Page 48 of The Blood Queen

“We’ve been waiting for you,” the spiders say. Waiting, waiting, waiting.

Samson steps as close to me as he dares. More spiders leap from my finger, drawing us closer to the farthest part of the room, the throne dais, the darkest area enshrouded in cobwebs, spiders dangling down like wisteria.

“Have they been waiting for us so they can eat us?” Samson says.

“No,” the spiders say, but their clacking noises almost drown it out. Are they laughing at us?

“I don’t think they’re going to eat us,” I say.

“Don’t think?” Samson sputters.

“These wrapped fellows—they’re old. From the queen’s time, most of them.”

“I don’t fancy dying of starvation inside a cocoon either.”

One of the spider silk–wrapped bundles near us moves.

Samson screams.

“They’re not dead,” I say.

“Guessed that, thanks.”

I glance over my shoulder at Samson even as the spiders continue to pull me forward. There are a few still clinging to him, but he either doesn’t notice or has been able to push back his fear. One spider dangles off his ear like a glittering ruby earring.

“These are all fae,” I tell him, gesturing to the cocooned bodies. “Being in stasis for a few thousand years won’t kill them. It would kill us, though, to be fair, thanks to our human blood.”

“I am so comforted by that knowledge, Alyth, thank you.”

It takes me a moment to realize that the spiders, rather than crawling up my gown, are now jumping off me. A glittering mass of legs and shining bodies skitters over the raised dais, leaving a wide berth around the throne, drawing my attention to it.

The chair is large, fit for a giantess, and I wonder if the Faerie Queen was like Beira, able to adjust her size. But what really draws my attention is that it is the color of blood, lacquered to a shine. Gold trim accents the throne, gilded veins etched into the wood.

Not tree branches, I think, recalling the standard-issue uniforms the brownies and soldiers wear. Spider silk, weaving in and out.

It only makes sense now that I see the throne, the glimmering metal lines crisscrossing over the red. Echoes of the queen, the meaning behind the symbols lost to time.

The spiders have all fled, parting around the throne and climbing up the walls into the webs, away from us.

Samson steps closer, now that I’m de-spidered, and he grabs my hand, clutching it tightly. I know he hates being here, but he’s not trying to flee.

“She ruled from here,” I say. “The Faerie Queen.” There’s awe in my voice, reverence. The princes may fritter away their days in foolish hunts and inane balls, but there’s power here, threaded through everything, bound by spider silk. The Faerie Queen was a true queen, a ruler whose magic seeped into everything she touched. I can almost imagine it, her power spreading like the silken strands of the webbing the spiders used to lead me to this exact spot, casting her spells throughout this realm and Scotland itself. “They say the first portals were cobwebs. You had to be clever enough to get through them without breaking them,” I whisper. I’d never believed that before, but now…

“Have you noticed how quiet it’s gotten?” Samson asks. A quick glance at his aura tells me he’s pushed aside his fear. He’s holding on to his strength, his muscles tensed. Ready for a fight.

I frown. I hadn’t noticed the silence, actually.

But now? It’s deafening.

And then a voice speaks.

“Come closssssssssser.”

“Absolutely not,” Samson mutters.

But when I step up onto the dais, he follows.

“Clossser.”