Ambrosia (Frost and Nectar Book 2)

Every time I woke, the pain seared my back, and I regretted regaining consciousness. So I’d fall back asleep, dreaming of cool lemonade, strawberry milkshakes, and mangoes…

Always in the background of my dreams, I heard Torin screaming my name, and the dreams would slide into nightmares—a landscape of sharp icicles, a frozen tundra where Torin needed my help, and I couldn’t find him.

My eyes snapped open. The pain in my shoulder had changed, less a sharp laceration and more of a burning sensation. Swollen.

I reached back with my left arm and winced. The skin was hot and sore to the touch. Infected.

Fuck. Even if the fae healed better than humans, we could still die of infections.

“Ava!” Torin’s voice again.

A hallucination, I thought.

Thirst raked at my throat, and I could hardly wet my lips enough to respond, my “yes,” coming out more like “ehhh?”

“Ava!” A distant sound. Muffled, but unmistakably Torin’s.

My heart hammered. “Torin?” I rasped.

I tried to crawl over to the wall that was the source of his voice, but collapsed.

“Ava!”

“I’m here!” I tried to shout, but the words wouldn’t come out, and I realized that tears were streaming down my face. I was glad Torin wasn’t here to see me completely fall apart.

“I’m here!” I managed to say, my voice breaking.

He was shouting something at me through the stone, over and over. But the walls were too thick, and I couldn’t quite make out what he was saying. The words echoed in my mind until I no longer had any idea what was real.

“You’ve been screaming for days,” he shouted.

I blinked. For days? I must have been screaming in my sleep. What was he really worried about—me, or that I’d betray each one of Faerie’s state secrets to his enemies?

I swallowed, my throat arid as a desert. “Why are you still here?” My voice sounded ragged. I wiped the tears from my cheeks. “Go home, Torin.”

Silence fell, then I heard his voice again, calling my name.

My thoughts slid out of focus, and I couldn’t understand anything he said.

Every part of my body was too hot and too cold at the same time.

I stared at the floor and dimly recognized the wet sheen of water that had collected between the gnarled roots. Had it rained? I crawled forward a little and licked the rainwater, tinged with the taste of soil.

A door creaked in the distance. I breathed in air thick and heavy with dirt. I had no idea how long I’d been on the floor, facedown.

I turned my head and found Morgant looming in the doorway, staring down at me. He carried a pewter cup, but given our relationship so far, it was probably not going to be a source of relief.

He knelt next to me, and a twinge of fear flickered through me. How much longer would I last here?

A cool, soothing magic spilled over my back, then slid into my muscles. It felt like clean water pouring into my body, washing away the pain and toxins. A poultice of magic, a balm for my fever.

“Your wound became infected,” he muttered.

I wanted to say something like “no shit,” but I’d learned my lesson about mouthing off to him.

“That was not my intention.”

I let out a long sigh of relief, arching my back a little. For the first time in ages, I was able to move.

“I waited too long to heal it,” he said. “You will have a scar. But the infection is gone. Did you learn any magic?”

When he pulled his magic from me, I turned onto my side and slowly sat up. I reached behind my shoulder, my fingertips brushing over rough ridges of skin. Scarred, yes, but no longer painful or hot to the touch.

I looked up at him, waiting to see what new horror he had in store for me, but he only handed me the pewter cup. I put it to my lips and drank deeply, then took a breath, trying to pace myself.

“Don’t drink too quickly. It will make you sick,” he said, as if reading my own thoughts.

Light poured between the tree boughs, rich and honeyed, flecking his white hair with gold. I hadn’t realized it was daytime. The world really could be pretty when you weren’t writhing with pain on a dungeon floor.

“Is this where you pretend to be the good cop?” I asked.

His eyebrows drew together, and I realized he had no idea what I was talking about. “I felt it through the castle that your blood had been poisoned. Without healing, you would die.” A muscle twitched in his square jaw. “It is in my nature to heal, but sometimes, it is the duty of an Unseelie to do things that hurt others. And that hurt us. When we grow strong, it burns.”

“Mmm.”

“Are you ready to tell us about the Seelie king now?”

As long as I never admitted to knowing him, Morgant couldn’t press me for details. “Who?”

He stood, staring down at me, and pulled a small piece of bread from a little leather bag at his waist. “If you want to live, eat this. But not too quickly. I won’t be back for a while.” He looked up at the leaves above us. “You will have more water soon enough.”

He turned and left, slamming the door behind him. I listened as the metal bolt slid into place, locking me in.

I woke to a booming sound and the feel of rumbling walls. The sound made me shudder until I realized it was something I needed desperately—a storm.

From above, cold water trickled down my body, soaking my green dress. My eyes snapped open, and I instinctively opened my mouth. Rainwater slid down my throat, slaking my thirst. Light flashed above, and thunder rumbled through the tower walls. I made a cup with my hands, collecting rainwater, and sucked it down greedily.

I kept filling my hands, drinking as much as I could. The rain soaked into my skin.

I sat against the wall, letting the water run over me. Shivering, I hugged myself. But the rainwater seemed to be washing away the stench of my cell, drawing it down into the tree’s roots. I wished to God I had a cup or something to collect water in, but Morgant had taken it with him.

Since this might be my only chance for a shower in the near future, I stripped off my gown and my underwear. I scrubbed myself in the rain, then picked up the dress and cleaned it as best I could. Morgant had done this on purpose, leaving me without clothes or soap, while he looked pristine in his green velvet and a golden crown. Another control mechanism, so I’d have to take back what dignity I could.

When I’d finished scrubbing my clothes, I hung them to dry and curled up against the wall.

Hammering echoed through one of the stone walls, and I froze. Was I still hallucinating?

Morgant’s words played in my mind, again and again.

If you are trying to protect a man who loathes you, I must say I find it rather pathetic.