Page 96 of Heart’s Rescue

I gasp. This wasn’t part of any story I’d ever heard. According to the Kingdom of the Summer, Princess Elanerill was the victim. She’d been abducted, stolen away to the Lands Below.

“We could heal his physical wounds,” King Galan continues, “but the connection between our worlds was severed while the heart magic ritual was still incomplete. Orryen was… damaged.”

Lythienne clucks and shakes her head.

“Poor soul was just bleeding magic all over the place,” Lythienne says. “We had to put him under, or the loss of magic would have killed him.”

Just like the princess, I think. Princess Elanerill in her magical slumber, waiting for her heart to return from the Lands Below.

“So, in order to complete that spell,” Rowan says, “the spell that’s keeping Orryen, uh, damaged, you need to reopen the connection between the Lands Below and the Worlds Above. You need another hole in the barrier to do your magic. That’s why you need us, isn’t it?”

Lythienne looks somewhat abashed, but King Galan just nods.

“Son of a bitch,” Rowan mutters, and his voice makes the words sound almost like a compliment. “This was never about getting Arryn home, was it?”

“But it will get her home,” the king replies. “The hole in the barrier that we can create with your hearts would allow us to finish the original spell, to release my son and heir, and to send Lady Arryn back to her home.”

Home. The word sits uneasily in my chest. I think of the library, with its sixty flat surfaces to cover in illusory flowers that Mother would then destroy. Rowan takes a deep breath and looks at the rafters.

“What’re the chances this will kill us?” he asks.

The king shrugs. “Twenty percent?”

“Well, it’s not nearly as dangerous as last time,” Lythienne counters. “I’d say there’s only a fifteen percent chance of failure.”

“Fifteen percent,” Rowan says, looking at me. “Great.”

I can read the question in his eyes. Do we honestly want to do this? I take a deep breath and trace the contours of the room, the sleeping prince on his bed, the crystals and delicate silver instruments lining the walls, the magicians of the Kingdom of the Fall standing by the stairs, waiting patiently for us to decide.

Because we really do have a choice. I’d thought giving my heart to the King of the Fall would mean my death, that I would trade my life for Rowan's freedom. I never would have imagined that the king would need me alive; even if I had, I wouldn’t have imagined I’d have a choice about anything ever again. King Grathgore of the Summer would have slaughtered us like animals if he’d found us in his inner towers. The thought makes me shiver. And on the heels of that comes another thought, something so wild and rebellious it has never even occurred to me before.

Perhaps the barrier should come down.

Perhaps the Kingdom of the Summer, with its elegance and refined cruelty, could learn something from the barbaric Kingdom of the Fall. From a king who asks before he takes your heart. A king who offers you a choice.

My gaze comes back to Rowan, pulled like a compass needle pointing to true north. I was ready to die for his freedom. Of course I’m ready to live for it too.

“Fifteen percent,” I say. “I’ll take those odds.”

Rowan grins at me, then turns to the king. “I’m in. What do we do?”

King Galan and Lythienne exchange another awkward glance, and then Lythienne begins pulling pillows off of Prince Orryen’s bed and piling them on the floor. As she does, the other men and women who’d followed her up the stairs begin to disperse around the room, moving toward shelves and tables and instruments with a sense of purpose. The man with the smear of flour on his stomach picks up two crystal orbs. A woman next to him begins to twist dials on a set of silver gears.

“Sit, sit,” Lythienne says, patting the stack of pillows. “Rowan, you first. Arryn, on his lap.”

A delicate pink flush begins to creep up Rowan's throat as he settles onto the pillows. I sit between his legs, my long yellow dress swept under my feet, trying to make myself as small as possible.

“Ach, no,” Lythienne announces. “Facing him, dear. Put your legs around his waist.”

“This is gonna get awkward,” Rowan mutters under his breath as I hitch up my dress and twist in his lap.

By the time I’m settled, with my legs around his waist and my arms on his shoulders, my heart is pounding frantically at the inside of my ribcage and my cheeks are burning. I’m horribly aware of my bare legs wrapped around Rowan's midsection and the way all the people in the room seem to have found something else to look at.

“What now?” I ask, trying to keep my voice level and steady, and not like I’m half-naked in a room full of strangers with Rowan's chest pressed to mine.

“Well, just open your hearts,” Lythienne replies.

Rowan raises an eyebrow and, stars help me, I almost laugh.