stabbing deeper into her veins. A strange ringing filled her head, and sweat beaded on her brow. She had steeled herself for this moment, but that did not stop her fear. Imogen had expected to live another hundred years. She had been the High Queen, surrounded by a sturdy castle and guards. She was of noble blood. She wasn’t a warrior or the captain of a sea-faring boat, lives that often ended far too soon due to the danger of their professions.
Her life could have stretched on for years.
But she could now see that queendom held far more danger than anything else, particularly in the realms of the fae.
Aengus came to a stop before her and smiled. “The Dagda has considered this fae standing before us, and he has judged her terrible and wicked and cruel. She has conspired against the crown. She has committed numerous treasons. And she has disobeyed direct commands from me, and therefore, our great god himself.” He strode to the edge of the platform, the wood creaking beneath his leather boots. The crowd before her was a sea of blurred faces and golden hair. “Our laws are clear. Those who disobey the Dagda are to be punished. Harshly yet justly. And there is only one punishment for treason. Death, by hanging.”
Imogen swallowed hard, the rough rope scraping the delicate skin at her neck. The ringing in her ears grew loud, drowning out the building murmur of the crowd. She squeezed her eyes shut and balled her fists.
“Imogen Selkirk of the Air Court.” Aengus’s voice was suddenly loud, his lips brushing against her ear. Her balled fists tightened. “What words would you depart with?”
Her eyes flew open then, and her belly was lined with steel. His thin-lipped smile matched the sparkle in his eyes. The setting glare of the sun was a backdrop to his silhouette, his ever-present rapier whispering against his thigh.
Imogen drew all the remaining strength into her voice, and hissed, “I curse you, Aengus. May your life be long and full of misery. May your every ambition become true, and just when you think you’ve won, may it all bite you in your fucking arse.”
Shock flickered in Aengus’s narrow grey eyes, but he recovered quickly, even as excited whispers drifted through the crowd. Vicious anger rippled across his face. He raised his hand, signalling the guards behind her.
And then the world opened up beneath her feet.
1
Reyna
Reyna Darragh’s skin itched. She could not say how many days had passed since she’d awoken trapped inside the Shadow Court, but it had been far more than one too many. Her bones throbbed; her mind raged. Reyna wasn’t meant for captivity. She ached to do something, anything at all. If that something involved stabbing her way out of this dark and dreary castle, then all the better.
As it was, she had seen nothing but the black stone walls that surrounded her for days. Only one iron-barred window provided her with a view of the city. She sat on the cold stone ledge, Wingallock perching on her shoulder, and stared out at Findius.
It was a strange city. For one, it squatted beneath a very red sun that was shrouded in a thick impenetrable mist. The darkness of it almost seemed alive at times, twisting and whorling through the dirt-packed streets. Hundreds of lit windows dotted undulating land. The shadow fae had been pushed out of this city when they had been exiled. Now, some had returned to their former homes and many more were coming by the day. Still, even with the growing light, the streets were dark and dreary.
It looked like the kind of city that would easily swallow you whole.
Regardless, Reyna would have gladly jumped out the window to join the mist if it wasn’t for the pesky iron bars blocking her way. She could not even touch them without getting burnt, let alone rip them out of the black stone walls.
“What do you reckon, Wingallock?” Reyna whispered quietly, all too aware of the guards at the door, always listening. “Any idea how we’re going to get out of this castle?”
Even her owl familiar was stuck inside, and his frustration grew with every passing day. Wingallock was accustomed to sweeping through snow-blanketed forests each night, hunting for prey. He’d never enjoyed being fed scraps of even the most delicious castle food. He preferred to find his own. He enjoyed flying free. To be caged, to him, was a fate as cruel as death.