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“Let go of my hand,” Midnight said. “Let go of my hand!”

Blinking the stars out of my eyes, I did as he said, planting my palms on the grass. The weight of the pooka started to drag me back over the edge, but it was gone a second later.

I climbed the rest of the way to safety and then turned to stare down into the chasm, my heart in my throat. Midnight had thrown himself over the side, slammed his flaming body into the pookas, and now they were all tumbling down, flipping over and over and over…

They vanished into the darkness. The light of the fire blinked out.

A moment later, silence chilled my veins.

“Midnight?” I whispered, fisting the grass in my shaking hands. “Midnight, are you there?”

No answer.

My forehead met the soft, damp ground as a sob shook me. There was no way he could have survived that. It was a very, very long way to fall. Even if he lived through the impact, the chasm was swarming with pookas. He wouldn’t stand a chance, especially if he was wounded from those burns.

He must have known that when he threw himself at those creatures.

For a moment, I knelt there on the ground, mourning the joint eater, one of the bravest souls I’d ever met. With a sigh, I brushed my fingers against the gemstones in my pocket. Three of them. He’d sacrificed himself so that I could get away—so that I had three chances of stabbing Oberon. I could not let him down.

I stood. It was time to kill the king.

Forty-One

Tessa

The hidden gate in the city wall was unguarded. Thankfully, no one had discovered its existence in the time since I’d escaped. The tapestry that resembled stone still hung over the skinny crack. I eased into it and peered out at the bustling streets.

Horses and carts lumbered past while women carried washing baskets on their shoulders. There were no children, not like in the dreams that the Mist King had shown me. No laughter, no playing in the streets. Just the steady hum of conversation and trade.

My ankle stung as I shifted my weight. It had taken far more effort for me to climb the hill than I’d hoped. I shouldn’t have survived what had happened at the chasm. Somehow, I had, and the only remnant I carried with me was a throbbing ankle. And as painful as it was, it was already healing, thanks to being back inside Oberon’s circle of protection. The wound would slow me down, though.

That was not ideal, when I needed to blend in. As a human, I would have to keep the cloak’s hood tight around my face so that no one spotted my smooth ears. My height and rounder face might give me away as well. I was not tall and elegant, with high cheekbones, like the fae. I just had to hope that no one would look too closely at me.

Pressing my back against the stone, I let go of the tapestry and tried to think. What would Morgan do in this situation? Wander through the streets in the middle of the day and hope the commotion would be enough to distract everyone from paying attention? Or wait until the fae had gone to sleep?

There would be no cover of darkness here in Albyria. And a lone hooded figure whispering through the empty streets would be far more likely to attract unwanted attention.

Decision made.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I pulled the hood over my braided hair and whispered into the city. My heart pounded as I walked quickly away from the hidden gate, hoping no one had spotted me squeeze through it. I kept my gaze forward, focusing on the sandy ground, careful not to look anyone in the eye.

My eyes were wrong, too. Most fae had bright, colorful irises in violets and oranges and reds. Mine were brown.

Barely breathing, I wound my way through the streets and strode into the market where the fae of the city hawked their wares. There were colorful silken gowns and brushed leather armor, knives and swords and arrows tipped with golden points, loaves of fresh bread, and fruits from the fields around Teine.

My mouth watered, but I didn’t dare stop.

None of this was for me, and it never had been. Most of these merchants’ stalls were packed full of things the humans had made, not the fae themselves. The weapons were theirs, but everything else? Built and grown by the mortals down below who rarely got a chance to enjoy any of it themselves.

It didn’t have to be this way, I thought, as I hurried toward the end of the market. We could have a better world, a city where humans and fae worked together. We could build a place without golden walls keeping us apart or whips to keep us down. A place without so much hate and brutal violence. A place where we understood one another and did not burn with so much rage.

A kingdom without Oberon.

I turned off the main street and into an alley, the bottom of the cloak floating behind me. A heavy hand gripped my shoulder just before I made another turn. A fae stopped me short, whirling me around to face him.

His sharp yellow eyes glowed with curiosity. He leaned in, the stench of stale beer a cloud on his breath. Sharp ears cut through a wild mess of black hair. He gave a little sniff. “What’s a mortal doing here?”

I’d thought about this. With my best nonchalant smile, I said, “I work in the castle. King Oberon sent me to the market to buy some things.”