Page 176 of Brimstone

I scratched the back of the fox’s neck, giving the very same look to Carrion. “You wanted my opinion?” I reminded him. “I came here to tell you if you’re going crazy, remember?”

“I remember,” he said in a high-pitched, defensive tone. “Come look at this.” He went to the closest window and pointed at the sill.

With Onyx on my heels, closer than my shadow, I went to see what the fuss was about. “Why do you have all of these books here, anyway?” I muttered. “Youcanread in the library.”

“Not naked, I can’t.”

“You shouldn’t be reading thesenaked. It’s notsanitary—”

“Relax. I’m joking. I’m reading them here because I don’t want to get in anyone’s way. And besides. It’s private. I’m researching.”

“Researching what?”

“Ahh, stuff. Y’know, Yvelian stuff.Courtstuff.” He shrugged awkwardly.

“As in, Winter Court histories? And the roles and responsibilities of, say . . . aking?”

Carrion’s cheeks flamed. “Maybe. Don’t make a big deal out of it. And don’t tell anyone. I haven’t changed my mind or anything yet. I’m just . . . researching.”

“Carrion, thisisa big deal. Imagine what would have happened if there had been someone of royal blood to stand against Madra. The people would have . . . they’d . . .” My trainof thought abandoned me. I was staring at the plant in the little blue pot sitting on the windowsill. Its leaves were glossy and rich, deep green. White flowers bloomed all over it, tiny and shaped like little flutes, their petals curling up at the ends. I watched as more of them seemed to grow, their petals forming and turning from green to white right before my eyes.

“See, this is why I didn’t tell you. You’re getting way ahead of yourself. I’mjustresearching. I don’t even know how I’d try to reclaim my throne. I don’t—” He shook his head violently. “It doesn’t even feel right calling it my throne. I’m just thinking that . . .”

“Carrion,” I whispered.

The more he spoke, the more the plant next to him on the sill flowered. New shoots formed as he rambled, and those shoots became branches.

“. . . and even if I did want to take back the Winter Court, how would that even work? Would I have to challenge Belikon to a duel or something? Becausethat’snot happening. And there are five million other things to consider—”

“Carrion?”

“—I’m not a fuckingduelist, Saeris. That evil bastard would kill me in a heartbeat—”

“Carrion!”

He ceased his tirade and threw his hands in the air. “What?”

“Are youseeingthis?” I pointed at the plant. It was twice the size it had been a minute ago and it was covered in those tiny white blooms. “The plant . . . it’s growing like crazy.”

“Oh. Yeah. That’s what I was trying to show you. They all keep doing that. I started collecting these plants yesterday. They were just little cuttings, or seeds I planted, and now, well . . .” He gestured to the veritable garden in his bedroom. He hurried to the bed and picked up an open book from his bedside table, quickly bringing it back to show me. “Look here,” he said tappingthe page. These leaves are the same, right?” The illustration in the book was identical to the leaves on the plant in the blue pot. I studied both closely before nodding.

“Looks like it.”

He snapped the book closed. “This plant isn’t even supposed toflower,” he said. “It releases spores once every ten years instead. But those . . . those are flowers, right? And they keep blooming every time I speak, don’t they? I’m not losing my mind?”

Even as he said it, another cluster of the little white flowers grew and bloomed, turning green to white. “No, Carrion. You are not losing your mind. That’sexactlywhat’s happening.”

“Do you suppose that’s normal?”

I was about to answer him, to ask him what exactlywasnormal anymore, but before I could open my mouth, the foundations of the estate began to shake. “What in all five hells?” I gasped.

Carrion’s look of confusion matched my own, as he looked out of the window and pointed. “There. In the distance. Coming from the trees,” he said.

And indeed there they were. My heart surged like a piston at sight of the small, dark shapes of figures emerging from the forest. Not just tens of them. Not even hundreds, butthousands.

“Holy fucking shit.” Swift whistled under his breath. “Is that . . .?”

The horde? That’s what he was thinking. What I was too afraid to ask out loud, too. But no. As the figures gathered at the tree line, forming into ranks, I saw that it wasn’t an army of feeders.