Page 68 of The Blood Queen

Beira stops in front of me, her one eye watching, searching. “It is not merely her,” Beira tells me.

I cock my head.

“Alyth is not the only one woven into the loom,” she says. “She is not the only one tied into this fate. The fate that may save us. Are you prepared to do what you must?”

I frown. “Me? I’m just—”

“She burns for them.” Beira’s voice is a crackle on the wind, the sound of snow weighing down branches, creaks and groans. “You burn for her. Some fires are destined to burn themselves out. You will need to make your peace with that fate.”

That’s my fate? To burn out for her? To—

I’m gonna die for her?

“I’m good with that,” I say instantly. I don’t even have to think on it. Yes, I’ll burn up for Alyth. If it’s what she needs.

Beira’s smile is sad. “Some fires are destined to burn themselves out,” she repeats.

A whoosh of wind, a flurry of snowflakes, and she’s gone.

“Samson,” Alyth prods from atop her stag.

I eye the washerwomen still churning ’round in the sea and climb on my own stag.

The moment we’re both settled, the stags take off, galloping up the ice bridge, the freezing winter air whipping around us. It doesn’t sting as harshly as it should, softened like we’re in one of Alyth’s protective bubbles, but she’s gripping the neck of her stag, so I don’t think it’s her. It’s Beira. Helping us. Taking us to the High Blade.

Shit.

Right to her? All I can do is cling to my stag and hope they take us somewhere we can get our bearings before we plunge right into the High Blade’s attention.

The stags grunt and snort as they run, stomping through forests, even leaping over waterways. Their speed is so dizzying I have to pinch my eyes shut to keep my seat, arms locked tight around my stag’s neck. I try to peek, see where we’re passing, but it’s all a blur of gray landscape and gray sky, barren trees and scraggy knolls.

After minutes—hours? Gotta be hours—the stags stop. My eyes burst open, and I sit upright, body seizing with terror that the stags are standing right in front of the High Blade. But all around is the same stark nothingness we’ve been passing through. The sky’s gray and dim, evening maybe? Different from the constant twilight of the fae realm. We’re in a copse of trees, branches so naked each breeze makes ’em look like they’re shivering. I don’t see the High Blade or her army. I strain, listening—

Voices. The clink of armor. Distant, maybe around the bend just ahead.

Alyth slips off her stag, coming to the same conclusions as me, likely more.

“Do you know where we are?” I whisper.

She shakes her head and puts a finger to her lips before flaring her hands. A bright-orange glow floods the space between us, dissipates until we’re surrounded by the faintest hue.

“Silencing spell,” she says, still talking softly but not whispering. “To dampen our words for—” She nods toward the noise ahead.

Her stag snorts, paws at the ground, and bends its head low in a sort of bow.

Alyth brushes her fingers along its head. Her hands are bare; we gathered battle supplies from the fae court, not winter clothes at all. We’re dry now, but we’ll still freeze in no time, being out in the chill air like this.

She’s unbothered. “Thank you,” she tells the stag.

I dismount, and mine takes the same position.

“I think they’ll wait for us,” Alyth says when the stags make no move to leave.

“A better getaway than running for our lives on foot.” I pat my stag’s bent neck. “Thanks, lad.” I glance under it. “Er—yeah, it’s a lad, ain’t it?”

Alyth arches an eyebrow, amusement glimmering in her eyes. “The antlers are a pretty solid clue.”

My face heats. “Oh. Right. I just—” She’s grinning at my expense, so I roll my eyes. “Oh, take the piss out of the city boy, fine.”