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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

W hen we finally stagger back in through the door and into Jocasta’s faction house, I feel like a used dishrag that someone has wrung out too forcefully.

The Unseelie King certainly followed through on his threat.

And this time, he didn’t just show me that one horrible memory. He showed me everything.

For two hours, I was stumbling around blindly on the grass by the wards, trapped in my worst memories.

Memories of my parents, of all the shitty things people did and said to me in the Seelie Court, of my time in the Ice Palace, of those soul-crushing hours when I was paralyzed and dying from ice flames.

And now, I feel so tired and wrung out that I’m afraid a gentle breeze is going to knock me over.

A thud comes from the door.

Collapsing down on the white couch, I slowly turn my head towards the sound.

Isera, who was the last person through the door, only managed to close it behind her before her legs give out.

She sits down hard on the pale wooden floorboards right inside the door.

Dragging in an unsteady breath, she draws her knees up to her chest and leans her back against the carved wooden door.

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” she whispers, her voice hoarse.

The couch creaks as Draven sits down next to me.

I didn’t even realize that I was tilting to the side until his firm body is there next to mine, giving me support.

He wraps his arm around my shoulders, holding me tightly.

It makes warmth flood my body and gives me a burst of energy.

Without thinking, I lean my head against his shoulder.

He tightens his arm around me even more.

“He’s using your claustrophobia against you, isn’t he?” I ask, my gaze returning to Isera.

She meets my gaze in silence for a few seconds before finally replying, “Yes.”

“What happened?” Alistair asks from where he is sitting by the wall across the room.

He looks as exhausted and raw as the rest of us. Galen and Lyra, who are sitting on the other couch, had been watching Draven with pained eyes, but now they also shift their attention to Isera.

Still seated by the door, she tips her head back to rest it against the slab of wood behind her. Her blue and silver eyes stare up into the ceiling. And she says nothing.

Just when I think she’s not going to reply, she heaves a sigh.

“I was eleven,” she says, still looking at the ceiling. “I was trying to figure out how to control my powers. One day, I accidentally created a small box of white ice around myself. But I didn’t know how to make it disappear again.”

My stomach drops.

Her bottom lip trembles for a moment before she forces out another breath. “The ice was so thick that I couldn’t break through it with my hands. And since it was white instead of clear, I couldn’t see out either.”

“Couldn’t anyone break it from the outside?” Galen asks, his violet eyes filled with sympathy.

“Who?” She curls her hands into fists and cuts him a look. “My father was killed by dragon shifters when I was two.”

Galen winces.

“And my mother won the Atonement Trials when I was ten and never came back.” She schools her features into a blank mask.

“I was alone. I have always been alone.” She cuts him another look.

“So no, no one even knew that I was trapped in there for five days, licking water from the ice walls to survive, and beating my fists bloody trying to break through it.”

I stare at her, my heart aching. Goddess above, I had no idea.

She draws her eyebrows down and shoots us a hard look. “Any other questions?”

Galen shifts awkwardly on the white cushions and clears his throat, and Lyra glances away. But Alistair and I continue watching her intently. When she notices that, she scoffs and goes back to staring at the ceiling.

For almost an entire minute, no one says anything. We all just sit there, drained and exhausted, in tense silence. Moonlight that falls in through the window paints pale shapes on the wall opposite me. We haven’t even bothered to turn on more than the lone faelight by the door.

“Were you purposely killing all the fire wielders?” Alistair suddenly asks, shattering the oppressive silence so abruptly that it startles me.

Blinking, I turn towards him and find him looking at Draven with eyebrows raised.

Draven scowls. “First of all, I wasn’t purposely doing anything.”

On the couch opposite us, both Galen and Lyra flinch at the venom in his voice and the reminder of what he has been through.

They quickly begin studying the fluffy white carpet beneath us as if it’s the most fascinating thing they have ever seen.

I resist the urge to sigh. Mabona’s tits, maybe Orion was right. Maybe we are broken.

“And secondly,” Draven continues, his scowl morphing into more of a frown. “What are you asking?”

From where he is sitting on the floor by the wall, Alistair draws his knees up and rests his elbows on them before dragging a hand through his hair. He looks uncharacteristically uncertain.

“Well, it’s just…” He waves his hand in the air. “Fire is supposed to be a really rare power. But here, a lot of people have fire magic. Are the Icehearts purposely killing them in our court or why is it so rare there?”

Draven’s frown clears. Leaning back against the cushions, he adjusts his arm around me so that his hand is resting on my hip instead.

Then he lets out a long sigh. “No, the answer is much simpler than that.” He meets Alistair’s gaze.

“Since fire magic is so destructive, the fae who wield it often win the Atonement Trials. And since they die in the Ice Palace, their magical bloodline dies with them.”

Alistair stares at him, his eyes wide. “Oh.”

Uncomfortable silence once again falls across the room. It makes me feel nauseous, and my old instincts immediately start thinking of how I can make everyone feel at ease. But I’m so exhausted myself that I have no idea what to say.

“Well, sounds like you need to get laid then,” Lyra suddenly says in a cheerful voice. “A lot.”

Alistair’s jaw practically hits the floor as he whips around to stare at her. For a moment, it looks as if he’s trying to figure out if she was serious. Based on the expression on her face, she was. And Alistair seems to realize that too because his face flushes bright red.

I burst out laughing.

In a heartbeat, the tense atmosphere shatters and warmth seems to flood the light and airy living room.

Draven chuckles, his firm chest shaking against mine as he still holds me tightly.

On the couch next to Lyra, Galen shakes his head and slaps her arm with the back of his hand, but there is a smile on his face.

And I swear that even Isera’s lips shift ever so slightly upwards for a second too.

On the floor, Alistair scowls at us all, his cheeks still red, but he doesn’t appear particularly angry. Instead, he casts confused glances at Lyra when she isn’t looking.

Galen heaves a deep sigh that seems pulled from all of our chests. “So, what do we do now?”

“The only thing we can do,” I reply, and look from face to face.

They all appear to know what I’m going to say before I even say it, because they nod as soon as I meet their eyes.

“We win the games.”