Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 139662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 698(@200wpm)___ 559(@250wpm)___ 466(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 139662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 698(@200wpm)___ 559(@250wpm)___ 466(@300wpm)
“Are you so sure about that?” Misha asks, lifting his wineglass.
“Yes, I’m sure. And it’s a relief. I’m done being a pawn. They can fight all they want over that damned court. It has nothing to do with me anymore.”
He chuckles. “If only that were true.”
“It is true.” I wave to the top of my head. “See? No crown.”
He cocks his head to the side. “Perhaps you’d like to see for yourself?” He whistles, and a large brown spotted hawk swoops down from the branches of the sequoia to perch on Misha’s shoulder. “This is Storm, my familiar.”
I frown at the hawk. “I have no idea what a familiar is.”
“It means our minds our linked. He obeys me. Serves me.”
I immediately think of the Barghest, the giant wolf-monster-creature that attacked me when I first came to this realm. Sebastian had said that sometimes the Unseelie take them on as familiars. He suggested that the attack may not have been coincidence.
“I had nothing to do with the death dog,” Misha says. “My creatures don’t attack—never offensively at least. If they’re attacked first . . .” He shrugs.
“So what about this bird do I need to see?” I ask.
“Storm returned from the Court of the Moon this morning. If you look into his eyes, he can show you what he saw there.”
“I don’t need to know. It has nothing to do with me.”
The corner of Misha’s mouth twitches upward in amusement. “Humor me?”
The bird’s eyes are just like Misha’s—russet and glowing. The pupils dilate, then constrict as I look at them.
“I don’t see any—”
I don’t know how I expected it to work, but I’m not prepared when I feel as if my consciousness is yanked from my body, and suddenly—I’m flying. Flying like a bird of prey, circling a castle turret before swooping into a high window and perching on a stone ledge.
Below, Finn stands at the bank of windows, looking out onto a bright day. I instantly recognize the sprawling space with its crystal chandeliers and shining marble floor as the Unseelie throne room, even without Mordeus smirking from beside the throne.
Chapter Five
The last time I was in this room, I plunged a knife into the false king’s chest. I watched as his lifeless body collapsed next to an innocent girl—the one he’d killed to punish me for refusing to bond with him.
Now the room holds people I once called my friends—Finn, flanked by his sharp-eyed wolves, Dara and Luna; Jalek, the Seelie turncoat; Pretha, Finn’s sister-in-law; and Pretha’s daughter, Lark. Lark squeezes her mother’s hand and lifts her gaze to the hawk. I wonder if she knows they’re being watched, if she knew that I’d be seeing this scene for myself in the future.
Finn’s speaking, but his sounds don’t make any sense to me. The hawk, I realize, doesn’t understand the sounds, only remembers them for his master. I watch their mouths and focus.
“I want everyone prepared to leave at moment’s notice,” Finn’s saying, his attention still on the view outside the windows. I can’t tell what he’s seeing, but I sense his worry and grief. His utter exhaustion.
“What?” Pretha asks, her eyes hard. She folds her arms. “We’ve waited so long to get back here, and now you’re just going to tuck tail and run?”
He sways on his feet and clutches the windowsill. His wolves, Dara and Luna, nudge his hands and whimper softly.
“Sebastian has the crown now,” Jalek says, his dark green eyes sharp. “Finn’s right. It’s only a matter of time.”
“So we’re just giving up?” Pretha asks.
Finn’s eyes flutter closed. Beads of sweat line his forehead. “The curse has been broken. And now Prince Ronan’s on his way here to claim this throne. Once he does, we don’t stand a chance against his power.”
“If he’s on his way, then we’ll send our people out to greet him,” Pretha snaps.
“You think he’s foolish enough to come in the front door?” Jalek asks. “He’ll have his goblin bring him right to the throne room—perhaps right onto the throne.”
“Then we will wait on the dais with swords ready,” she says, and the sadness and desperation in her eyes tears me in two. Before now, I hadn’t realized just how much I missed these people—hadn’t let myself think about it.
“What part of he has the crown don’t you understand?” Finn rubs his temples. “I’m too tired to have this argument.”
Pretha shakes her head. “You’re not tired. You’re ill. You need rest—rest in your own bed, in your own home.”
Finn turns his back to the windows and tilts his face up, leaning his head back against the glass. Pretha’s right. He does look ill. There’s a worrisome pallor to his light brown skin and an uncharacteristic weakness in his stance. “Any minute now, this throne room will be filled with Sebastian’s men and their goblins,” he says. “They will come quickly, and they will be armed and prepared to kill. It was one thing to stand our ground when we thought the Cursed Horde would come out from hiding to have our backs, but without those forces, staying is suicide.”