Ambrosia (Frost and Nectar, #2)(40)

Beneath me, the roots were twisted and gnarled, and I closed my eyes, willing them to shift a little. Mentally, I slid into the tree’s mind, feeling the glorious heat of sunlight on a fire-kissed crown of leaves. I drank in the power of light that fed the tree. When I was mentally melding with the tree, I no longer felt the thirst.

Below my back, the roots groaned, smoothing out. I stared at the dark branches high above me, wishing that calling forth rain was within my power.

The newest skill I’d developed was hearing vibrations through the roots and mycelium. Now, I could hear the sounds of footfalls through the castle, movements that sent a faint thrumming through the roots, letting me know when a group of guards marched above .

By the markings I’d made in stone, I was fairly certain I’d been locked in this cell for over a month. With every passing day, my magic grew stronger and more controlled. I could summon vines at will, make them slice through the air like blades. I could twist them into a noose. I could compel the tree branches to groan open. When it rained, I could shift them apart for more water.

All day and night, I’d have conversations with Shalini and Torin. Sometimes, they seemed so real that it felt like they were here.

I could almost hear Torin in the cell with me, calling me changeling.

My stomach rumbled. The lack of food had me growing lethargic.

Sometimes, I’d slip into dreams where I was home again, in the little suburban house with Mom. When the dreams started, I’d feel a total sense of calm, of being cocooned in love. It was the homecoming I’d been looking for when I’d fallen through the portal and asked to come home. I wanted to watch movies with Mom or sit at the kitchen table with her in comfortable silence while she read the news. But in the dreams, she’d always step into another room. She’d wander into the kitchen to make dinner, and slowly, the feeling of peace would grow ragged and thorny, and my heart would start to race. Slowly, I’d realize she was never coming back, and I’d feel a sharp hole opening in my chest.

The dreams of Torin might have been worse. In those, I’d find myself next to him in Faerie, in the Temple of Ostara or overlooking the valley with its icy lake. In every one of those dreams, I’d turn to see his beautiful face. Always in these dreams, he had a hint of that vulnerable, unguarded expression I’d seen just briefly in the little cabin, a rare moment when he dropped the king’s veneer of power and control.

And then, against my will, my own hand would plunge a dagger into his heart, and I’d scream.

I heard the lock slide open on the door and sat up. I didn’t want to look desperate for water, to let Morgant know how happy I was to see him, but it was hard to hide my relief.

Except when I saw him standing in the doorway, I found him empty-handed.

I arched an eyebrow. “I see you’re starving me again.”

“It was the Queen’s orders.”

“Why?”

A line formed between his brows. “She said that if you don’t have magic, you are no good to her.”

“Then why are you here?” I asked sharply.

“The queen plans to throw you off the top of the tower.”

I rose on shaking legs, staring at him. “She promised to let me go if I killed Torin.”

He’d gone completely still, like a beast of prey, and his amber eyes had darkened to a caramel shade. “She will let you go, as promised. But she will throw you from the tower first.”

Darkness flickered through me, and Torin’s blue eyes burned in my mind, framed by black lashes. “What did you do with Torin’s body?”

If I could figure out how to return to Faerie, maybe I could wrap him in a blanket and return the broken king.

“We’ve kept him where everyone can see him,” said Morgant.

A hot violence coiled through me.

Behind Morgant’s head, the thorny vines writhed and snaked over the stone walls.

Morgant’s eyes darted as he caught the movement, and his muscles tensed. I didn’t give him a moment longer to think.

Love makes us do terrible things…

I flicked my wrist, and the sharp tendrils snapped around his throat, drawing blood. My lip curled back from my teeth as I sent the vines surging upward.

Morgant kicked his legs in the air, and I stepped back. A river of magic flowed into my body, surging from the tree roots upward and washing the fatigue from my limbs.

“Morgant, I plan to make this hurt until you tell me what I want. And if you do tell me the answers I’m looking for, I will let you live. Where is the Sword of Whispers?”

His face had turned beet-red, and his feet slammed against the stones. I flicked my wrist, uncoiling the vines to let him drop on the floor. He fell hard, with a crunch. “I learned my interrogation techniques from you, Morgant. Thanks for that.” My tone sounded acidic. The vines coiled around his throat again. “How do I get out of the Court of Sorrows?”

He coughed and reached for his bleeding throat. I tightened the noose around his neck again, choking him until his face started to turn purple.

“One more chance, Morgant. How do I get out of this kingdom?”

When the vines loosened enough for him to talk, he said, “The Veiled One, Cala, can tell you. She’s here in the castle. The Sword of Whispers is here, too. Everything you want is in the castle. Cala is in the Dusk Tower, to the west.” His blood poured onto the ground. “We’re not like the Seelie. They live for pleasure. We live for duty. Our strength comes through love.”