Contents ( 41)
- CAST OF CHARACTERS
- ACT ONE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- ACT TWO
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- ACT THREE
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- EPILOGUE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- ALSO BY NAFIZA AZAD
Croi shakes her head at the question. Once she didn’t know the answer to it, and now she wishes she didn’t. “Who I am isn’t important. It is imperative that you find a way to rescue her.”
She doesn’t have to specify who. The Rosen nods her head, her face determined. “Where in the human world is she?”
“In the castle in the city outside the Wilde Forest. I cast an invisibility spell on her, so she should still be safe. But if I die, my magick will fade, and I don’t know what her fate will be.”
“You are dying?”
“Almost. Will you rescue her?”
“Even if it takes my life.”
“Thank you.”
“No, thank you.” The Rosen leaves Croi in the courtyard filled with the fading scent of roses.
Croi makes her way back to the pavilion because she doesn’t know where else to go. She could ask the Caisleán for shelter and it would oblige, but she doesn’t feel safe sleeping anywhere other than in the walls of the pavilion the Tine are currently sheltering in.
The Tine King hasn’t returned from the banquet when Croi saunters back, surprising the soldiers who are stationed in front of the door on the fourth floor. They give her narrow-eyed looks that she ignores. She places the SoulSeed back in the pack and hides the pack under her bed before taking another bath, a quicker one this time. Afterward she falls into bed, completely exhausted. She has no idea when the princess and Tinder return, no idea of the chaos that fills the Caisleán in the wee hours of the morning.
She wakes to a strange atmosphere. Tinder is sitting on her pillow, staring blankly into the distance.
“What’s the matter?” Croi asks, rubbing her eyes. “When did you come back last night?”
The pixie doesn’t reply.
“Tinder?” Croi pokes her.
“The Robber Prince is dead,” Tinder whispers.
“What? Who?” Croi frowns.
“The Robber Queen’s son and heir. Irial. The Robber Prince. He’s dead. He was killed last night.”
THIRTY-TWO
THE FIRST TASTE OF GRIEF is wrapped in denial.
No.
“What do you mean?” Ignore the trembling heart. Ignore the panic. Hold fast to the remaining thread of reason. “Who is dead?”
No.
“The Robber Prince. Or Irial as he is called.”
A mountain falls on Croi. “How? When?”
The pixie shrugs. “I don’t know the details, but I heard that though the prince’s body has faded, his blood still colors the floor of the corridor outside his rooms.” Tinder breathes in deeply. “I saw him leaving the banquet hall last night. He smiled at me. The soldiers in his escort included Daithi and the catkin I told you about.” She grips Croi’s hand. “You don’t think they had anything to do with his death, do you?”
Croi pulls her hand away. A chill originating from somewhere deep inside of her makes her shiver. “I don’t know.” She lies back down in bed. “I’m going to sleep some more.”
“Why? Fiadh?” Tinder tries to come closer, but Croi waves her away.