Chapter 35

CHAPTER 35

I restlessly stalk around my room. The moons outside my windows are huge, a ruby and diamond in the sky.

It's been almost a week since I received a message from Avalon Tower. I still have no answer to my report about the Blue Dragon Project, and I've heard nothing about Talan's human spy suspicions . When I leave my room now, I have to get past soldiers.

I've managed to sneak out a few times, but it wasn't easy. I haven't been able to get to the Shadowed Thicket or find Meriadoc or Raphael.

I grab my midnight blue cloak and pull it over me, raising the cowl.

Flinging my door open, I smile at the two guards. "Just going out for a walk."

"My lady," one of them says, "I thought we were supposed to guard you."

My eyebrows flick up. "I was told you were supposed to guard the room. You're the same soldiers who were here two nights ago, aren't you? We've covered this already. Remember? You're supposed to guard the room."

"Well, obviously…" he begins, stammering.

He seems like the one calling the shots. And he needs more encouragement.

Smiling coquettishly, I touch his arm. Sharp pain rips through my skull, hammering at my brain, but I push through it, sending tendrils of my magic into him. His defenses are minimal. He's young, inexperienced, and fairly lazy. Listen to me , I whisper in his mind. I know what the prince wants .

I clear my throat. "I'm sure you'll agree that the prince…" I almost can't get the words out for the pain, and I'm struggling to remember how words work at all. "Prince wants you to guard the room, not to imprison me…his favored mistress. He was very clear that I'm not a prisoner here."

My fingers tighten into fists, and I break out in a cold sweat, but to my relief, it works.

"Yes," he says with a nod, "you're right."

His friend looks unconvinced, and I brace myself. Would I need to mind control him, too? I don't think I'd be able to stand the pain.

But then he shrugs and looks at the other guard. "Okay, whatever you think."

"Guarding the room," the first one mumbles.

I hurry away before they realize that anything is amiss.

My head is throbbing by the time I reach the stairs, and nausea turns my stomach. I touch the stone wall as I stumble down the steps, wishing—not for the first time—that this place had elevators.

From the corner of my eye, I see movement, a shadowy figure. I turn to look, but it's gone, and spots dance before my eyes.

By the time I reach the bottom floor, the throbbing in my skull starts to dull. I step outside into the crisp air, heading for the garden, where the white-petaled snowdrops droop over the icy earth and blood-red witch hazel dapples the landscape.

Reaching a gnarled oak, I sit on a stone bench, as I did the night before, and breathe in the floral air, which is faintly scented with moss.

With a quick glance around to make sure no one is looking, I lift a broken flagstone with the tip of my shoe. This is one of our drop-off locations. My heart sinks. Nothing, again.

Something is wrong, I'm certain of it. Things in Scotland have gone off course for the human allies.

Worry and frustration have been coiling and twisting inside me for weeks, ready to spring. I feel trapped here.

I stand and stride back to the castle, glancing at the ley portal as I walk. Maybe I should run back to my world.

Although my heart is hammering as fast as ever, I keep my pace steady. If anyone's watching me from their windows, I want them to think I'm simply out for an evening stroll. I reach the southern tower closest to the ley portal and look around. A cold wind whips over me as I scan the wintry landscape.

My breath shallows as I stare across the courtyard at the willow tree.

I should be patient. I'll give it one or two more days before I break out of here.

I whirl to hurry back to my room, but as I turn, ice frosts my veins.

Talan stalks toward me, his black cloak trailing behind him under the claret sheen of the moonlight. His eyes are fixed on me, and the air around him is dark, his pace determined. Has he figured out who the spy is?

Instinctively, I take a step back and catch myself. I can't act scared. Visible fear will be the author of my death sentence.

Though my heart hammers, I manage a smile as he prowls closer. If I can't keep calm, he'll be suspicious.

"Nia." There's an edge to his low, silky voice. "You need to get inside."

"Why the rush?" I ask serenely. "It's a beautiful night. I just needed some air."

"I should have realized you'd mind control the guards. But I did warn you in the note that you are in danger. And it's worse now. My informants reported that someone has smuggled iron into the fortress. A large amount, in fact. We both need to get inside. Quickly."

Iron?

"I don't understand. Why would anyone smuggle iron here?"

"To kill someone," Talan says sharply. "We assume it's some sort of iron weapon. We don't know who the target is yet, but considering someone tried to kill you last week, I'd say you could be high on the list. Being my mistress has made you enemies."

I swallow hard. Is it the work of Arwenna or the assassin from Avalon Tower, sent with iron intended for Talan and his father?

"Let's go." He grips my hand firmly and turns to lead me back to my room. I follow along, my gaze trailing up at the towering palace.

And that's when I see her, a vision of white in the tower.

Arwenna.

She's standing with a crossbow in her hands. Time slows, and the wind whips at her silver hair.

I gasp as she lets loose an arrow and try to move out of the way, but I already know I'm too late.

As I brace for the fatal blow, Talan slams into me. I tumble into the snow, my teeth snapping together with a jolt. I roll to my back, looking up at the window for the next arrow, but Arwenna is already gone.

I gasp for breath, my thoughts crystallizing.

Turning, I see Talan lying on his back, gripping the arrow shaft. It juts from his chest, just above his heart. Impossibly, it looks like he managed to grab the deadly bolt in mid-flight.

"Thank you," I whisper.

His eyes flutter, and I realize that he didn't manage to stop the bolt entirely. The tip is embedded in his chest. I scramble over to him. From the corner of my eye, I notice blue-jacketed soldiers running our way, too late to protect us.

"Is it deep?" I ask.

"No," he whispers, "but it's fucking iron."

He yanks the bolt out, and blood drips from the point.

As I stare at the crimson tip, I notice the metallic sheen underneath.

He drops the bolt and clenches his jaw. His lips are already turning a faint shade of blue.

I scream at the guards for help, a ragged note of hysteria in my voice.

I'm shocked to find that I'm screaming at them to save the life of the man I've been planning to kill all this time.