I go to Tora’s home, and I’m greeted by the same sight. And again, no one here.
The only place left to go is my own house. Maybe Ryn and Tora went there to look for me. And Filigree! I have to rescue Filigree!
I prepare myself for destruction, but the sight of my ruined home is still enough to make me feel like something has just been ripped from my chest. Nausea invades my stomach.
My home is gone.
“Ryn!” I shout. “Tora! Filigree!” There’s no answer.
I climb over the mess that was my kitchen. The table no longer has any legs, and I’m about to step over it when I notice a sharp knife embedded in its surface. The knife is holding a piece of paper to the table. A folded piece of paper.
My blood burns like fire as fury courses through me. Was it not enough for Nate—Draven—to rip my whole world away from me? Did he also have to leave a damn note rubbing it in my face?
I yank the knife out of the table and unfold the paper. My heart almost stops at the sight of Ryn’s handwriting—and then it breaks all over again as I read his words. There are a lot of them, but I can only focus on one sentence: Don’t try to find me. I squeeze tears from my eyes as I shove the note into my pocket. “You promised you wouldn’t leave,” I whisper. “You promised.”
It’s then that I hear a faint voice. Tora. Calling my name. I swivel around, searching desperately. “Tora?” I call. I hear her voice again. I jump off the ruins and run around the side of the mess. There she is, pinned down by a tree that landed across her abdomen. A tree with splintered branches and bark and—oh, dear Seelie Queen, I don’t even want to look at the damage because I know instinctively that it’s too much for even a faerie to recover from.
“Tora!” I run to her side and take hold of her hand. “Oh crap oh crap oh crap.” I have to try and heal her. Even if my brain tells me it isn’t possible, I still have to try. “I can move the tree,” I say, getting ready to lift it with magic.
“No.” She touches my arm to stop me. “It won’t help. My magic,” she gasps. “It isn’t … strong enough to …”
It isn’t strong enough to heal her. That’s what she wants to say. But I have magic that can heal her, I realize. The eternity necklace. If she wears it she can’t die, right? I climb the rubble of my house faster than anything I’ve ever climbed before. I find my bed. My bedside table. The drawer has been knocked out and is lying next to splinters of my desk. I search through the contents for the eternity necklace.
It’s gone.
“No!” I shout. Why is it gone? It was here when I left, less than an hour ago. I search all around the drawer, but there’s no necklace to be found anywhere.
I run back down to Tora. I lift the top half of her body and hold her on my lap, letting my magic seep into her wherever our skin is touching. “Please don’t die,” I sob. “Please don’t die, please don’t die.”
“Are my legs … still there?” she manages to ask. “I can’t … feel …”
I lean over her and let my tears fall onto her chest. “I’m so sorry, Tora. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”
“Remember … I …” Her words die on her lips as life vanishes from her eyes.
I clutch her hands tightly, desperately. I can’t breathe. Where is the air? Why can’t I breathe? Bright spots of light dance before my eyes. I let go of Tora’s hands and fall back onto the ground. And suddenly there’s a release, and I’m sucking great breaths of air into my lungs.
Not that I deserve it. I should be the one lying dead on the ground, not Tora. I stand up. I walk blindly over the wreckage of my house. I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know what I plan to do. All I know is that I don’t want to think. I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to be here.
I collapse onto the highest point of my destroyed home and hold my head in my hands as I cry. I can’t fix this. I can’t make up for it. I don’t even know how I can live knowing that she died because of me.
My hands drop to my sides, and one of them comes to rest on a pile of glass. The contents of my emergency kit, scattered and broken. My trembling fingers sift through the items that managed to survive and linger on one of the vials. I pick it up. Forget, says the label.
That’s what I want. I want to forget everything that’s happened. I want to forget that it’s my fault.
I unscrew the top.
I lift it to my mouth.
I close my eyes and pour it down my throat.
Thirty-Four
I awake in a small, dimly lit room with a ceiling that feels too close. I roll onto my side, rubbing my scratchy eyes. The room is bare except for a chair and a small table. On the table sits a lantern with a candle flickering inside.
“Oh, you’re awake, dear. How lovely.” Someone short comes into the room. Someone with grey hair and wearing a long dress. She bends over me, and I see black eyes in a face covered with fine, reptilian-like scales.
Reptiscilla, my brain tells me.
“Who are you?” I ask.
She smiles down at me. “Someone who decided not to leave you out there in the wreckage.”
“The wreckage?” I repeat. I’m still trying to make sense of where I am, how I got here, and what happened before I fell asleep. I’m coming up blank.
“The wreckage of the forest. It was torn apart by an evil faerie.” She shakes her head in disapproval. “Draven, they say his name is.”
“Draven?” Never heard of him.
“And what is your name, dear?”
My name. That’s an easy question. And I have the answer. It’s right here on the tip of my— “Violet,” I say, relieved the name came to me.
“And?”
“And what?”
“What else do you remember?”
What do I remember? Now that one’s a little harder. I search my fuzzy head, then shake it. “To be honest,” I say, “not much.”
Violet’s story continues in The Faerie War!
But first, turn the page for BONUS SCENES from The Faerie Prince!
BONUS SCENES: RYN
Leaving the Harts’ house in the middle of what was undoubtedly the most important assignment of his training years was probably against Guild rules. But Ryn had always seen rules as something to be bent and molded to his own particular purposes.
Besides, it was a boring assignment.
Dirt crunched beneath his boots as he strode along the Underground tunnel. It was dimly lit by the occasional glow-bug, and smelled of wet earth and elder-pipe smoke.
“Are we close?” Ryn asked Lena, the tall elf walking beside him. She was most likely the source of the smoke smell; he’d seen her with an elder-pipe on several occasions.
“Yes.”
“And would it perhaps be wise to approach in silence?” He eyed the metallic bangles clinking around Lena’s wrists as she swung her arms at her sides.
“No.” She gave him a look before running her hand purposely through her dark, matted locks, making her bangles jingle louder. “They’ll know we’re coming anyway.”
Ryn suppressed a smile as he pointed his gaze forward once more. Lena had always enjoyed annoying him. It was one of the things he liked about her. That and the fact that she was rarely overcome by any form of emotion. She was the adopted daughter of the man who owned Poisyn, and Ryn had known her since he’d first ventured Underground at age fourteen. He didn’t see her all that often, and the two of them weren’t exactly close—Lena wasn’t the BFF type—but she was a font of knowledge when it came to Undergrounders and their dealings. She’d provided Ryn with useful information a number of times.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” she said. “The bottom of the singing well is Grima’s territory. He keeps it guarded at all times.”
“Good. Then I’ll have somebody to question.”
Lena laughed. “One of these days, Ryn, you’re going to get yourself killed. And then I might actually miss you.”
“Lena.” Mock surprise color
ed Ryn’s voice. “I had no idea you cared so much.”
“I don’t.” Bangles clinked together as she flipped her hair over her shoulder. “But I do care about that brandy from the human realm you like to bring me every now and then.”
“I see. It’s all about the brandy.”
“Of course.”
Lena directed him through another few tunnels before coming to a stop at a fork. The faint echo of a song reached Ryn’s ears. “Take the tunnel on the right,” Lena said. It isn’t far after that. You shouldn’t have any problem finding it on your own, and no doubt you’ll be relieved to be free of my jangling jewelry.”
Ryn faced her and held out his hand. “Thanks again.”
Her lips curved into a smile as she shook his hand. “Any time.”
Ryn continued on his own. The echoing song grew louder, and it wasn’t long before the tunnel brightened with the glow of orange firelight. He rounded a curve and found himself at the entrance to a brightly lit cave guarded by two faerie men built like ogres.
The men snapped to attention the moment they saw Ryn, moving together to block the cave entrance while clenching their meaty fists. Behind them, Ryn could make out a circular pool covered by a shimmering silver net. Above the net, in the ceiling of the cave, was a circular hole: the bottom of the singing well.
“You must be lost,” the man on the right said, his voice rumbling deep in his chest.
“No, I’m exactly where I need to be,” Ryn said. He folded his arms over his chest. “I’m looking for something.”
“Yeah, you and every other idiot who shows up here,” the second man said. He pulled a knife from a sheath at his waist, a move that was most likely meant to be threatening. Ryn was unperturbed.
“I dropped something down the singing well a while ago. I need to get it back.”
“Anything that falls down the singing well belongs to Grima,” Knife-Man said. “Everyone knows that.”
“Oh. Well, I think we might have a problem then.”
The man on the right slowly ground his fist into the palm of his other hand. “I think we might.”
“Tell me,” Ryn said. “Does Grima remember everything that falls down the singing well?”
“Of course,” Knife-Man said. “And so do we.”
“Perfect. You should be able to help me then. I’m looking for a gold key on a gold chain. The top of the key has a pair of outspread wings.”
Knife-Man narrowed his eyes. “You obviously weren’t listening when I told you it all belongs to Grima.”
“So … that’s a no?” Ryn asked. “You don’t remember it?”
With surprising swiftness, the man pounced on Ryn, spun him around, and held the knife to his neck. “Never seen it,” the man snarled.
Ryn’s every instinct screamed at him to fight back, but he didn’t yet have the information he’d come for. He needed to hold himself back just a little longer. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. Now why don’t you turn around and scurry back to the hole you came from before I slice your throat open. Whatever jewelry you’ve lost, I can assure you it isn’t worth risking your life for.”
Probably not. In fact, the necklace wasn’t worth much to Ryn at all. But it was of great importance to Violet, and for that reason alone, he had to get it back. Throwing her necklace down the singing well was one of the most vindictive things he’d ever done, and it was about time he made things right with her. “Are you absolutely sure?” he pressed. “I definitely threw it down here. It was about eight years ago.”
The man’s grip loosened as he threw his head back and guffawed. “Eight years ago? This was Branx’s territory back then. Greedy bastard was only in it for the money. Nothing like the collector Grima is. I’m sure your precious trinket has been sold and resold many times over since then. You’ll never see it again.”
Branx. Finally, a piece of information Ryn could use.
Time to go.
He shoved his elbow into Knife-Man’s stomach before tearing free of his grip. The deep-voiced man swung his fist, but Ryn dodged easily out of the way. He spun around—just in time to receive a kick to the face from Knife-Man.
He stumbled backwards, furious pain throbbing across his cheekbone. “The face?” he groaned. “Really?”
“It’s about to get a whole lot worse,” Knife-Man snarled.
“You’re right about that.” Ryn swept one hand through the air, sending a shower of sparks that turned into furious, pecking birds toward the men. As they swatted at the glittering beaks and fire-tipped wings, Ryn dropped to one knee, pulled his stylus from his boot, and wrote a door to the faerie paths on the ground.
Six days later
* * *
Branx reached for his tankard of ale and tipped the remaining liquid down his throat. He waved the empty pewter mug at the reptiscillan woman behind the bar and shouted, “Another!” The ale was dwarf-brewed, making it suitable for fae consumption. Intoxication should have been a long way off, but Branx was downing it with alarming speed. Which was fortunate for Ryn, who’d been coaxing information from Branx for the past half hour.
“Yeah, I remember that one.” Branx wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and blue-streaked beard. “Got an excellent price for it. Had more than one interested customer. Bidding started high.” He paused as he took a swig from his refilled tankard. “It ended up going for four times the price I thought I’d get.” He grinned at the memory, then belched loudly.
“And who was the lucky customer who walked off with the necklace?” Ryn asked.
Branx leaned back on his bar stool, eyeing Ryn suspiciously. “What’s it to you?”
Ryn hesitated, then lowered his voice. “Can I tell you a secret? I found the necklace. The owner must have lost it. I was thinking I could return it for … well, a reward.”
Branx nodded slowly, his lips turning up in a sly smile as the meaning of Ryn’s words settled into his alcohol-influenced brain.
“If you could point me in the direction of your customer,” Ryn said, “I’d be happy to split my reward with you.”
Branx downed another few gulps of ale, then slammed the tankard onto the bar and said, “Deal.” He grinned at Ryn, seemingly oblivious to the liquid sloshing over his hand. “It was an advisor in the Unseelie Court. Bought it for his wife. Aster something-or-other.” He scratched his head. “Troll-something. No … Traw. Trawbridge. Aster Trawbrige.”
“Excellent,” Ryn said, pulling a few coins from his pocket and placing them on the bar beside his half-finished drink. “Where can I send your half of the reward?” Not that there would be half a reward to send to Branx. Ryn was simply playing along until he could get away from the intoxicated faerie.
Instead of answering, Branx’s gaze moved to Ryn’s chest. A frown furrowed his brow. “I know what that is,” he said slowly.
Ryn looked down. His trainee pendant, which should have been hidden beneath his T-shirt, was visible between the lapels of his leather jacket. “Damn,” he murmured.
“You’re with the Guild,” Branx accused, his words slurring slightly.
“Uh, would you believe me if I said I found this too?”
The tankard swung toward him and struck the side of his face. Ryn swore as he stumbled backward off his stool. Considering the amount of alcohol in Branx’s system, he hadn’t expected him to move that fast. “Liar!” Branx shouted, flinging his now empty tankard to the floor.
Ryn took a step forward and kicked. His boot connected with Branx’s ale-filled belly, sending him flying backward amidst bar stools and several shocked fae. Ryn turned swiftly and ran for the exit. He would open a doorway once out in the tunnel. He was almost there when a reptiscillan man jumped in front of him and knocked him to the ground. The reptiscilla pinned Ryn down before pulling his fist back. Ryn grabbed the fist and twisted it, then pushed a rippling force field of magic straight at the reptiscilla. He flew into the air, crashed onto a table, and landed on the floor. Ryn sprang to his
feet. Fighting the urge to pull a weapon from the air—he didn’t want to reveal his Guild affiliation to anyone else in the room—Ryn settled for bringing his boot down on the reptiscilla’s injured arm. “Try to stop me again, and I’ll hurt you properly.”
This time, when he headed for the exit, nobody stopped him. Seconds later, he was walking into a hastily opened doorway on the tunnel wall. He let out a long breath and thought of home. His mother’s kitchen materialized before him. Tasting blood, he realized his lip was cut. A minor injury considering what could have happened in a room full of guardian-haters. He stepped out of the faerie paths as his jaw began to throb. Man, that tankard had given him a serious whack to the face.
He pushed through the kitchen door and found his mother lying on the couch reading a book. Reading for pleasure wasn’t something she had much time for between all her assignments, so he hated to interrupt her. He also didn’t want her seeing him in his current state.
She looked over at him, then sat up quickly. Ryn felt concern shooting through her as she took in his appearance.
Just play it cool, he told himself as he crossed the room. “Hey, Mom.”
“Ryn, are you—”
“Fine, yup, all good.”
“But your—”
“I know. Don’t worry about it. Everything’s fine, Mom. I promise.” He gave her a smile before disappearing up the stairs.
Two weeks later
* * *
The darn necklace was proving harder to find than Ryn had anticipated. It had been given away, stolen, sold, and resold, and in the process of discovering all this, Ryn had been burned, punched, slapped, and chased by an enchanted broomstick after he was found hiding inside a cupboard for eavesdropping purposes.
It was all worth it, though. Over the past few weeks, this mission had grown in importance. At first it was about doing the right thing. It was about taking a step toward mending a broken friendship. But then there was that moment in the bathroom of the Harts’ pool house. Violet had been standing so close, and for some reason he couldn’t convince his feet to move. And the next night, when they’d hidden together inside the antique wardrobe watching Savyon and the Hart men, he was distracted by her nearness. He’d wondered if it was simply seeing her in that sleek sexy dress that made him think of her in a different way, but it was more than that. She hadn’t been wearing anything enticing the night before, and he’d still wanted to be near her. He’d still wanted to protect her and make sure there was no possible way Zell could summon her.