It’s a wonder to me that a male as good as Misha hasn’t yet found romantic love. Even if it wasn’t part of his marriage, I’m surprised he never found it with a lover outside the bounds of that political arrangement, surprised that he, like the kings before him, didn’t have a lover waiting in the wings to step into the role of queen.

  “What you feel when she speaks of her family—at first I thought it was jealousy,” I say, “but it’s not. You envy her. Her marriage, her child. You want a family, and while you think Blake deserves every moment with the family she built, she is a reminder of how much easier those things might’ve come to you without the burden of this crown—because no matter how much you try to hold hope for the future, no matter how brave you try to be, part of you will always remember the marriage your parents had and think that you are doomed to the same.”

  His face goes stoic and his throat bobs, but he holds my gaze. “You were in my mind? I didn’t feel you . . .”

  “No. Like I said—it becomes clear to me in the connection you have with someone else. I can’t read thoughts.”

  “So even when someone is well shielded, you’re saying that they can be exposed.”

  I’ve said too much. I’ve revealed too much. I shrug. “I don’t know. Like I said, maybe it’s not magic at all. Maybe it’s just feeling out a room and using common sense.”

  “You don’t believe that,” he says softly. “You might wish you could, but you don’t.”

  I tear my eyes from his and look at my hands.

  “It’s not so terrible,” he says. “This life. Being fae and having magic. You haven’t allowed yourself to see the good in it. I hope you’ll allow me to show you.”

  In my periphery, I see him reach for me and drop his hand at the last second.

  He stands, as if he is suddenly anxious to get away from me, from this conversation. “I’m sure Amira would still be happy to meet with you if you’d like. She’ll be able to help you hone this gift.”

  “I’m not interested.”

  He’s already walking away. “You might change your mind.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Felicity

  THE RIDE THROUGH THE MOUNTAINS is incredible. I’ve lived in the shadow court since arriving in Faerie three years ago, and it is breathtaking, but the Wild Fae territory boasts a different kind of beauty. These people speak of nature as the Mother, speak of her as their deity, and it’s as if nature blooms up around them to reward them for that devotion. Even as the leaves slip into their autumnal colors, the trees appear lush and full of life. Mums and late-blooming hydrangeas line the roadside as if every inch of the land here is groomed by an expert gardener.

  Misha and I ride side by side, two of his sentinels following behind—not too close, but near enough to protect their king should someone use this as an opportunity to attack.

  Misha’s quiet on the ride. None of that flirtatious poking at me like he was doing before training or in my chambers this morning. I think I got to him when I revealed what I felt between him and Blake. I don’t get the impression it’s that he doesn’t want me to know how he feels about the subject. Instead, I think it’s those words he spoke later that have made him withdraw.

  I hope you’ll allow me to show you.

  I could’ve written them off as the words of a male trying to help his best friend’s sister. Or even as the courtesy of a kind host. But there was something about the way he reached for me after. Something about the way he retreated when he seemed to realize what he was doing.

  I feel a pull toward Misha that I cannot deny—a pull I don’t think has anything to do with the shadow princess. As much as I want to flatter myself by thinking he feels the same, any such whimsy must be tempered by reality. I am not Felicity right now. I am the king’s best friend’s little sister. I am the shadow princess. I am Jasalyn to him—both beautiful and an advantageous political match.

  If Misha did happen to feel something for whatever bits of me have emerged in the last couple of days, there would be no way for him to disentangle those feelings from what he feels or felt for the real Jasalyn. And the truth is not something I have the luxury to share. It would ruin everything.

  If the king does harbor feelings for me—for her—I need to use those feelings to my advantage. Hale’s plan seemed ridiculous to me. Misha wouldn’t share the location of the Hall of Doors with just any female he has feelings for . . . but perhaps if that female is the shadow queen’s sister, perhaps if she’s already so close to his inner circle, he might.

  Now that I understand how much he longs for a partner—for someone he’d want to share the bond with—I hate the idea of manipulating that yearning for my own ends. Hate it so much that when he left me behind in the library, I asked Blake to point me toward references about portals and portal magic. One way or the other, I need to find the portal, but if I find it on my own, I might be able to live with myself when this is all over.

  I might not have the kind of power to create a portal, but I know enough about them to understand that a portal leading to a series of other portals would have to affect the environment. By the time I’d gathered the books and dug into the first in the stack, my handmaid informed me that Misha was waiting at the stables.

  “What are you thinking about so hard over there?” Misha asks.

  I glance toward him and force a tentative smile. “I’m wondering who exactly lives out here?”

  “Gaelynn, Jewel of Peace,” he says, casting a glance my way. “Having issues with your memory today?”

  “I mean how does she live out here when there’s nothing else around? What does she eat? You said she’s one of your elders, but does she still hunt for her own food? Who does she talk to? Does she do more than wait for someone to come seek her counsel? Does she guard the secrets of your court?”

  According to the first book I found, very powerful portals can create a sort of magical vacuum, as happened in the Unseelie Court with a portal to the Underworld. In that case, the whole area became what is now known as the Silent Ridge, a mountainous area where the only magic that works is the portal itself. As a result, the fae avoid spending any significant amount of time in the area, and none live there.

  The book said, however, that magical vacuums are rare, that often the most powerful portals simply give off an energy that dissuades people from lingering near them. These mountains are so remote that I can’t help but wonder if we’re coming onto something similar.

  Misha chuckles. “So many questions.”

  I sigh. “Sorry. Never mind.”

  “No. It’s good. Ask your questions.” The incline turns steep, and Misha spurs his horse forward. “The Jewel has a group of priestesses who stay with her in her sanctuary. They provide her with anything she needs that magic can’t supply.”

  I wait for him to answer the rest of my questions. Even if he denied the Jewel is guarding something, I would likely be able to detect the lie.

  He flashes me a look over his shoulder. “Don’t like being this far away from everything?”

  I love it. I’m social by nature and prefer being around others, so I don’t know that I’d want to be this isolated, but it might be worth it to see this kind of beauty every day. The leaves are changing, and every so often we reach a vista that allows us a view of the valley below—a stretch of green, yellow, russet, orange, and red dappled throughout the trees so they look like an artist’s palette smudged together.

  I hesitate before responding, measuring my words against what I think Jas would say. “Perhaps I envy her,” I finally answer. “She doesn’t have to worry about people bothering her when she just wants to be left alone.”

  He grunts. “Everyone has responsibilities, Princess. While they can seem heavy and burdensome, if you give it a try, you might find you’re happier with the burden than without.”

  “Has anyone ever told you that it’s egotistical to assume you know what’s best for everyone?”

  “No.” He shifts to the side in his saddle, leaning toward me, and whispers, “They told me to be king.”

  I snort. “So pompous.”

  “Don’t mistake wisdom for arrogance.”

  “And what makes you so wise?”

  He laughs softly. “A very, very long life, for starters.”

  “In other words, you’re old?”

  He winks at me, then nods ahead. “There it is,” he says, and I see it. Just barely peeking out of the trees ahead, a white stone steeple, softly glowing as if it might be made of clouds backlit by sunshine.

  Misha spurs his horse on, as if anxious to get there now that we’re close, and I hurry my horse to keep up, my breath catching as the full sanctuary comes into view. It’s not overly large, but it is beautiful—all that glowing white stone, with the steeple in the center and two turrets on either side, the entire structure surrounded by fluffy white hydrangeas and fluttering butterflies.

  A boy is waiting at the steps and when Misha dismounts, he hands the boy the reins to his horse before turning to me, arms lifted.

  My heart races and feels too big for my chest at the thought of him helping me off my horse, so I ignore him as I imagine Jas might. I throw one leg over and lower myself down as gracefully as possible.

  Misha scoffs behind me as my feet hit the ground. “Stubborn girl,” he mutters, but I don’t miss the note of pride in his voice.

  I hand the reins to the boy, and I turn to Misha with a smirk. “Not as helpless as you think.”

  “It’s true you handled the ride better than I expected, though I imagine you’ll be sore tomorrow.”

  I probably will. I’m more accustomed to time on horseback than the princess, but I imagine this body will feel that ride in the morning.

  Misha extends a hand, indicating for me to lead the way up the steps. “I’m proud of you,” he says, remaining by my side as we ascend. His voice is rough, as if these words are hard for him to say but they’ve been waiting in his throat the whole ride. “I’m not heartless. I want you to know that I am aware of what a mark Mordeus left on you, and under different circumstances, I would allow you to stay out of any information gathering regarding him.”

  I cut my gaze to him briefly before focusing on the steps again. He and Brie both say they know Mordeus made a mark on Jas, but from what I can tell, neither one of them has any idea how deep that mark goes, how dramatically her days in his dungeon made her lose faith in the world. In the fae. And worse, in herself.

  We come upon the curved oak doorway, and I turn to him. “Different circumstances being what?” I ask.

  “You’ve been hiding in your shell for too long, Jas.” His eyes are full of sadness as they scan my face. “For a long time I wanted it for your sister—hoped you would wake up and break free of this darkness for her sake. Or for her court.” He swallows hard. “But now I just want you to do it for yourself. To live again, for yourself.”

  My heart twists. I wish Jas were here to hear that. I don’t think she realizes how much the people in her life care. I don’t think she’s wanted to realize. It was easier to hide if she believed they didn’t understand, if she believed they didn’t see her.

  “Do you really think he’s back?” I ask.

  Misha tilts his head side to side thoughtfully. “If such a thing is possible, the Jewel would be able to explain how. Her time is precious, so I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think there was a chance.” He reaches around me and opens the door.

  The sanctuary is made of quartz and glass. Every surface sparkles and shines, a visual match for the low, pleasant humming that fills my ears. The moment the door falls closed behind us, a quiet comes over me—not a comforting quiet, but something instinctive that tells me I need to be cautious here, something primal that reminds me of my vulnerabilities and makes the next world, whatever comes after this life, feel too close.

  Misha turns to me, arching a brow, and I realize I’ve stopped moving. I’ve frozen in the foyer of this disturbingly beautiful sanctuary.

  “It’s okay,” he says softly. “What you’re feeling is normal. I imagine it’s more intense for a human. Just keep your guard up.”

  Nodding, I follow him in and keep my body as near to him as I dare.

  The deeper we get, the more the humming amplifies, and the space seems to grow around us—as if we’re walking down the hall of a grand palace and not the entrance to a small sanctuary. A chill runs through me at the wrongness of it.

  “That doorway,” I whisper, still walking, still putting one foot in front of the other even as the hair on the back of my neck stands on end, even when my mind tells me we should’ve hit the rear of the small building by now.

  “Don’t speak of it here,” he says, his voice just as low.

  I grab on to Misha’s hand, and he squeezes mine in return.

  Deeper and deeper into the sanctuary we go, and at the back, sitting on the floor with her eyes closed and her legs crossed, waits a wizened ancient fae, the silver webbing on her forehead pulsing with light. Is she praying? Meditating?

  Misha puts a hand in front of me, stopping my progress. He lowers to his knees and bows his head. I follow his lead, kneeling on the hard floor beside him. The humming, I realize, is coming from her. It vibrates the floors, and I feel it in my limbs.

  “Thank you for seeing us, Gaelynn, Jewel of Peace,” Misha says.

  I feel his fear. He has never liked coming here, visiting her, has seen it as both a duty and an honor, but one he dreads all the same.

  The female doesn’t reply, but the humming continues, low and steady.

  “We are here because we need to assess a threat. We need to know if someone has crossed from the other side and back into the world of the living.”

  The Jewel nods, the only sign that she is even listening. “Go on,” she finally says. The words come out with the hum, a part of it.

  “There are rumors that Mordeus, the false king of the Unseelie Court, has returned from the dead. We have no proof of this supposed resurrection but need to know if it’s true.”

  The humming stops, and her eyes open—white and milky. The silence that takes the place of that low hum feels deafening. “Why do you concern yourself with the affairs of other courts, Mishamon Nico Frendilla? You are Wild Fae. You are free of the petty clashes and treachery of the sun and moon courts. Do not entangle yourself with the likes of their politics.”

  Misha bows his head again. “You honor me with your wisdom, my Jewel. But I come here asking for the future of my court as much as any other. If Mordeus has returned, no court is safe.”

  She studies him for a long time with those milky eyes. “You are a good king, my child. Your court thrives under your leadership and will continue to thrive. But this girl beside you drives you to worry about matters that aren’t yours. Do you deny it?”

  Misha doesn’t spare me a glance or even meet Gaelynn’s eyes. “No, my Jewel. I deny none of your wisdom.”

  “Good. Then I will say this: When the gods brought Mab back from death, the world was altered, not only in this realm but beyond. Fates took turns that changed the course of millennia. They declared they would not do it again for even the greatest leader and certainly not for the likes of that wicked false king.”

  Misha exhales slowly. “Thank you for your wisdom, my Jewel. We will rest easier knowing he doesn’t live again.”

  “I didn’t say that, my child. I said the gods didn’t bring him back.”

  Misha lifts his head, but I keep mine bowed. “Will you explain for me, my Jewel? Could such a thing be done without help from the gods?”

  “Whether or not it was done, I cannot say. I have no connection to the Court of the Moon and their line of rulers. But I can say it is possible. Unlikely but possible. To bring he who has passed into the Twilight back to this world would require incomparable magic—both in the catalyst, which brings back the spirit, and in the physical realization, which brings back the body.”

  “Is there a body?”

  “His most fervent supporters believe Mordeus’s trusted advisors retrieved his body the day of his assassination and preserved it with magic, waiting for the day they had powerful enough magic to bring him back.”

  “Where would one get such magic? Fire gems? Bloodstones?”

  “Not even the sacred stones could provide enough power to raise the dead.”

  “Then how?”

  “There is no resurrection without great sacrifice. We all know death will come for us, but returning requires sacrifice the likes of which no true king would ever accept. For this reason, we will never see the best kings and queens return for their thrones. Only the worst.”

  “What kind of sacrifice?” Misha asks.

  “There are legends of ancient spells that can take the living and use their magic to raise the dead.” She shakes her head. “But it requires countless deaths of devoted followers, all for one resurrection.”

  I hear Misha swallow. “So for such a thing to happen, many would have to die.”

  “Where else would such great magic come from? Life is magic. Magic is life. The foresight required makes planning for such a thing nearly impossible. There are too many factors,” she says. “Thank the gods anyone worthy of such a thing wouldn’t allow it and those unworthy rarely have the devoted followers to make it happen. Therein lies the beauty of it.”

  Misha blinks, and I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am.

  The faceless plague. All the dead fae. Are they connected to Mordeus? Is he somehow taking their life force to bring himself back?

  “But what if one had the legions willing to give their lives?” Misha says. “Then it would be possible?”