“Yeah, look how well that turned out.”
“I’m talking about while you’re here. Under house arrest.” The fae pointed at Cheyenne’s knees bouncing up and down rapidly. “You’re fidgety and tense, and it’s weirding me out. Stop it.”
“Sorry.” Cheyenne stilled her bouncing knees. “You’re gonna suggest watching another movie to distract me, aren’t you?”
Ember grinned. “Are you suggesting more movies?”
“Sure, I guess.”
“Prepare to zone out, then.” Ember played the movie she’d paused, and their apartment filled with the conversation from the characters on screen. Two minutes in, Cheyenne’s fingers drummed in an urgent, jerky rhythm on the recliner’s armrests. Ember shot her friend two warning looks before finally rolling her eyes and wheeling away from the table to head toward the kitchen. “Okay, I know what we need.”
“Huh?” Cheyenne looked away from the screen she’d been ignoring. “Where are you going?”
“Grab the popcorn, halfling. Start eating. I had that delivery grocery person pick up enough ice cream to last us a month. I thought. Depends on how many pints you need to go through before you chill out.”
The halfling burst out laughing. “Force-feeding me ice cream doesn’t sound very relaxing.”
“It will when you see what kind I got. And we’re watching something fun. Screw the action movies and the creepy stuff. We need something stupidly funny.” The freezer opened under Ember’s violet light, and two pints of ice cream zipped down into her lap, followed by two spoons from the drawer. “You don’t get to argue with me on this one, Cheyenne. Until we get the all-clear to leave the apartment, which is awesome and has everything we need, I’m calling the shots. Got it?”
“You know, I heard fae are especially skilled at getting what they want. Probably a bad move to argue with you.”
“You have no idea.”
A purple-glowing pint of ice cream and a spoon whizzed across the apartment and thumped into Cheyenne’s lap.
Chapter Eighty-Three
The next morning, Cheyenne lurched out of sleep, covered in a cold sweat. The echoes of her dream floated around her mind before she threw the covers off and climbed out of bed. “Screw all this ‘blood bonds with blood’ shit. The prophecies can suck it.”
She burst out of her bedroom and headed for the bathroom beneath the mini-loft.
“Morning,” Ember called from the kitchen. “I beat you to the coffee-making again, so don’t worry about it. Whoa, you okay?”
“Not really.” Cheyenne ran her hand through her black hair and stopped in front of the bathroom door. “More nightmares. More screwed-up prophecies about crap that doesn’t make any sense. I’m thinking maybe I can burn it all out with hot water and steam.”
“Okay.”
“Coffee smells good.” The halfling stumbled into the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind her. The sound startled her out of her grumpiness, and she turned on the shower with a grimace. Ember didn’t do anything. Don’t take it out on her.
Once the shower was running as hot as it would go, which still didn’t feel hot enough, Cheyenne stepped in and let the scalding water pour over her. I don’t need to figure out what that prophecy means. I already know the Crown is tearing the other side apart. No shit, there’ll be blood and fire and devastation. There already is. How am I supposed to stop it?
An image of the Nimlothar tree from the ceremony two days ago flashed in her mind, overtaking her vision and her thoughts as it pulsed with purple and black light. With the pulsing light came a song in thousands of voices, a wordless tune that was a part of the tree and the lifeforce and the power inside it. Then the massive tree, the source of drow magic, gave a final pulse of light and darkened. The song became a scream, then thousands of screams. The base of the Nimlothar’s trunk erupted in black flames, climbing higher and racing toward the branches and the purple leaves until the entire thing was consumed. The screams grew louder and more urgent, terrified and enraged. Beneath the Nimlothar tree, the earth buckled and shuddered with wide, pitch-black cracks that led down into nothingness.
“The phér móre is the sword. If it does not sail true, the scion will be their doom.”
When the vision ended, Cheyenne found herself on her knees in the shower, both hands clamped over her ears, the drow-pointed tips of which peeked out above her fingers. She coughed, her voice hoarse and raw, water pouring down on her head and over her face. Was I just screaming?
“Seriously, Cheyenne, if you don’t say something, I’m coming in,” Ember shouted and pounded again on the bathroom door.
“I’m fine.” The words left Cheyenne’s mouth in a croak, and she cleared her throat and tried again. “I’m good, Em.”
“Thank God.” Ember closed her eyes. “You sure? I mean, I thought you were just blowing off a little steam until it didn’t stop.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. Sorry. I’ll tell you when I’m done.”
“Okay.” Ember cast the bathroom door a skeptical glance, then wheeled back into the kitchen to finish making breakfast.
Cheyenne braced herself against the shower wall and stood again. Her legs shook when she straightened, but she forced her body under control and slipped out of drow form. I’m so done with this.
She quickly finished her shower, then turned off the water and stepped out. The bathroom was so full of steam, she could barely see the towel on the rack right next to her. The mirror was fogged up, and Cheyenne turned on the vent fan to help clear out the room. After drying off as much as she could in the steam, she wrapped the towel around herself and left the bathroom.
The apartment felt frigid after the bathroom. Cheyenne sucked in a sharp breath and headed quickly to her bedroom to change. When she dropped the towel and reached for her clothes in the dresser, she paused. Crap. I just cooked myself.
She gently rubbed the bright-red skin of her forearm and took a quick
