Chapter Eighteen

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

SHARP REVERSION

O ur coupling was—and was not—a coupling. It was, in the way that we created a surge of power that kept the Crona from the human realm.

It was, in the way that a permanent heated longing had settled in my low belly.

It was, in the way that the little flame, which had started burning for Ezren the day we’d met, was now a full fire—carrying with it a terrifying truth that it would remain there, in some form, for a long, long time.

It was also something else entirely.

We’d been successful in diminishing those creatures, which—after the coupling—we’d discovered were more like magical figments than living, breathing things. They’d turned to dust with our surge of power, and as we walked through the forest to ensure none remained, my conscience was relieved to find out no real lives had been lost. Fayzien’s spell had simply been broken.

By the time we neared Valfalla, Ezren had only just calmed down after several days of blind fury at Jana—apparently, for not telling him that our coupling would not only be a coupling, but a binding. I still didn’t know what that meant, because he couldn’t discuss it without flying into a fit of rage, and when I asked anyone else, they said it was Ezren’s duty to tell me, and his alone. The only thing I knew for sure was that the mysterious binding left a slight burning sensation on my left hip.

I should have been afraid of what had built between us in such a short span of time—we’d known each other for just over two weeks. A rational mind would have feared it or questioned it at least. But I did not. I thought of nothing else but the wanting that possessed me. I was drowning in the need for him—I wanted his body, his mind, his heart. I wanted to know everything about him so badly it hurt. He denied me all three. Though he held me every night we slept, the skin-to-skin contact like a drop of water to quench a blazing thirst, he refused to do anything more. He was tense and silent when I asked him why. Most nights he woke covered in sweat, and it took nearly a half hour for his heartbeat to slow.

Jana decided to bypass Panderen due to Fayzien’s remarks and sent Parson that way to report back on what he found of the Casmerre and her crew. Dane grew so sick with worry he didn’t speak at all, and I couldn’t say the rest of us fared much better. After four days of riding and a day and a half of portaling, which Jana now allowed due to the Witches recovery of magic and Fayzien’s death, we approached the Fae capital of Viribrum. Valfalla—the imposing stone city built into ocean cliffs. When I first laid eyes on it, a memory hit me of that castle fading into the distance as I rode away in a bouncing cart.

Jana instructed us to wear our cloaks with the hoods drawn. The air stank of fish, excrement, and trash as we made our way through the winding cobbled streets, heading for the palace.

When we reached the gates, Jana withdrew her hood and requested an audience with the king, murmuring some Viri word that granted us access. I had to lean on Ezren for support, because nausea overcame me—memories buzzing in my head, trying to resurface. They had never come so fast before, and I could scarcely make sense of them. Just a swirling of images that meant little when blurred together.

“What’s wrong?” Ezren asked me, concern threading his words.

“I’m fine,” I bit out. “Just dizzy.”

The guards led us into the throne room. The ceiling soared impossibly high, and bright light streamed through windows stained with the thick, foamy smear of ocean spray. Limestone and glass drenched every surface—from the tile floors, to the ceiling, to the furniture. It all matched the sleek cream aesthetic of the space. But I noticed the emptiness most—the cold that permeated the room.

We didn’t speak, and the group was as tense as I, though they weren’t fighting to hold in vomit, as far as I could tell. Eventually, Ezren transferred my hand to Jana’s arm, stepping a few yards behind me. I felt much too sick to ask why.

And then an announcer entered, tapping his staff to the ground. “King Darlan of Viribrum, his son, Prince Casmerre of Viribrum, and the Rexi Neferti of Nebbiolo,” he belted.

Our group stilled even further, the words echoing off the massive stone walls that surrounded us. My head shot up at the mention of Casmerre, and I knew right away that the name had never just belonged to my dog. They walked in, and my eyes landed on a Fae with jet-black hair—and a pair of striking, golden-rimmed, purple eyes. He was lean and tall and had all the grace of a grown male, nothing like the little princeling I remembered. I gaped at him as his name, and its significance, set in.

And then a fourth figure emerged from the darkness behind the thrones, with piercing blue eyes that bore into me. Blue-eyes of a Fae that should have been dead.

Fayzien spoke, the smuggest of smiles spreading across his face. “Your Holiness the Queen Rexi and Your Highness Prince Casmerre, may I present to you your long-lost daughter, and your long-lost betrothed, Princess Terragnata of Nebbiolo.”

At Fayzien’s words, memories erupted in my mind like a volcano. The buzzing in my head became a scream, the world spinning too fast, so fast that it felt like I was catapulted, physically moving through time. I wondered for a moment if I was experiencing what the healers in Argention referred to as vertigo.

I heaved over and vomited. The memories surged, brighter and brighter, and then all I saw was black.