My breath is cut off, and a wave of dizziness washes through me. I call on my magic to break the grip, but I get no response.
It’s cold and silent inside me. It’s the same feeling—or lack thereof—as when the iron collar was put around my neck, sapping my magic.
“What are you doing, Archer?” Tears slip from the corners of my eyes, and they’re the only thing I can feel as they slide down my cheeks in warm streams.
He doesn’t answer but instead turns toward the table, bending over the spell book. Twisting his neck, he glares back at me. “What is this book? What does it do? There were rumors you had a Dark Fae helping you. Did you get it from him?”
I refuse to answer, my gaze pinned on him. He heard Amell was here, but like everyone else in Clairmont, no one knew his true identity.
“No matter,” he says with good nature, tucking the book under his arm. “Ferelith can figure it out.”
Even though I’ve been demanding to know his intentions, I’m not surprised to hear Ferelith’s name. It’s the only explanation for him murdering that poor woman and using her blood to cast the magic that’s rendered me useless.
“But why?” I whisper.
Archer tilts his head as if I’ve just asked the dumbest question in the world. “Why?” he taunts, moving in a flash to stand before me. “I do it for love, Thalia. I know it’s hard for you to understand, given that Bastien no longer loves you, but I’d do anything for Ferelith.”
“Even betray your family,” I snarl in anger.
Whatever magic Archer has—presumably borrowed from Ferelith, as I know he doesn’t have this type of power, and amped by the blood sacrifice of Merrilyn—it’s sent deep into my body and causes me to shriek in pain as if all my bones were being broken.
Archer laughs, bending in to kiss my cheek. “Now it’s time for us to go visit my love.”
My cousin grabs my upper arm, and the world tilts as he bends distance and takes us straight to the palace in Kestevayne. We step out into the throne room where my parents used to sit to hear formal petitions from the people. Their simple wingback chairs are gone, and in their place sits a massive gold throne with red velvet cushions.
Perched on the very edge is the woman I assume to be Ferelith.
Archer shoves me forward, and I stumble, falling to my knees. I try to rise but whatever magic he’s still wielding holds me down.
Ferelith lifts from the chair fluidly, seeming to float with gracefulness. She’s tall and thin with dark red hair severely parted down the middle and hanging in lustrous waves over her shoulders. She’s wearing a red velvet gown cut into a deep V at her chest, almost to mid stomach, and when she walks, slits up the sides expose her legs. Weirdly, she’s barefoot.
She comes toward me, but she doesn’t really walk.
She glides unnaturally, her hips swaying in a creepy rhythm. It reminds me of how a snake moves back and forth.
“I found this spell book,” Archer says as he moves to intercept Ferelith before she reaches me. “It looks like it might have power.”
Interesting choice of words. He must not feel its darkness the way I can.
Ferelith glances at me, then takes the book from Archer. She turns it over, examining the runes, and looks to me again. “What is this?” Her voice is husky but has a high pitch to it. It grates on my ears.
I stare at her mutely.
“I’ve heard you have a Dark Fae working for you.”
I glare at her, but my eyebrows drawing together is the only movement my body exhibits. I’m constrained by Archer’s magic.
Ferelith stands before me, and Archer grabs my hair to pull back my head so I can see her fully. She holds the tome in front of my face. “Are you learning blood magic from this?”
When I don’t answer, she hands the book to Archer and squats before me. Up close, her brown eyes have a red tint swirling throughout.
She brushes hair away from my face almost tenderly. “You don’t have what it takes to practice the magic I do, young Thalia. You don’t have it in you to take a life, and that’s what you’d need to do to even think about going head-to-head with me.”
“If you say so,” I grit out.
She slaps me hard across the face, and my teeth shred the inside of my cheek. I can taste the salty blood, but I swallow it as I can’t let her see that my blood is black. She’d know then that I have fae blood and there’s no telling what she’d do to me with that information.
In the here and now, she’s not concerned that I pose any threat to her whatsoever, and I intend to keep it that way.