Ambrosia (Frost and Nectar Book 2)

My nerves were crackling as I stood in the front of the hall, waiting for Moria to step onto the frozen dais once more. Modron—the truth-telling crone—had arrived earlier today. It was never men tasked with living in caves and foretelling the future, was it? It was the crones of the world, the supernatural gossips and tea-spillers.

Silence fell over the hall, broken by scuffing feet and rustling cloaks and furs. Coughs echoed off the ceiling. Cast by wavering torches, shadows flitted over the room. It wasn’t the most festive atmosphere.

As we waited, fevered whispers rippled through the hall. At last, Moria stepped onto the dais, heels clacking on the ice. She hugged herself in a show of vulnerability. “We starve here in Faerie with no leadership, cursed by the Unseelie. And if we want to move forward, we must know what happened to King Torin. We have summoned Lady Modron so we may learn at last what has befallen our Seelie king.”

My heart was beating a million miles a minute as I waited to find out what had happened to my best friend. I found myself leaning into Aeron, and he wrapped his arm around me.

Dressed in gray with a silky veil over her face, the old gossip shuffled into the room, one arm linked with Orla’s. I wasn’t quite sure who was leading whom. They both looked frail and likely to slip on the ice.

Through the thin fabric of her veil, I caught a glimpse of Modron’s bony white face. It was strangely skull-like, and a shiver rippled up my spine. One of her withered hands gripped a gnarled walking stick. Her long, silvery nails curled around the wood, and it cracked the ice with each thud as she crossed the dais.

At last, she stopped, and Orla stepped away from her.

Through the veil, I glimpsed her eyes, large and cavernous. “You wish to learn what has happened to your king. And his bride.” Her voice was a hiss that somehow managed to fill the entire hall and sent a shudder down my spine. “You wish to see the past.” A low, disturbing chuckle rose from her chest. “I used to live among you. None of you alive remembers those days. But once, I was here at court. Easier to have me out in the wild, though, isn’t it? Until you need me.” Another low gurgle of laughter.

Get on with it, woman. It all seemed a bit passive-aggressive for what we needed right now.

She lifted the veil, giving us a view of her aged chin and her long white teeth, which were disturbingly sharp as blades. Her lips were dark and glistening. She grinned, then took a deep breath. When she exhaled again, a cloud rose from her mouth, a thick fog that filled the air above the dais. And slowly, figures began to take shape within the cloud.

A beautiful woman with pale white hair sat on a throne made of tree roots, with black wings spread out behind her. And there, before the throne, stood Torin, holding a sword.

I swallowed hard. Torin stood there like he was her protector.

For a moment, I had no idea what I was looking at. But the furious reaction of the crowd quickly gave me a clue.

When I glanced at Aeron, I saw horror etched across his features. I leaned closer to him, whispering, “Unseelie?”

His eyes were firmly on Modron as he nodded. “I don’t understand,” he said, sounding dazed. “He’s standing before the throne of Queen Mab.”

My pulse raced. I was getting the first inkling of the plan Moria had been weaving, the threads she’d been twining together to form a monstrous tapestry of betrayal.

She gaped up at the image, her hand covering her mouth.

“What is it?” asked Orla.

Oh, gods. This was terrible and awkward. Orla couldn’t see the vision, and she was left there in the dark while everyone gaped at her brother standing before the enemy queen.

“He’s with Queen Mab!” Moria shrieked in a mimicry of shock. “Standing before her throne. He’s protecting her.”

The vision evaporated into the air above the thrones, and a new one took shape—a face that made my heart thump. Ava’s pretty features emerged, except now, she had two curved, coppery horns rising from her head. Her eyes had turned green, and she leaned back into Torin. The two of them were on horseback on what looked like a mountain path, and a forest of blood-red trees spread out behind them. As Ava leaned back against Torin, you could see the look of rapture on his face, his eyes closed as he savored the moment.

Shouts of rage filled the air, shouts of traitor and demon whore, and I wanted to shrink into the shadows. Were these visions real?

Though I was thrilled to see that the two of them were unharmed, my stomach twisted at the sight of her horns. I didn’t give a fuck if she was Seelie or Unseelie, and apparently Torin didn’t, either. But the crowd around me wanted blood.

I leaned into Aeron’s shoulder and whispered, “Are you sure this is real?”

The stricken look on his face told me he was. He’d gone completely pale, staring at Modron. I sensed he wanted to protect his king and the king’s sister, but he didn’t want to leave my side, either.

A scarlet current of danger and violence hummed through every stone in the room, making my muscles go tight.

“He’s left us for the bloody demons!” someone screamed. “And we’re leaving the throne open for this bastard?”

A dreadful feeling was crawling up my spine. Moria had crafted her speeches for this moment, hadn’t she? She’d whipped up the mob into a furor, then showed them the most damning evidence.

Moria’s hands went to her cheeks as she stared at the images. “But—this doesn’t make sense, does it? Why would our king join the Unseelie?” Her tone sounded more histrionic than Hannah G. on season four of Hitched and Stitched when she faked a brain aneurysm to get Cole into her hotel room.

“My sister was once his intended bride,” Moria went on, “and no one hated the demons more than she. Torin wouldn’t have murdered Milisandia, would he?”

Of course, I’d already heard her beliefs on this topic.

“Modron!” she shouted. “Please, tell us what happened to Milisandia! Please.”

It was a performance with all the sophistication of a thirteen-year-old belting out songs in I’m Really Rosie, but these people had never sat through bad musical theater, and they didn’t know the difference.

“No,” Orla shouted. “That’s not why we’re here.”

But Modron wasn’t listening to Princess Orla. With a low, rattling sound, Modron breathed another cloud into the air, and the gray mist took shape above the dais. In the fog, a beautiful woman appeared with hair red as blood draped over a white cape. She stood in a ruined temple dusted with snow. A tear ran down her cheek, and her expression looked agonized.

In the gray fog, Torin took shape by her side, his expression grim. And when he turned sharply away from her, she grabbed his arm. He whirled back to her, his expression horrified. Ice spread from his body to hers, freezing her from the point where their bodies made contact.

Moria screamed, the sound filling the hall.

“It’s not what you think!” Orla cried. “It’s not what you think!”

She was shouting this over and over, but without explaining any further, which wasn’t particularly helpful.

Dizziness swam in my thoughts as I watched what Modron was showing us next—the king himself, burying a body at the Temple of Ostara. Cracking the wintry earth with a shovel.

Moria turned on Orla. “You knew about this, Princess.” Her voice dripped with venom. “You knew before I showed it. What else did you know? Are you also in league with the Unseelie rats?”

But all Orla could say was, “I can’t speak of it.” She staggered back over the dais, looking fragile.

Why wasn’t she explaining?

The crowd was screaming at Orla now, their voices hysterical. She stepped back over the dais. A few guards dressed in blue uniforms like Aeron stepped before the princess. But they looked uncertain now, as if maybe they should not be protecting her.

Aeron’s body tensed against me, and he leaned in to whisper, “Get out of here, quickly.”

Fury flashed in Moria’s burgundy eyes. “Torin is the only one in their family who remained un-cursed. Maybe the Unseelie spared him because they could use him.”

This had all unfolded too perfectly for Moria, hadn’t it? All the lurid threads had woven before us into the vision she’d wanted us to see.

Maybe Modron was telling the truth, but that didn’t mean it was the whole truth. After twenty-four seasons of Hitched and Stitched, I knew selective editing when I saw it.

The visions had been curated.

“I never expected to find that our king has betrayed us,” Moria shouted, her voice growing wilder. “I never dreamed that he’d murdered my sister to protect the Unseelie.”

A clear lie. She’d already accused him of murdering her sister. But who would believe me, the human friend of the “demon whore”?

“Milisandia wanted war with the demons, and he didn’t want it.” She strode across the dais, adopting a tremble in her voice that, frankly, sounded deranged. “Now he lives with them. With their queen. And this is why we must be vigilant. Who else among us has Unseelie sympathies? Who knows who else among us might be trying to destroy our kingdom from within?”

But I’d read Milisandia’s journal, and she hadn’t said a thing about the Unseelie. It was all about how beautiful Torin was, and how he couldn’t touch her. There’d been a bit about Moria’s premonition that he would kill her and bury her body at the Temple of Ostara. Moria had known this would happen even before it did.

My jaw tightened.

I didn’t know what Torin and Ava were doing, but I did know Moria was full of shit.

It was only then that I realized the crowd had turned to me, eyes narrowed with suspicion. Aeron slid his arm around me, his hand shifting to the hilt of the sword.

Around me, the crowd chanted Moria’s name as Aeron ushered me out of the hall, his powerful arm around me like a shield.

“Hide, Shalini,” he whispered. “I need to get you and Orla to safety.”