Grave Visions(100)

I guess they decided the winter court had become inhospitable.

Not that I thought they were all turning tail and planning to suddenly declare independent. At least, I didn’t think that was the case. No, more likely they were looking for a dry place to get out of the sleet that was plaguing their home. Still, it had to be a blow to the queen to see her subjects gathered in a small pocket of Faerie that normally was only a pale reflection of the true place. Most likely whatever pocket spaces surrounded the other doors to winter’s territory were also packed with court members tonight.

For a moment I thought the queen was going to address her people. To offer reassurance that everything would be back to normal soon, or more likely, to order everyone back to their court regardless of its current condition. Then Maeve approached the queen’s side.

“I would deal with this for you, if you would like, my queen.” Maeve curtsied as she spoke, her face turned down toward the floorboards.

“Do so,” the queen snapped, and then, squaring her shoulders, stalked through the tables toward the amaranthine tree and door to her court.

I didn’t start moving fast enough, and Falin gave me the softest shove to get me walking. I trudged forward, catching sidelong glances shot my way as I passed. But no one spoke. In fact, the silence held until I was more than partway around the tree, the world already sliding out of focus. Even then, the sounds of the quickly vanishing bar were subdued. Frightened.

The queen waited just beyond the melting ice pillar that marked the door. The intricate carvings were gone now, replaced by a shiny, wet surface. The queen grimaced at the pillar, and then turned her face upward, into the falling sleet.

The deluge slowed, and then stopped. I glanced up. Sleet still fell high above us—not the large and majestic snowflakes from before the queen’s . . . fall from health . . . but it stopped several feet above my head now, so at least we weren’t being pelted with the chilling rain anymore.

Two ice-cloaked guards approached, looking cold and drenched, but they bowed to their queen, making no complaint.

“My nephew, is he here?” the queen asked the first of the guards.

“I believe so, your majesty.”

“Good. Bring him to my throne room. We must speak.” She started past him, but then paused. “Oh, and take the planeweaver to a room where she can rest, and if there are any healers left who haven’t abandoned the court, send one to see to her arm. Knight, attend me.”

And with that, she stormed off down the long corridor, leaving me in the care of the two waterlogged guards.





Chapter 29





I woke to sleet pelting my face.

I jolted upright, disoriented with sleep, and blinked at the unfamiliar room. It was small, but ornately decorated with furniture carved from some sort of blue crystal that resembled ice—but only resembled, because the actual items of ice were dripping.

The winter court.

Memory washed over me, clearing away the last haze of sleep: Jenny’s stagnant pond; Rawhead’s death, the fight with his ghost, and his revelation that Ryese was the alchemist; and then the queen’s insistence that I recover here, in her court. More sleet fell from the ceiling, sticking to my hair and eyebrows and making a darkening wet spot on the light blanket pooling at my hips. Shivering, I shook the melting ice away, but it was quickly replaced. What happened? The queen had managed to stop the sleet from falling, even if she hadn’t been able to turn it back into decorative snow. Had she relapsed into the fevered madness?

Pulling the blanket free of the bed, I tugged it around my shoulders and over my head like a cloak. I realized only after I’d bundled myself that I’d used my left arm without any twinge of pain. I held it out and flexed the fingers of my hand as I examined the flesh of my forearm. The healer the queen had sent had done a good job; there wasn’t even a scar left where Rawhead’s ghost had bit me. But I was tired, so very tired now that the initial adrenaline rush of waking to frozen rain was wearing off.

How long had I slept?

It could have been minutes or hours. One thing was for sure, I hadn’t acquired my tie to Faerie yet, and I was running out of time. I hope Rianna and Ms. B are okay. How long was it safe to wait for the queen to confront Ryese and decide our bargain was complete? And if I felt this bad, how much worse was it for my friends? As they were sworn to me—in the roundabout way of fae inheritance—self-preservation had apparently cut down the flow of life-sustaining magic to them before I’d even started feeling the effects. And I was definitely feeling it now—just the idea of crawling out of this bed was exhausting.

I had to speak to the queen. One way or another, I had to establish my tie to Faerie. Now.