. She was trying to stop me. But I was too distracted by my own need for revenge.

If I’d kept my promise to Arion…

“I’m so sorry, Sam!”

In the depths of the palace, a ferocious roar echoes through the halls.

Cal.

Sam’s head lulls against my shoulder. Her eyes are just slits now.

“Sam. Stay with me.” I give her a shake, but she barely responds. The horror of what I’ve done sends a cold rush through my veins. My vision grows watery.

“I can save her,” the queen says.

I blink and several tears spill out. “How?”

“She’s mortal. I’m a fae queen. My magic could easily heal her.”

As the seconds tick by, Sam grows heavier in my arms as if all the life is slipping from her body.

“In exchange for what?” I ask.

“Denounce your claim to the Winter Court throne.”

“And give it to you?”

She says nothing.

I don’t know if that’s even possible, or if the rest of the fae realm would allow it, but I don’t care. All I care about is saving my best friend.

Bran will probably kill me. Arion will too.

But none of that matters if Sam isn’t alive.

I suck in a breath and wipe the tears from my face with the sleeve of Lethea’s tunic.

I’m just about to agree to it when a voice, barely there, nothing more than a whisper, says, “Don’t.”

I look down at Sam. Her eyes are barely open, her breath a raspy wheeze.

But her voice is unmistakable.

“Don’t. You. Dare.”

“I can’t lose you too,” I tell her.

The roar grows closer.

“You won’t,” she says. “I…promise.”

I laugh through the tears. It’s such a Sam thing to do. Sam always had more courage, more determination. It was the thing I admired about her most. How fearless she was. How she never cared what other people thought, and consequences were always damned.

“Okay, Sam,” I say. “Okay.”

Her lip quirks as if trying to smile. It’s enough.

I set her down and rise to my feet.

The queen’s expression has changed from one of confident victory to one of distant apprehension.

A cold draft swirls in the air. The queen shivers.

She steps back as a gust of wind sends the skirt of her dress billowing in the air.

Ice crystallizes on the wall, blooming toward the ceiling.

“You’ve harmed the last of my loved ones,” I tell her. “And now you’re going to pay for it.”