Chapter Twenty-Three
Between one breath and the other, I am plunged from laughter and music into a world of silence and cold. To travel along the Shadow Ways feels like the world turns me inside out and then it’s twisting me in knots again.
The cloud of darkness vanishes, and I hit the ground, palms slapping onto cold stone as every inch of my body rebels. My gods. What just happened? Even my eyeballs hurt. The loss of Ceres leaves my mind raw and bleeding; in binding myself to the lands, I gained a massive amount of power, but the loss of that connection, the shock of it….
I didn’t realize that in a handful of days I’d grown so used to the feeling that now the forest around me is dead and gray and dull. There is no life here. Not for me. This is not my land. It does not welcome me.
The fetch stalks toward me.
My arm throbs, the white imprint of its hand burning to life in my olive skin. I scramble to my feet, feeling the urge to retch, but I don’t even know where I am.
Alone.
In an old and silent forest where little demi-fey bob through the branches. I trip over a pile of rocks—perhaps an old stone wall smothered in moss and ivy—but there’s nowhere to escape.
Except….
A pulse beats through my skin. There’s a Hallow nearby. And maybe, if I can get to it, then I can escape.
The creature straightens as if the journey took something out of it too. “You cannot run, little faeling. I’ve been hunting you for months. And you were invisible to my eyes, until you lit the world on fire. Now you are back. Now you cannot escape me.”
There’s a tiny dagger in my boot, but that’s the only weapon I have, and when I draw it, the fetch laughs.
“Cold iron won’t kill me, little faeling.”
“No?”
Only sunlight or the blood of the purest….
Time to test a theory.
I draw the knife across the back of my hand, and blood wells. I fling droplets of blood across its face.
Instantly it screams, clutching at its face, and I don’t waste my chance.
Darting past, I sprint into the forest ruins, scrambling over rock and raw slate. Vines tangle over stones, but I can sense the Hallow drawing me toward it like a lodestone.
Where did the fetch bring me?
I don’t recognize the ruins, but that doesn’t mean anything. There are dozens of Hallows in Unseelie.
Hallows are means of transportation, but they don’t open to just any other Hallow. You have to follow the ley lines, unless they’re located at a nexus point—like Ceres—with ley lines crossing to numerous other Hallows.
Slipping and sliding down the slope, I skid across the smooth slate floors of the Hallow.
Curse it.
Each rune has been chiseled from the guardian stones, until all that remains is a hint of copper. I don’t know which Hallow they align with, and several of the Hallows were destroyed during the wars—if I pick the wrong rune, then I might will myself out of existence.
Slamming my palms against them in frustration, I turn to face the fetch as it stalks through the ruins toward me.
“Nowhere to run,” it whispers, and a knife gleams in its hand.
“Who said anything about running?”
There’s one last option remaining.
I reach for the Mother of Night, using all of my power to call to her. “Help me. Please.”
Something dark and alien slips beneath my skin, and when I open my eyes, I could swear I’m seeing through hers. A heartbeat passes. The fetch glides toward me with insolent slowness, as if it knows there’s nothing I can do.
“What do you want, child?”
“I need to get out of here.”
There’s a hesitation. “I don’t grant gifts, Princess.”
“No? Well, if you want to prove to me that you’re a benevolent being, then it starts here! If I’m locked in a cell or dead, then you’ll never get your precious freedom.”
Silence.
“Think,” she whispers. “What weakness does one of the Heartless have?”
My blood and sunlight. But the moon hangs bloated in the sky and dawn is hours away.
“You have the power to move the tides themselves,” she continues callously. “You don’t need the sun to rise, Iskvien. You just need the light.”
I press both palms against the Hallow stones and close my eyes. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know if this will even work.
“Open yourself to the earth beneath your feet,” she says. “Open your mind. Open your heart.”
For a second, it sounds like some sort of rhythmic drumming echoes through the world, but maybe that’s just the echo of my heart.
“You are not just fae, you are also one of us. We walked these lands when the sun was young and the earth green with new growth. We bled into these soils and bound our lives to the land. We heard the first birds chirp and saw bright scales flicker through our streams. We are everything that makes up the whole of Arcaedia.”
Light flares beneath my hands. It’s working.
“Use your power,” the Mother demands. “Control the Hallow.”
It feels a little like preparing to translocate. Energy wells beneath my feet, and I can feel it shivering through the Hallow stones into my palms. Heat and exhilaration rush through me, like the best kind of orgasm.
I lift my face, light shining through my skin.
I am power.
I am the land.
I am light.
And I catch a glimpse of the fetch’s shocked face as it sees what’s happening.
“Burn,” I whisper, and light explodes out from the Hallow.
Even through closed eyes, it sears my eyeballs, until afterimage blinds me. Heat gushes through me. My hair whips back. I could move continents with this power. I could stop the tides and haul the moon from the sky.
I could ruin my mother.
The power skitters, jarring through me as though it wants to be unleashed.
But then the edge of power twists within me, and I realize it’s burning me out, burning me hollow. I’m too close to the
