Shadowfever
Page 115“Why the bloody hell not?”
I wondered how much he’d learned about Fae lore in this place. Maybe my sources were wrong and Barrons had died from some other coincidental cause, not because of the mirror at all. Maybe Christian would hear my answer, laugh at me, and tell me my version was a bunch of baloney, that lots of people and Fae could use that mirror, or that Cruce’s curse had messed it up. “Because I came in through the Silver in the king’s bedchamber.”
He was silent a moment. “Not funny, lass.”
I didn’t say anything, just looked at him.
“Not possible, either,” he said flatly.
I pushed my hands into my pockets and waited for him to deal with it.
“That legend is famous on every world I visited. There are only two who can pass through the king’s Silver,” he said.
“Maybe Cruce’s curse changed it.”
“The king’s Silver was the first he ever made and of a completely different composition. It was unaffected. It continued to be used as a method of execution long after Cruce’s time.”
Damn. I’d really been hoping he wouldn’t say that. I turned my back on him and moved to the side of the coffin. The queen of the Fae would make me scream. I wondered why. I was sick of wondering. It was time for truth.
“Doona be duh-ing me, laddie,” I mocked something he’d said to me once, taking a stab at humor before my life got totally wrecked by whatever I was about to discover.
I pressed my hands to the runes at ten and two. Something clicked. There was a soft hiss of air as the lid raised beneath my hands. I could feel the spring in it. All I had to do now was push it aside.
“Only the Unseelie King and his concubine can use that mirror.” Christian was still talking.
I slid the lid away and looked down.
I was silent for a long moment, absorbing it.
Then I screamed.
29
To my credit, I didn’t scream for long.
But the short burst in their hellish language was enough to disturb precariously packed snow and ice. My chiming scream echoed off sheer cliffs. Unlike an echo, however, it grew louder with each rebound and I heard a rumble that could presage only one thing: an avalanche.
Christian shook his head, cursing. “Christ, you open your bag of stones. You feed me Unseelie. You scream. You’re a walking—”
“Just grab her and run! Now!”
He raced to the coffin, then stood, hesitating.
“What’s wrong with you? Pick her up!”
“She’s the queen of the Fae.” Awe tinged his voice. “It’s forbidden to touch the queen.”
“Fine, then stay here with her and get buried alive,” I snapped.
He scooped her up.
She was so frail, so wasted by … whatever wastes fairies, that I could have carried her myself, but I had no desire to touch her. Ever. Which was really kind of funny in a dark and disturbing way, if I thought about it. So I didn’t.
Ice cracked and rumbled high above, showering crystals across the dais.
“Why’d you scream, anyway?” he shouted at me over the rumbling.
“She startled me, is all,” I shouted back.
“Bloody great. Next time put a sock in it, would you?”
Neither of us said anything then, focused on trying to outrun being buried alive. I bounced between the walls of the cliffs like a Ping-Pong ball. Twice I lost my footing and went down. Christian went flying over the top of me but somehow managed to hang on to the frail queen. The avalanche chased us, growling like dark thunder, crashing from ravine to canyon, spraying the deep fissure with snow.
We finally cleared the claustrophobic path through the cliffs, slid on our asses down a steep hill, then raced across the canyon for the towering fortress of black ice.
“The Unseelie King’s castle!” Christian marveled as we dashed through the towering doors. He looked up, down, and around. “I grew up on tales of this place, but I never imagined I’d see it. I thought the closest I’d get to one of the legendary Tuatha Dé was standing next to a portrait. And here I am, holding the Seelie Queen, in the Unseelie King’s fortress.” He gave a bitter laugh. “And turning into one of them.”