Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 139662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 698(@200wpm)___ 559(@250wpm)___ 466(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 139662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 698(@200wpm)___ 559(@250wpm)___ 466(@300wpm)
“We do.” I gently squeeze her hand.
“What happened?” Kane asks. “What did you learn? Can we fix the throne?”
Finn gives a curt nod and avoids my gaze. “There’s a way. Abriella needs a hot bath and some food, and then she’ll need to talk to Sebastian before we reconvene.”
Kane huffs. “That’s it? That’s all I get?”
Pretha looks back and forth between us, her face tight with worry.
“I’ll be in my room if you need me,” Finn says, and then he disappears.
I don’t let myself stare at the space he just vacated. I don’t let myself think about the loneliness that fills my chest in his absence.
I did, in fact, need a hot bath and good meal, but as I walk the halls of the Midnight Palace after indulging in both, I know I’ve only been putting off the inevitable. When Finn disappeared earlier, part of me wanted to rip off the bandage and blurt what we learned to the group. But he’s right. I need to talk to Sebastian first. What happens next depends entirely on Arya’s son.
I find Sebastian in his chambers. He sits in front of the crackling fireplace, staring at the flames, a glass of amber liquid hanging loosely from his fingertips.
I watch him a long time, not knowing if he senses my presence and not caring. When I study his profile, I see the mage’s apprentice I loved so dearly back in Elora, and I see the conniving prince who betrayed the girl he loved to secure his father’s crown.
He was both, I realize. Never one or the other, but both at once. I was wrong to ever think he couldn’t be.
“Hello, Abriella,” he says without turning to me. “I trust you had a nice journey.”
I hate that he senses the change between me and Finn. Even if Sebastian wasn’t able to feel us the night we made love, he’s aware of it now. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t looked me in the eye since retrieving us from the mountains, why he doesn’t look at me now, even as I step farther into the room.
“It’s good to be . . . home,” I say awkwardly.
He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Home. What a strange word. Is this place really anyone’s home? Finn didn’t grow up here, and gods know my father didn’t exactly invite me to visit. And you . . .” Now his eyes flick to me. “Once you wanted me to make you a home. This was supposed to be it. But I guess you don’t want that anymore.”
I swallow hard. I can’t tackle another conversation about us until he knows what we need to do. “We made it to see Mab.”
He tilts his head to the side, stretching his neck. “Let me guess. She suggested that I die? That I sacrifice myself to give you the crown? I’m sure she’d enjoy seeing Arya’s son forfeit his life so young so that her descendant can take the throne.”
“That wasn’t on the table.”
When he lifts his gaze to mine, his eyes are wary. And part of me—the part that is still that lonely girl who was just trying to climb out of debt, who wanted nothing but to keep her sister safe—that part of me wants to say whatever I must to take the hurt away. But I can’t. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us.
“We were right,” I say, going on when it seems clear he’s not going to comment. “The Long Sleep is a symptom of the dying court, and as long as no one sits on the throne, there will be more and more affected. Sickness will spread, and Ar—your mother—will grow more powerful, until this court dies completely.”
“So Mab told you exactly what you already know,” he says dully.
“She also told us that the queen has grown so powerful that if we can’t end her life, we need Seelie power on the Throne of Shadows. Only that will pull the imbalance back to center. Mab said that her blood and Gloriana’s power can take the throne together to save the realm.”
He swallows hard. “I never meant for any of this to happen.” Standing, he drains his glass and crosses to the small bar in the corner to refill it.
“There is a solution. One that doesn’t require us to sacrifice ourselves.”
“Killing my mother?” he asks. “I’m guessing you want me to do that. Sorry to remind you, she’s not responding to my messages or my letters. I have no better idea where she is than you do.”
The boy I knew is gone. This one has had the hope beaten out of him, and I can’t stand it. “We’re operating under the assumption that your mother can’t be killed—at least not so long as she holds such a disproportionate amount of power.”