Page 87 of The Blood Queen

The place that hates us now. Because of me.

I wince. Shake it off with a forced smile. “We’re making camp,” I say, resolute.

It’s a sign of how exhausted she is that she doesn’t argue further.

I consider having us get back on the stags, finding a village and an inn, but we don’t have anything to barter with other than our magic fae items, and I don’t much want to draw attention to the stags.

So we tuck ourselves up right against the dead portal stone.

I get a small fire going, and the stags arrange themselves on either side of us, making a windbreak like they did when we waited outside Forres. We have no rations; we left the fae realm too fast. But that healing potion we both took seems to have soothed our hunger, as neither of us complains about gnawing bellies. Or maybe we’re just grief-stricken, exhaustion filling up our cracks.

We find some snow to slake our thirst. I use it to scrub off my face too, the dried, tight feeling of the blood itching across my skin.

My father’s blood.

I shove away all thoughts of it. Of him. Of what I did and how—

How I wanted it.

How good it felt.

I clean my face as best I can and lean my back to the cold stone, letting Alyth rest against me after she cleans up too, the stags breathing steadily next to us, the fire burning near our feet.

I hold her tight, rubbing her arms until she stops shaking with cold.

“How are we gonna get through the Seelie Court once we find an open portal?” I ask into the stillness.

Alyth shifts against me, draping her arm over my stomach. She’s quiet long enough I can hear her thinking, hear her brain hitting up against all the obstacles facing us.

“We can’t just sneak in like we infiltrated the High Blade’s camp, not with the magic guarding that palace,” I say.

“I could break some of the spells if I had time,” she whispers.

“So you need a distraction?”

She lifts up, glaring at me. “No.”

“No, what?”

“No, you’re not sacrificing yourself again. We’ll figure out another way. I’m not—” She cuts off, biting her lip.

Without finishing, she nestles back against me.

I cling to her. “You’re allowed to sacrifice yourself, but I’m not, is that it?”

“Don’t, Samson.” She sounds exhausted. Through and through.

I press my lips to the top of her head. “I’m not letting you kill yourself over this.”

She shoves up again, her glare potent again. “And I’m not letting you kill yourself either. So we’ll figure out another way. Because there’s always apparently another way to do everything, but far be it from any powerful creature to just tell me what it is. It’s all guessing and manipulation and lies, and at the end of it all, who’s the one standing against the High Blade? Me. Alone. Again.”

A sob grabs her, but she fights it down, head dropping, one hand fisting in my shirt.

Tears prick my eyes.

I take her chin, lift her face. Dry her tears with my fingertips and lean forward to lay a kiss on her mouth.

“You’re not alone, Alyth,” I whisper.