Page 47 of The Crown of the Last Fae Queen (The Heartless and the Wicked #4)

She didn’t want to face that reality—that all these memories, or dreams, or visions, were fabricated.

For what purpose would the sword do such a thing?

But she could already think of many reasons.

To make her side with the fae. To make her sympathetic for their cause.

To show her the peak of fae civilization.

Kolfinna grazed her hand over the balcony railing and turned around slowly until she had her back to it, and her gaze fastened on the doors leading back inside.

All the people had disappeared already, but all the finery was still present inside.

The thick, rich curtains. The polished marble floors.

The gold walls with statues and carvings in them.

It could be a lie. All of it.

But she yearned to know more about the world she came from.

“What …” Blár squinted at the city below. “What is that ?”

She followed his attention to the lines of houses on the horizon; a black gust was sweeping over the town quickly, snuffing out the light and dredging it in a deep blackness.

It was coming closer, and closer, the shadows descending.

A coldness spread from her chest down to her limbs and she found herself backing away; something wasn’t right.

Goosebumps rose along her flesh. Every instinct within her flared.

They needed to leave this place. Now .

Kolfinna and Blár exchanged bewildered, slightly panicked expressions, and then sprinted toward the balcony doors.

He had just yanked the door open when they could hear the hissing of the thing behind them.

Kolfinna didn’t bother turning around to face the shadows; she ran inside, and Blár slammed the door shut behind them.

The castle began to tremble, the floor becoming unstable as they skated along the cool surface. Blár pointed to the double doors on the side of the hall. “The shadows are making them disappear!”

Sure enough, the blackness was seeping into the corners of their surroundings, webbing out to ensnare the rest in darkness.

Her scream caught in her throat, and Kolfinna whipped her head left and right; she tried pulling on her mana, but it was nowhere to be found.

She couldn’t even feel it buried deep within her.

“There!” She pointed to one small door that was barely visible behind a set of draping curtains near the thrones. She and Blár began running once more, but the ballroom was so vast, the shadows descending at such speed, that it was hard to feel like they were making any progress.

One glance over her shoulder made her heart stutter; everything the shadows touched turned into a void, and total darkness already covered more than half of their surroundings. If it touched them … would they be stuck here forever?

That nightmarish thought urged her forward. Her lungs seized with every violent breath. Her thighs burned with each step. So close—they just needed to get to that door.

Blár reached it before she did, and he tore it open, his hand stretched out to her. She’d barely slipped her hand in his before he was already hauling her into the hall. He slammed the door shut behind her, and she heard the shadows crash against it.

Heart hammering in her chest, she wildly looked around herself, her eyesight slowly adjusting to the dark corridor. Blár was likely faring worse than her with his human senses and sight.

They were in a thin hallway that led in two directions. One end of the hall had a bend to it, and the other had an arched black doorway. She recognized that door—it was the same one that had been in the previous memory they had encountered.

“This way,” Kolfinna said, pulling him in the direction of the black door.

All at once, the door they had come through rattled, as if the shadows were thumping against it.

A cold fear snatched at her sanity and she ran even harder.

She could hear the throne room door blast open behind them, the shadows writhing down the hallway. Sentient. Evil. Powerful.

She knew deep in her gut that they were looking for her.

She didn’t belong here, and they seemed to know it.

Her vision narrowed to the black door. Nothing else mattered. Not as the floors quivered and cracked, not as the walls crumbled, not even when bits of the ceiling narrowly missed them.

Just a little more. Just a little?—

A shadowy tendril, cold as winter, circled her ankle and she flew forward. A scream nearly ripped from her throat, but before she could slam onto the floor and the shadows could spring on her, Blár yanked her up without a second look. Her wrist nearly popped out of its socket with the force.

“You’re not dying here!” he snarled, giving her a final shove toward the door.

Her hand grasped the handle and she flung it open, launching herself and Blár inside. The shadows screamed and hissed, and she shoved the door shut with all her might. The noise instantly shut off, their connection to the strange, evil magic severed.

They both collapsed on the floor, heaving and breathing in as deeply as they could.

Kolfinna’s entire body was drenched in sweat, her hair clinging to her forehead, neck, and cheeks.

When her breathing finally calmed down, she noticed that the black door had vanished, and that they were inside a bedroom.

A giant four-postered bed sat in the center, a vanity full of jewels on the far corner, and bookshelves laden with thick tomes lining the walls.

“I’m thinking the sword is leading us down its own memories of the queen,” Kolfinna said, pushing herself into a sitting position.

There was still the possibility that this was all a fabrication, a lie to make their heads spin in favor of the fae cause, but it was clear they needed to finish each memory and move onto the next one, or else the shadows would kill them.

When she told Blár, he only nodded, as if he had come to that realization himself.

“The fae seem to really love their obstacles,” he muttered darkly. “It was the same in the ruins.”

She remembered all too well.

Hauling himself to his feet, he dusted off his clothes and then held a hand out for her. She gratefully accepted the help and ran a reluctant hand through her sweaty hair, grimacing at the texture.

How did any of this work, anyway? Were they truly stuck inside here?

Had their bodies disappeared from the courtyard with Vidar and Agnarr, and been transported here, or were only their minds stuck?

She could imagine Vidar ripping through the fortress in search for her, snarling commands to his men to find her.

Her stomach clenched tightly and she breathed out through her nose. They could do this, and when they were done here, they could face Vidar, too. Maybe … maybe they’d be able to find a weakness of his here? She wasn’t even sure if he had any weaknesses.

Kolfinna and Blár left the bedchambers and meandered down the hall, opening doors and peeking inside periodically.

Most of the rooms were shadowed in black, like stepping into a void, telling them that they weren’t supposed to enter, and some of them proved to be chambers with lavish furnishing but nothing that triggered a vision.

Finally, when she thought they had scoured half the castle, they heard noises behind one of the fancy doors. Relief eased the coiling tension within her when they entered the room and spotted Aesileif and Vidar.

Not much time had passed since the last vision; Vidar still had no scarring on his youthful face, and Aesileif appeared just as willowy and frail as last time.

This time, she was dressed in pale, pastel greens, her light-gold hair tumbling down her back in bouncy waves.

Gold and silver necklaces lined her neck and wrists, and matching sage-colored gems hung in teardrops on her ears.

A furious crease had formed between her brows as she stared at Vidar.

Vidar was dressed plainly in comparison. A black tunic, black pants, black belt—he was painted in dark shades, which made his stark-white hair stand out vividly. His wings were pulled close to his body, but the twitching at the edges told Kolfinna that he was annoyed. That, and the scowl he wore.

Kolfinna had never seen him appear so ready to show his annoyance. He usually masked most of his emotions, but here, in his youth, he seemed ready to roll his eyes at whatever Aesileif was saying.

“You cannot be serious,” Aesileif said under her breath, hands trembling in barely suppressed rage. She blinked at him, as if waiting for him to respond, but he only glowered. “You told me you would stay by my side until I was able to control my powers. Why would you leave now?”

Her voice shook and Kolfinna could read the betrayal and bitterness filtering through the fury.

Vidar’s frown deepened, his voice clipped. “I have no choice but to leave, Princess. I do not belong here.”

“You’re going back on your word? Where is your honor?”

“I have none,” he snarled, and even Kolfinna flinched.

“You … you liar!” Aesileif stared at him with such ire that any man would have withered at the sight of her blazing blue eyes, and yet Vidar only glared back, the red in his eyes gleaming malevolently.

“I do not belong here,” he gritted out and waved toward the fancy, gilded doors, then gold-touched paintings, the furniture.

Disgust was clear on his face. “You and I both know that we come from different worlds, Princess. You in your glittering world and I on the crumbling streets of the elven slums. We were never meant to be together. It was always a cruel farce. Face it.”

“You—You know I don’t think that way about you or your people—” she began.

“ My people?” He laughed bitterly. “And here I thought my people were also your people? Aren’t the fae and elves supposed to be the same? And yet your people always treat mine like we are less than you. You know it.”