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She needed help to figure out what was going on with her magic—and how to control it. Perhaps Hadeon was right that only the shadow fae could help her. Her training with Lucinda had been relatively unsuccessful. Had it been because her magic was fae and not from a mortal source of power? The idea of taking time to train—rather than push to rescue her mate immediately—filled her with guilt. How long could Elias hold out with Magnus torturing him?

At that moment, she realized there was no other option. The enchantresses couldn’t aid her in rescuing Elias. They had toremain within the walls of Shadowbank to protect her home. Hadeon and the Twilight Court wouldn’t help her.

Which left her with only one option.

Sighing, she said, “If we’re going to the Abyss, we leave tomorrow. My mate is waiting for me to rescue him.”

Chapter Seven

ARABELLA

Arabella sat atop the balcony railing of her second-story bedroom overlooking the grounds of Hadeon’s estate under the light of the moon.

Leagues away, the Twilight Court’s capital city loomed with its massive blue walls. At its center and visible for miles in every direction was the castle, which was nestled atop a hill. She suspected the founding fae built the city there for the vantage point. It would be indispensable should the worst happen and it was under siege.

In the room behind her—which was as unnecessarily lavish as Hadeon’s sitting room—she felt the blossoming of magic and knew a wielder had entered. The feel of golden, earthen magic told her it was Jessamine.

When her friend appeared in view, a laugh escaped Arabella’s lips, which she tried to cover with a cough.

“You look ridiculous, too,” Jessamine’s cheeks were dusted with an unusual pink. Few things got under her skin enough to make her blush. Except, apparently, wearing a short nightgown that was sheer enough to leave little to the imagination.

“You could’ve just worn one of the prince’s shirts,” Arabella said. She’d had a similar option when the staff had taken their leathers to be cleaned and chose to wear one of Hadeon’s shirts. The sturdy fabric fell to her knees, and she’d had to roll up the sleeves several times.

“Never,” Jessamine said as she hopped up onto the railing and swung her legs around to sit next to Arabella. Muttering obscenities, she pulled at her dress as it slid up to her hips. “What princeling has only nightgowns to offer his female guests?”

“One who doesn’t often host females, I imagine,” Arabella said, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Or one who only hosts those he wants to fuck,” Jessamine muttered, her voice as sharp as the sword sheathed at her hip. Even in a nightgown, she’d refused to be unarmed and had tied her scabbard to her waist along with knives sheathed on her legs.

Arabella had done the same.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous.” Arabella said.

Her friend made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. “You wouldn’t catch me fucking a fae—especially not that one.”

“Why?” Arabella asked, genuinely curious. “He’s handsome enough.”

“I wouldn’t go near a male who forced my best friend into a bargain when she was in a vulnerable position,” Jessamine said. “Not to mention him coercing us into coming here.”

Arabella shrugged. “He did save us. We wouldn’t have made it out on our own.”

“Yes, we would have,” Jessamine said. “And we wouldn’t be stuck in fae lands.”

As enchantresses, they couldn’t make it through the gateways on their own. The only way home would be with help from someone who could carry them through the gateway or ifone of the goblins was willing to teleport them back to the mortal realm.

“Do you want to go back to Shadowbank?” Arabella offered, feeling her heart sink as she said the words. She wouldn’t stop her friend if she wanted to leave, and she could understand wanting to return home when an army was so close to the village. But she would miss Jessamine more than she wanted to think about.

“And leave you to your own devices? No. We’re going to rescue Elias. Then we’ll protect our home together.” Jessamine nodded to the parchment Arabella had been clutching in her hands for the last several hours. “Have you opened the map?”

Arabella sighed heavily. “Yes.”

“And…?”

“All that effort for a blank piece of parchment,” Arabella said. “We almost got killed by gargoyles for nothing.”

She’d been staring at the map for hours, which remained wholly unmarked. Only the purring of the parchment in response to her shadows let her know it was made by the shadow fae. She hoped it was the map Hadeon sought and not some other rare magical document.

They’d be royally fucked if the real map was back at the castle—and under Magnus’ control.