Page 46

The path opens into a chamber where crystal structures rise from the floor like stalagmites, their surfaces reflecting versions of me that aren’t quite right. Too tall in one, my features stretched in another, and the skin translucent to the bone in a third.

I ignore them and keep moving.

A chime rings out, and the crystals vibrate at the same frequency, making my teeth ache. I cover my ears, but it doesn’t help. The noise is inside my head as much as outside.

When it stops, the chamber lies changed. The crystals have grown, some reaching for the ceiling, others folding into impossible shapes. One shatters without warning, breaking into dust. The particles hang in the air, forming a cloud of words in a language I can’t read.

I step through the dust cloud, and it clings to my skin, seeping into my pores. Magic tingles across my flesh, neither pleasant nor painful, but strange. My magic remains dormant, though, not seeing it as a threat.

The next corridor forms ahead, the ground rolling in a wave to form the path as the trees bow backward.

I check with the sithean stone, which agrees this is the correct way, and keep going.

Around me, the crystal walls shift from transparent to opaque and back again, revealing glimpses of other chambers where impossible things happen. Water flows upward. Fire burns in the shape of cubes. And creatures with too many limbs dance in perfect circles.

I blink, and the visions vanish.

The corridor ahead stretches with each step, the destination retreating. I stop, and the illusion holds for three heartbeats before breaking, the true path revealing itself.

“Nice try,” I tell the court, and turn left.

All at once, the corridor ends, spitting me out into a space so vast I can’t see the other side. Crystalline structures rise and fall in waves, sometimes forming corridors, sometimes shattering into prismatic dust to reform into new shapes. The domed ceiling swirls with color, reflecting the chaos below.

The tattoo burns cold now, sending shivers through my body. The stone pulses, urging me forward into this open space where I’ll be exposed from all sides.

I hesitate, knife at the ready, as I scan for threats. The shadows that followed me hang back at the edge, unwilling to enter. Whatever waits ahead, they fear it more than they want to catch me.

It should worry me, but it doesn’t. This is the kind of danger I’m used to.

As I step into the open, the ground firms beneath my feet into solid crystal. The sithean stone calms, settling into a steady glow that points the way.

“Lead on,” I tell it, and push deeper into the heart of the Opal Court.

I’m not sure how much time passes. It could be days or only minutes, as the light and shadows refuse to shift beneath the sunless sky.

I round a thorny corridor and almost walk straight into a fae man, though not the one I came here searching for.

Shock shoots through me, while my knife snaps up on instinct, my body shifting into a fighting stance.

He doesn’t flinch even a little, the swirling colors overhead playing across his features as one side of his mouth quirks up in amusement. “About time you got here.”

He leans against a jagged crystal column, as if waiting for a drink at a bar instead of standing in the broken heart of a dead court. Silver threads run through his black coat, similar to the dress I wear, though more worn for wear. The turned-up collar frames a face with high cheekbones and full lips.

His black hair falls in long waves past his shoulders, and his pale skin holds a starlight luminescence that I did not see anywhere in the Dark Sithe.

I keep my knife between us, tracking every twitch of his hands. “Who the hell are you?”

He pushes off the column, moving with liquid grace. The coat swirls around his legs, flashing more silver inside.

“Kelaros Nyt’Fall.” He bows far enough to be polite, but with the same mocking edge to it that other courtiers I’ve met use. “Dark Sithe. Unwilling guest. Ready to get out of this hellscape.”

I frown and skim his attire again, which really is similar to mine. Didn’t the mirror-crowned fae say this was the Dark King’s newest fixation?

“Nyt’Fall?” I search his handsome features, seeing a resemblance to the timid fae man I met so many months ago. “Any relation to Healer Nyt’Fall, who used to be assigned to the Silver Sithe?”

His brow arches. “You’re acquainted with my cousin?”

“We’ve met.” I don’t put my knife away. “How long have you been trapped in here?”