These Twisted Bonds (These Hollow Vows, #2)(25)

“Would you like to bring her here?”

Yes, please. The words want to burst out of me, but I hold them back. I want Jas with me more than I want anything, but I can’t. I’ll never forget the terror in her eyes when I suggested that she come back to the Faerie realm with me. Whatever she endured while imprisoned by Mordeus left a mark on her, made my cheerful, trusting sister fearful of all fae. I won’t take away her choice the way Sebastian took away mine.

“No,” I finally say. “No. She’s where she wants to be. I’ll send her a letter.” I can’t imagine what I’ll say, but I’ll find a way to reach out to her without making her worry about me.

Misha slows; then we stop walking altogether. When he turns to study me, there is such raw compassion on his face that I have to turn away from him for a beat to find my composure.

“It won’t always be this way,” he says softly. “The loneliness isn’t unfamiliar to you, but someday . . . I promise someday it will be.”

I stare at my boots. “I thought you weren’t a seer.”

“I’m not. But I am very, very old, and I recognize a good soul when I meet one, and good souls are never alone for long.” He squeezes my shoulder, and then I hear the scuff of steps as he walks away.





Chapter Seven

I follow Misha quietly, embarrassed that I let my emotions get the better of me. By the time we enter the stables, I’ve collected myself enough to pull back my shoulders and lift my chin.

“This is Amira,” Misha says, waving his hand toward the tall female saddling her horse.

Tossing me a smile over her shoulder, his wife tightens a few straps before turning to me fully. I’m not sure if I’m more surprised by how genuine her smile seems or that she’s saddling her own horse.

She’s tall—as tall as Misha—with gentle brown eyes and skin as dark as the night sky. Her dark hair is cut short, cropped close to her scalp in a style that draws attention to her big eyes and the shining amethyst studs lining her delicately pointed ears.

Stepping forward, I extend a hand. “I’m Abriella. It’s nice to meet you.”

She takes my hand in both of hers. “It’s my pleasure,” she says, her voice low and melodious.

“Finn and Pretha have told me so much about you.”

I stiffen, thinking of her visit to Finn’s house—back before I understood the curse and before I knew Finn and Sebastian were both after a crown I didn’t know I wore.

“I’m glad to see you’re well,” she says, dipping her head with a deference that surprises me.

She’s queen of the Wild Fae. All I am is a former human who disrupted the future of an entire realm.

If I’d never been saved by Oberon . . .

Misha clears his throat, and I flinch at the reminder of his gifts. I might as well wear my wretchedness on my chest for him to see.

“Are you sure you’re okay with me tagging along tonight?”

Amira’s eyes light up. “Of course! I’d love to take you, and the ride will give you a chance to see some of our lands as well.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“Pick a horse, Abriella,” Misha says, lifting both hands, palms up, in the direction of the stalls.

“Our stable hands are on their dinner break, but we can help you with your saddle if you need.”

There are dozens of horses, but a black mare tosses her silky silver-streaked mane as I approach, as if she’s trying to get my attention.

“That’s Two Star,” Amira says, hoisting a saddle onto her shoulder and heading toward me.

“She’s beautiful,” I say, stroking the mare’s nose.

“She’s very special, and she knows it,” Misha says, saddling his own horse, a chestnut stallion I’d need a ladder to mount.

Amira lifts the latch and opens the stall. “She’s named for the silver markings on her hindquarters.

There are very few like her, all from the same line—descendants of Queen’s Mab’s steed.”

That’s the second time tonight I’ve heard mention of the old faerie queen from the legends. “Queen Mab was . . . real?” I ask, helping Amira put on the saddle and bridle. I’m only working from memory of all the times I watched this done in Sebastian’s stables, but Amira quietly leads me through the steps.

“Oh, very real and very beloved by her people,” Misha says. He saddles his own horse with the unconscious movements of someone who’s done this thousands of times. Given how old these two likely are, they probably have. “It was her line that ruled from the Throne of Shadows before Finn’s grandfather stepped in.”

“Did Finn’s family . . . overthrow them?” I ask.

Amira purses her lips and shakes her head. Her brown eyes look sad when she says, “Finn’s grandfather Kairyn was second to Mab’s last living descendant, Queen Reé, and he took the throne after she was assassinated.”

How convenient for him.

“Kairyn was devoted to his queen,” Misha says, leading his horse from its stall. “He was her tethered match and would’ve died for Queen Reé or any of her heirs.”

I bow my head, ashamed for my assumption.

“It’s okay,” Amira says, her hand brushing mine. Her gentle smile puts me at ease even though I get the feeling that her gifts put her in tune with my emotions. “With what you’ve seen of our kind, no one came blame you for assuming the worst, but the loss of Mab’s line was devastating for anyone in this realm who didn’t want to see the Court of the Sun extend their rule beyond their own borders.”