Page 27 of Fallen Court

“All that matters is that it’s close,” she said hurriedly. “From what we know about fae magic, nipping requires strong magic. We can’t risk going too far, since…”

I had no clue what I was doing. Was this a rescue or a joke? I grabbed the phone, committing the image to memory. If this was the only chance we had, I needed to try, even if it sounded far-fetched.

“Ready?” Ilsa pressed.

Not even a little.

There were plans, and then there were suicide missions. This felt more like the latter.

“We’re running out of time.” Marin grabbed one of my arms, nodding for them to do the same.

I clamped my mouth into a grim line, but the maid gave me an encouraging nod and squeezed my hand, leaving the other free. It was a testament to how fucked up the Hallow Court must be if she was going along with this.

I closed my eyes, all three clinging to me, and pictured the lively street in the photo.

And then I snapped my fingers.

Chapter Eight

Lach

Consciousness proved I wasn’t dead, but it made me wish I was.

My muscles protested as I sat up and tried to open my eyes, which seemed to be glued shut. I winced as I wiped crusted blood from my lashes. That explained the soreness. My shirt was torn down the middle to reveal singed skin and seeping wounds. Bain had fought dirty, summoning a binding spell that allowed him to use his fire magic against me. The rest was a bit hazy, like how I’d wound up in a fairly comfortable bed and not a shallow grave.

That was the danger of confronting an enemy in another court. They had the home field advantage, and clearly, Bain had been prepared for my arrival. Whatever curse he’d used against me must have lingered in my blood, because my head was fuzzy and I wasn’t healing. More reasons to hate him.

I’d failed my first attempt to swing my legs over the side of the bed when the door creaked open and answered one of my questions.

“You look like shit,” Roark announced a bit too cheerfully.

I flipped him off—or tried to. My finger was broken, and I was seeing double. A smile tugged at my lips, but I winced. Even that hurt. “How?”

“Your sister called me. Did you think she was going to let you go after Bain alone?”

His words dashed any relief I’d felt at seeing him. I should have known my penumbra would intervene when he found out I’d headed to London. “So, your phone does work.”

He ignored the accusation.

“Eat this.” Something hard and cold smacked against my chest. I fumbled, barely catching the blood apple. “You are going to need your strength.”

The ominous bent of his words jogged something loose in my brain. I took a bite, forcing myself to swallow. An instant warmth spread through me, easing, if not erasing, some of my pain and clearing my head enough for me to make out my surroundings.

The Avalon. Roark had brought me to the Avalon.

I shot to my feet, my left ankle barking in protest. Also broken. I stumbled a step. “Have you lost your mind? The Hunt—”

“Aren’t going to be a problem.” Roark caught me by the arm and nudged me toward a chair. My penumbra—my shadow—had been my friend and advisor since birth. Even if I had left the throne in the hands of my sister, our bond remained.

“If they show up here, all of you could get caught in the crossfire.”

“Except we’re not idiots, unlike some people who go after their enemies without backup,” he said with a pointed look. “Ciara’s been spoon-feeding you yarrow to keep your magic hidden. We didn’t want the Hunt to be able to trace you here. Not before we were ready for them.”

That’s why I hadn’t healed. Not due to Bain, but my own family drugging me.

“And we’re ready now?”

“More or less.” He shrugged like we weren’t discussing my imminent death at the hands of an execution squad. “I convinced her to stop dosing you so we could catch you up.”