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)
I know better now, and it comes as no surprise to me that the capital is a city more vibrant and thriving than any I ever visited in Elora. The cobblestone streets are lined with stalls of merchants selling their wares—beautiful fabrics, fragrant pies and pastries, and coffee that smells better than any I’ve ever tasted.
If someone had dropped me here without telling me, I’d have no way of knowing this was the Unseelie Court and not the Seelie Court. The landscape is similar, as are the half-timbered homes and the creatures who walk the streets. It strikes me as sad, somehow, that two places that have so much in common have made enemies of each other.
By the time we reach the infirmary, I am so enamored with this little city that part of me longs to wander through the market, soaking up the details and investigating the merchants’ offerings. But I don’t. I duck into the infirmary, where I can’t fix anything and am probably not even needed.
I help Leta wash the children’s faces, their arms and hands. We drape them in clean blankets and turn them so they don’t get bedsores. I like helping, but it doesn’t do much to ease my guilt. Knowing I’m the source of the problem means I can never do enough.
When the children are all clean and turned and there’s nothing more to be done, I settle into a chair and tell them a story about a peasant girl who slayed a wicked king to save her sister. I have no idea if they can hear me, but if I were trapped in an endless sleep, I would want someone to tell me stories. When I finish weaving the tale that’s part truth and part fantasy, I find Misha perched by the window, watching me.
When I meet his eyes, he gives me a sad smile. “If love and devotion were enough to heal these children and this court, they’d have the savior they need in you.”
I flinch, then bow my head. I know he meant it as a compliment. “Instead, the opposite is true.”
“You keep telling yourself that the court would be whole if you were gone, but you forget how reluctant these people are to follow a ruler with Seelie blood.” He tips his face up toward the ceiling and takes a deep breath. “Don’t blame yourself for fissures in a world that was broken long before you were born.”
I cock my head to the side, trying to figure out his mood. “Why so morose today, friend?”
Other than the children, we’re alone in the room, but Misha scans it anyway and then looks over his shoulder before stepping closer. “Something’s off.” He shakes his head. “Lark is at Castle Craige with Amira, but she sent a goblin with a message when you first arrived at the infirmary. She warned that she saw fire. I sent Kane and Tynan on patrol through the city, but they didn’t find anything.”
I swallow hard. The last time Lark warned about a fire, I almost died. “Did she say where?”
He smirks. “You know my niece. Her prophecies sound like half nonsense.”
And yet she’s so often right. “What were her words?”
“Fire, not from Abriella’s mind, but from their—”
A sudden boom rocks the infirmary, then another. Like a tree falling? Misha and I look at each other. Leta runs back into the room, eyes wide.
“What was that?” she asks, heading toward the window.
A boy rushes in behind her, his eyes bright, his pointed ears poking through his mop of curly black hair. He could be a cousin of Finn’s, a brother even, and I wonder if he knows how much he resembles his prince.
“What’s happening out there?” I ask.
Misha has that faraway look in his eyes that tells me he’s already inside the minds of our friends and allies, calling for help.
“Eli told me to come tell you it’s raining fire,” he says.
Leta frowns and glances over her shoulder at him. “What do you mean it’s—”
The next boom is so loud, my ears feel like they’re bleeding, and before I can pull in a breath, there’s another—right on top of us—and the ceiling is falling in, rolling flames pouring in with it.
“Get out of here!” I scream to the boy. Then I turn to Leta. “We need to move the children.”
Misha grabs my arm. “Abriella, go. Lark said you need to run.”
I shake my head. “Not without the children.” The room is heating as fast as an oven as the flames race across the ceiling. How many times will I live this nightmare—the fire, the falling beams, the suffocating smoke that presses in too fast?
I scoop up the nearest child, holding him to my chest, then throw out my power, wrapping the rest of these innocents in a cocoon of shadow to protect them from the flames. “We have to get them out.”