Suddenly the magical gag on my voice is released. A cry slips from my lips before I can stop it. “You’re mad. I don’t know the first thing about winning a faerie’s heart.” And even if I did . . . Shudder. The idea of seducing a faerie makes my stomach churn. “What makes you so sure he’ll choose me out of the hundreds clamoring for the chance?”
The king laughs. “You need to understand that nothing in my realm is a coincidence, human. If you present yourself to the prince, he will do everything in his power to keep you close. He will give you the access you need.”
“I couldn’t even pretend to care for a faerie—”
“Do you want your sister back or not?” he snaps. His smile slips, revealing the fringes of a dangerous temper.
I swallow. “How do I know you even have her? How do I know this isn’t all a trick?”
He pulls a tiny pink swatch of fabric from his pocket and tosses it in front of me. “This is the best I can do.”
I choke back a sob and snatch the scrap of Jas’s sewing smock from the floor. “Let me see her.”
“You want me to trust Elora’s most talented thief with my most valuable possession? I wouldn’t dare. However”—he clasps his hands together and steps forward—“the first artifact you retrieve for me will allow you to see your sister. It’s a magical mirror. In it, you can see whatever you wish.”
“You want me to trust a mirror?”
He arches a brow as if to say, You want me to trust you?
“Let me see my sister, and then we can discuss this task you have for me.” What if he doesn’t have her? What if he’s hurting her right now? What if she’s already gone? The thought makes the simmering rage steam in my blood. “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble to get me here, so the least you can do is take me to my sister. This isn’t negotiable.”
“You think you’re in position to negotiate?”
I yank against my invisible bonds again. When they don’t budge, I spit at him. Mordeus’s eyes flash and his nostrils flare. He lifts his open hand in my direction and sends a ball of darkness rolling toward me.
I jerk away from it, but I’m too late. The moment it hits me, I find myself in a brightly lit room that smells faintly of mildew and urine. My thin dress does nothing to insulate me from the ice-cold stone floor, and my teeth chatter as I push to my feet.
Where am I?
There are no windows, no doors. At least none that I can see. Just four stone walls, a stone floor, and blinding light that seems to pour from the ceiling. Does the shadow court use light to torture their prisoners?
Shaking—half with cold, half with rage—I walk the perimeter of the room, pushing against the walls, searching for cracks between stones, anything, but I don’t see a way out.
I wrap my arms around myself and squint against the light as I try to make out a trapdoor above me. This must be some sort of oubliette, but all I can see above me is blinding brightness. “Hello?” My voice echoes off the stone. “Is anyone there?”
No answer.
“I demand to speak with the king!”
No answer.
I kick the wall, and pain lashes through my foot. “Get me out of here!”
No answer.
I stare at my hands, willing them to disappear into shadow the way they did at the castle, but there’s no shadow here. There’s no darkness to hide in or slip through.
I slide down the wall and wrap my arms around my legs. I’m so tired. I haven’t slept since the few hours I got on Nik’s floor before running from Gorst’s men, and a full day has passed since I came through the portal.
I don’t have the energy for tears, and my rage ate up what little I did have. I’m drained from my journey, but I refuse to believe I’m stuck. I didn’t come all this way for nothing.
I rest my head on my knees and close my eyes. I imagine my sister curled in a ball in a room much like this one, crying herself to sleep. I think of the tenderness in Sebastian’s eyes as he gave me the crystal pendant of protection. When he returns to Fairscape, what will he think when I’m not there?
* * *
I’m two places at once. Two people at once. I’m the sleeping would-be rescuer curled against the wall in Mordeus’s oubliette, the girl who failed to save her sister. And I’m the eight-year-old protector, the girl who’s snuggled under the blankets with my little sister, spoon-feeding her hope so she doesn’t drown in the sadness.
Dreams can be so strange. I know I’m dreaming, but I don’t want to wake up. Because Jas is with me in this dream. And if she’s with me, she’s safe.