Seven Black Diamonds (Seven Black Diamonds #1)(37)

Zephyr took his shoes off and set them on the floor at the end of the tunnel. Then, barefoot, he opened the door and closed it heavily behind him. The air tasted purer after the musty stone passageway.

He walked to the wall surrounding the private reflecting garden that was strictly off-limits even to the most indulged students. Here the walls were covered with roses. Again, he asked the plants to permit his access. Instead of parting, they shifted into a ladder of thorns and blossoms.

“As you will,” Zephyr whispered to them.

He ascended the rose ladder, wincing as the thorns pierced his feet and hands. There was no use in trying to avoid grabbing the vine where the barbs jutted out. If he did, they shifted toward him.

Small cuts marked his palms and wrists. Tiny droplets of blood seeped from his feet as he walked, but the cuts weren’t deep enough to do more than sting. They were hardly worth noticing.

Inside the garden, he began to pace, seeking one of the circles of toadstools that appeared when he needed to access the other realm. He walked and waited, calling out to the soil, asking for a doorway.

Finally, in between one heartbeat and the next, it appeared in the dew-wet grass. He wasn’t sure how the circle worked. He didn’t state a destination, simply went where it sent him. Once, he’d appeared on the shore of an island, seals rolling in the surf. Another time, he’d been at the edge of a forest where flickering lights seemed to beckon him nearer.

Quickly, before it vanished, he stepped into the circle, exhaled, and stepped out in the Hidden Lands. Today, he was at the edge of an expanse of slick black rock that glistened like ice. He let the feel of it, the weight and the age of it, speak to him until he knew what it was. Obsidian. It was a rock sharp as glass, made for sacrifices, carved into blades by both fae and mortals alike.

As he walked across a surface of the sacrificial rock, the small cuts on his feet continued to leave a trail. He wasn’t sure where he was headed, only that these tests were inevitable. He faced a new one every time he came to the land of the fae. This time, no matter how long he walked, the path seemed no shorter.

Finally, Zephyr looked back, and when he did, he saw that his blood had hardened into dozens of sparkling gems. He wasn’t sure what to do with them, but he understood that this was part of the test too.

“If I were a jeweler,” he whispered, “I’d string them together for my queen.”

At his words, the blood-drop gems skidded across the stone. He approached the pile as it coalesced into an ornate necklace on the ground in front of him. It was beautiful. Dark rubies fell into a jagged point as if they were strung on an invisible net, but at the center was a vacancy. The net was incomplete.

“Not yet worthy.” He looked around until he saw a series of sharp spires of obsidian. “I want to be worthy.”

Taking the necklace in hand, he walked over to the blade-like stones. He lowered the necklace to the ground, carefully spreading out the stones. Then, he stood and slid both palms over the dark blade, cutting gashes in his hands.

He knelt on the ground and squeezed his hands together over the center of the necklace. The blood ran from his skin into the void of the necklace, where it hardened into a large oval ruby.

“Well done,” a voice pronounced.

And there she was at last, the Queen of Blood and Rage, his savior and executioner. Her beauty was akin to terrors that left lands decimated and trembling. Her hair, so dark it appeared to be scattered with stars, flowed behind her like a cloak. Her eyes, so cold they made him want to run in terror, watched him intently. Her tiny feet were bare, and she wore armor the color of blood near hardened, neither red nor black but a hue that hovered between. Zephyr had the fleeting thought that the armor was dyed in blood. Stories of her cruelty had often been whispered, but he believed in her. She’d be the one to save them.

No one was with her. It was simply her, standing alone on the vast expanse of black rock.

Zephyr lowered himself farther. Clara had taught him the etiquette for this encounter by putting her boot on the back of his head and forcing his face into the dirt. There was no dirt here, only stone as sharp as knives.

“You made me a gift.”

“I did, my queen.” He held his arm up, the red jewels spilling over his fingers as he offered them to her. “It’s not worthy, but I offer it . . . offer myself to you, to the Unseelie Court.”

“The courts are united,” she said.

“And as long as they are, I serve both. Should that change, I will still serve my queen.”

“None of the Sleepers know which court birthed them, yet you call me your queen.” She didn’t lift her voice, but he was still fairly sure it was a question.

“It is my hope and desire that I belong to you,” he admitted.

“So you want to be Unseelie, young Zephyr?” Her voice lightened, as if she were amused. She took the necklace, sliding it from his hand into hers.

“I do.” He dared look up at her. “I exist to serve you.”

For a moment, the queen’s lips curved into a smile, and her beauty made him swallow nervously. Nothing he’d ever glimpsed in the world was as exquisite . . . or as terrifying.

“Tell me of the others.”

And so he did. He stayed on his knees as he spoke about every member of his team, rapidly outlining their strengths and their courage. He spoke of Violet’s ferocity, of Will’s stealth, of Roan’s cleverness. He spoke of Creed’s courage and Alkamy’s grace. He didn’t mention their weaknesses; he only spoke of their abilities and of his own.