“They are not as strong as my full-blooded kin, but I can detect poisons, ailments, and intentions.” Osmos glanced down at Drayce with sad eyes. “I’m terribly sorry, Your Majesty, but I don’t know how to awaken him.”
“Destry.” I glanced up at the blonde-haired faerie, who fluttered her transparent wings. Something about her, Osmos, and Rosalind told me I could trust them. At least until I destroyed our mutual enemy. “Could you watch my mate?”
She dipped her head into a nod.
I leaned across the mattress and pressed a kiss on Drayce’s lips. They were still, soft, soulless. As I drew back, I drank in his features, looking for a sign that Drayce was really slumbering beneath those closed lids. There was no movement in those dark, straight lashes, no rise and fall of his chest. I brushed a stray lash off his cheek and trailed my fingertip over the contour of his cheekbone and down to his jaw. The only sign of life was the gentle flutter of his pulse under my fingertips.
With a sigh, I rose from the mattress, wrapped a gloved hand around my iron dagger, and met Osmos’ azure eyes. “Let’s see if the sprite is ready to talk.”
As we backed away from the four-poster bed, Osmos flicked his wrist, and the curtains drew together, casting him in shadow.
We left Drayce alone on my bed and returned to the throne room, which echoed with high-pitched screams. Aengus sat at the bottom of the stairs, resting his chin on his hands. He watched Rosalind who stood a few feet away in front of a marble podium that held the iron cage.
Rosalind curled and straightened her fingers, each movement making the little sprite slam into the iron bars. One side of the green creature’s face sizzled and seared, filling the air with the scent of burning flesh. The sprite screamed once more, her voice making my ears ring. When the magic released her, she threw herself backward and landed in a puddle of green skirts.
My old hatred for faeries surged through my veins. I crossed the room and stood beside Rosalind. “Is she ready to talk?”
“Not yet, Your Majesty.” Rosalind hissed through her teeth.
“I am,” the sprite squeaked from the cage’s floor. “Please… stop.”
“Speak,” I snapped.
Her tiny shoulders shook with sobs, and she begged me over and over for forgiveness.
I folded my arms across my chest. “If this is a trick—”
“I didn’t mean to hurt King Salamander,” she said through ragged breaths. “The target was supposed to be you.”
“Why?”
She shook her head. “I can’t say.”
“Rosalind.” I turned to my new companion. “I’ll be gone for a few hours. Keep the sprite alive and in agony until my return.”
The sprite raised her head. “It was the Fear Dorcha!”
My gaze dropped to the iron cage. “What did you say?”
The sprite fell to her side, her little chest heaving with rapid breaths. “He said he would break the curse on the tree if I put you to sleep with the needle.”
I turned to Rosalind and Osmos, who shook their heads, so I turned back to the sprite. “Who is this person?”
“Please.” She tried to pull herself up but collapsed back onto the floor of her cage. “Nobody has seen his face. Nobody can break his curses. He poisoned our oak and put my people to sleep. I failed my mission, and now we will all die.”
I waited for the sprite to say something else, but she fell into shuddering sobs.
Rosalind turned to me with her brow raised in a silent question, and I shook my head. If she came to the palace to put me under a sleeping curse, it was probably because she had no other way to save the other sprites.
Anxiety quickened through my insides, and I glanced around the empty throne room, looking for signs of this unknown enemy. Sunlight streamed in through the arched windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing through the air. The room seemed so huge, so empty, so cold that it tightened the skin on my arms to gooseflesh.
Aengus rose from the steps and smoothed down his white tunic. “I knew the Fear Dorcha and his brothers.”
“What?” I whispered.
“They were one of the few who managed to escape the nothingness.” He threaded his fingers through his golden curls.
I frowned. “What does he want?”
Aengus rubbed the back of his neck. “He’s likely allied to whoever helped him escape.”
“Melusina,” I growled.
“What shall we do about the oak sprite?” asked Rosalind.
I glared at the little creature, who pulled herself up from the bottom of the cage and stared at me through wide, green eyes. Her lips trembled and she whispered plea after plea for mercy. Fury simmered in my gut. How dare she attack us without provocation and then expect forgiveness?
“Where’s your oak tree?” I asked.
“At the edge of the Summer Court, Your Majesty,” she said through whimpering sobs.
My brows furrowed. “Why didn’t you just ask us for help?”
The oak sprite lowered her onion-shaped head.
“Your Majesty?” Osmos asked. “Perhaps we will have better luck if we asked a seer to look into King Drayce’s curse. A powerful one works in the palace kitchens.”
Chapter 5
Osmos and I walked in silence through a downward slope that led to a pantry four times the size of our house in Calafort, where wooden shelves laden with loaves and jars of preserves stretched across the high walls. A metal chandelier hung from the ceiling, holding six candles with foot-long flames that flickered and danced in the draft.
Barrels stood proudly among sacks of grain on its flagstone floors along with tables overflowing with fresh vegetables and fruit. There was more food here than in an entire human village, making me wonder how many people lived in this palace.
A tall creature with a chin as long and as pointed as his carrot-shaped nose stared at us through eyes that resembled pale egg yolks. His wizened face