Ambrosia (Frost and Nectar Book 2)

The journey up the mountain had seemed long and slow. The one back down?

Fast and brutal, a race on horseback over black, rocky terrain. Lying as I was facedown over a horse, my muscles jolted with every bump. At least Morgant had the decency to pull the arrow out of my back before he bound my hands.

Pain shot through me where the arrow had pierced my back. Morgant held me, one hand gripping my arms and the other on the horse’s reins.

Given the amount of blood flowing from me, if I were mortal, I’d be dead by now.

I closed my eyes, thinking of Torin. I’d seen him jump from the castle, and I bitterly regretted calling out to him. If he’d stayed inside, could he have hidden from them? Perhaps, but that wasn’t his style.

I desperately wanted to know whether he’d found the Veiled One. Maybe he already knew how to get out of here.

When I opened my eyes, I watched as the castle came into view, stone and crooked trees twisted together under a vault of stars.

“Back to the dungeon, then?” I said through gritted teeth.

“If you vex me.”

“And if I don’t vex you?”

Instead of answering, he kicked the horse, spurring him onward to the castle’s entrance.

At last, Morgant reared his horse to a halt. He slipped off first, then yanked me to the ground by my bound arms. I fell hard, landing on the side where the arrow had pierced me. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of a scream, so I managed to strangle it.

He pulled me up by my wrists.

I could ask him again where he was taking me, but I knew he’d never answer me.

Inset into the fortress were enormous gothic black doors, and they groaned open as we approached. He pushed me into a hall of carved dark wood. Candlelight writhed over a mossy floor, and vines hung from a vaulted wooden ceiling.

Morgant took the lead ahead of me, turning to look at me with grim satisfaction. “I want you to know that we have your great Seelie king. We will break him before he dies. We will rip off his skin and feed it to our spiders. The Seelie kings always say their old gods protect them. We will prove they do not.”

I felt my thoughts going dark until they were nothing but a vision of thorny vines rising from the earth to rip Morgant to shreds. But the man was trying to get a reaction out of me, and I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

After a few hundred feet, we reached a small antechamber with a wooden door inset with green jewels.

Morgant pushed it open, revealing a spiral staircase of dark blue wood. The stairs seemed to be carved from the interior of the enormous tree. Up and up we climbed, my arms still bound and my thighs shaking from exhaustion.

Everything he’d done so far had been designed to disorient me and make me feel powerless—the starvation and dehydration, the isolation. Telling me about how he’d kill Torin. If I felt hopeless, I’d tell them whatever they wanted.

I had no way of knowing if they had Torin at all.

Morgant pushed a small button on the wall. The door swung open. Moonlight shone in through an open-air tower, illuminating dark boughs that wrapped around a stone floor. A long oak table stood in the center.

High above the kingdom, a gentle breeze ruffled my hair. I breathed in the rich air, tinged with herbs and honey. Looking over the side, I could see the ruddy forest canopy a few hundred feet below me, silvered in the moonlight. Above the canopy, shadows moved. As I looked closer, I could see they were giant butterflies swooping over the forest.

A winged archer with flowing black hair and white wings swept through the night sky. I met his gaze, and he aimed an arrow directly at me. My heart stuttered, but he didn’t shoot. Another archer swept by, arrow trained on me. I got the message, loud and clear.

I turned back to the open-air tower, and my head started to swim with shadows. I’d lost too much blood, and I faltered.

Morgant’s hand shot out, catching me by the bicep. “You are weak.”

Quite the observational skills, Tarzan. Might have something to do with the arrow he’d shot in my back.

Gripping my arm, he started chanting a spell, his voice toneless and harsh. His magic slid down my back like warm water, easing the pain. Warmth washed through me, and my muscles relaxed. When he’d finished, he released my arm and unbound my wrists. I rubbed at my chafed skin.

Shadows crept over the mossy stones around me.

“Stay where you are,” said Morgant. “The queen wishes to speak to you. But you must not get too close to her. You are being watched.”

“I noticed.”

“Don’t move.” Morgant barked, turning back to the door.

I don’t know where he thought I would go, not without wings.

Morgant straightened, staring at the stars, and bellowed, “Empress of the Forest, Queen Mab of the Dark Cromm, our great ruler.”

He opened the door, and the queen stepped out, every inch of her radiating silver and gold. Her platinum hair hung down her back in waves, and she wore a delicate platinum crown with sharply spiked points. Her pale skin radiated silver light, the same color as the dress she wore, a silver gown beaded with pearls. Only her black gossamer wings stood out.

Her pale gold gaze swept over me, taking in my clothes. Her lip curled. “So. This is the spy.”

I breathed in deeply. The queen of the Unseelie stood before me, looking much younger than I’d expected. She could be forty, I supposed, but she hardly looked it.

She narrowed her eyes. “Why would you come here so unprepared? Does the Seelie spymaster want you to die?”

“I’m not here as a spy. I fell into your realm through magic. That’s all.”

She arched a black eyebrow. “And the king of the Seelie simply fell in after you? This is your story?”

“Yes. There was a magical rift between our worlds, that’s all. And he’s not the king. His name is Alan.”

She smirked. “The king of the Seelie declares that he does not care for you at all. And yet, he took great care to help you escape. I think someone must be lying.”

“If you let us return home, you won’t ever need to worry about us again.”

“Alan.” She huffed a laugh. “You are a mendacious one. How disappointing. In the Unseelie kingdom, we do not lie. If you’d been raised here, you would have learned the value of honesty.”

I wanted to ask what she thought about the value of kindness, but I had no power in this situation and kept my mouth shut.

She stepped closer to me and lifted my chin, examining my face. She was nearly a foot taller than me, radiating light and power that thrummed over my skin. I could almost see the shimmering magic twisting around her, electrifying the air.

She dropped my chin.

“If you were raised here, you’d feel pain every time a lie fell from your lips. Though if you loved him, perhaps you would do it anyway. Love burns us, doesn’t it? And that fire makes us strong.” She let out a long sigh. “Do you know how a sword is made strong? Like the Sword of Whispers, for example, that your king once possessed.”

I stared at her. Once possessed?

“Here in my kingdom, we worship the ash goddess,” she went on. “They say the ash goddess Briga has only one eye, her body covered in soot. She sacrifices for us. They say that she’s a giant in that mountain you climbed, Mount Tienen. The Veiled One made her home there.”

My heart raced faster. We’d been in the right place, then. Was it possible that Torin already had an answer?”

Mab smiled. “Briga’s flames make us strong and purify us. In her sacred forge, a sword must endure the heat, the pressure, and the hammer as the steel is tempered. Only then can it become strong enough to fulfill its purpose. Love is a forge, too, as the ash goddess teaches us. And that is where Unseelie magic comes from, Lost One. From the pain of love and loss. So, perhaps you’d lie for your king, even if it hurt. Perhaps you’d endure the flames, or sacrifice yourself, as she does. Perhaps you’d come out stronger and truly live as an Unseelie.”

Her words had an entrancing quality that made me wonder if she was putting me under a spell.

She arched an eyebrow. “But the question is, would he do the same for you?”