Ambrosia (Frost and Nectar Book 2)

I slumped against the wall with my head in my hands, a broken king. I only knew that I needed to get Ava out of here.

Rainwater pooled on the floor, mixing with the blood from my feet where Morgant had used his “healing” powers to rip them open beyond recognition.

Since I’d been locked in here, with poison coursing through my body, I’d been unable to summon enough magic to open a portal. Even if I could, I wouldn’t leave Ava.

At first, the worst part of my imprisonment had been when Morgant had slammed an iron pipe into my throat, or maybe when he’d knocked me unconscious, chained me up, then waited until I woke to rip the muscles in my feet with his magic. Bad, but not the worst. The worst had been hearing Ava screaming and not being able to do anything about it.

I touched my throat, and it pulsed with a dull pain.

Drops of rain still spilled from the tree’s canopy high above and slid down my bare chest. I let my head fall back and the drops soothe me like a gentle blessing from the old gods.

Since I’d spoken to Ava through the walls, I’d tried calling her name a few more times, but I didn’t think she could hear me.

My mind kept drifting into a fantasy, one where I carried her into my room and laid her down on my bed. There, under an expansive glass ceiling, an apple tree grew. If Ava and I were together there, we could eat as many apples as we wanted, the sweet juices dripping down our throats. I could almost taste it…

I let out a long, slow breath. Even if by some miracle, I got us out of here and we took a portal back to Faerie and my beautiful room, I could kill her with my touch.

I saw my sister’s face in the hollows of my skull. I’d had so many conversations with her in my head in the past few days. If I saw Orla now in person, I would tell her I wanted to bring Ava home. She’d remind me that I couldn’t. She’d remind me to keep Ava at arm’s length. She’d remind me that I’d nearly killed Ava already with a frost spreading over her skin.

I winced at the pain in my broken body.

I glanced at my forearm. Under my skin, the bones were slowly healing where the demon had broken them. Without my magic, I didn’t heal as quickly as I normally would.

With a grunt, I forced myself to stand on my bloodied feet. Every time I had enough energy, I tried opening a portal again. What I desperately needed was the Sword of Whispers.

But it was easier to summon magic at my full height, to open my chest to the ancient power of the old gods.

I flexed my fist, imagining the Sword of Whispers in my hand now, carving through the stone walls to get to Ava. A drop of water slid down my temple.

If the old gods had chosen me as their anointed king, they wouldn’t simply leave me here to die, would they?

I scrubbed a hand over my mouth, remembering Ava trying to crawl for me when we’d been ambushed. She’d been attempting to get the darts out of my back.

Twilight was falling, and the faintest tinges of violet and gold shone through the scarlet sky above. We called this time the gloaming, when a fae could travel more easily between worlds. This was the best time of day to appeal to the old gods.

My magic flickered, burning a little brighter, the color of dusk.

My body ached, and I leaned back against the wall, resting my head. I could imagine Ava leaning against the other side of the same wall with her beautiful, curved horns.

In my dreams, I often had the antlers of Cernunnos, as I had before the coronation. The stag could travel between the worlds. I glanced up at the flecks of mauve twilight between the red leaves, and the flame of my magic rose a little more.

Cold magic slid through my veins, and the image of the Sword of Whispers ignited like a beacon in my thoughts. I’d only used it once before, and it had etched its permanent mark on my soul. I hadn’t allowed it to drive me mad.

Centuries ago, King Caerleon had personally executed one traitor after another using the Sword of Whispers. When he ran out of traitors, he found new ones, more and more, until he simply stalked the streets of Faerie. He’d dabbled in dark magic, raising a ferocious dragon named the Sinach from the mountains. When King Caerleon grew bored of killing by sword, he used the Sinach to roast people, and Faerie had descended into a violent and bloody age known as The Anarchy.

I’d never wanted to use the sword. But now? This was the perfect moment.

A cool wind rushed through the cell from the boughs above. Even though it was still warm in my cell, snow began to swirl in the air. I felt the last of the gods’ magic ignite in my chest, and I whispered the words to create a portal. Like a stag, I’d shift between realms. Cool air slid around me, and the snow started falling more heavily.

An icy wind swept the snow through the air and whirled before me, a vortex of white that slowly opened to expose a dark gap in the center. My heart slammed against my ribs.

My chest unclenched. Thank the gods, the opening was twelve inches across and beamed with a pale blue light, just large enough for what I needed. I reached through the opening, my arm brushing the edges of the portal, hard and cold as ice.

I spied the sword, an obsidian hilt and a scabbard of black leather. Legend said the death god had created the sword, hiding one of his arrows in the pommel and carving his hounds upon the dark stone hilt. As I gripped it, I felt his shadowy power course through me.

I pulled the sword and the scabbard into the Court of Sorrows with me, and the portal closed again.

With the sword in my hand, the intoxicating voices of the gods whispered around me in their divine language. I closed my eyes with a whispered thanks to the old gods in their native tongue, a language spoken by gods and kings alone.

I’m coming for you, Ava.

Gripping the hilt in both hands, I swung the sword, slicing through the thick walls, one after another. I carved doors for myself. To her.

Until at last, I saw her, waking from a deep sleep. She was covered in dust from the stones.

And literally nothing else.