I decide I hate it, too.

“Are you ready?” Nemeth asks me, taking my hand in his. He turns my palm over, rubbing his thumb over the bite mark. “Say the word, and I will leave you here. We will tell them you feel unwell. That you ate something that disagrees with you.”

I shake my head. “I’m going with you, and I plan on charming your brother so he’ll have no choice but to let my sister and the other Liosians go. They’re just women. His war wasn’t with them.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Nemeth asks.

I won’t even consider such a thing. “He will.”

I’m mentally getting back into my “court” personality as Nemeth wraps his wings around me and tucks me under his chin. One dizzying moment later and we’ve teleported onto a circle in front of the home of the king. If I was expecting a palace, I’ve been mistaken. It looks more like a fortress hewn from stone, but narrow and climbing up the walls of the mountain itself. Rock pillars frame a metal double door, two guards standing outside. Above the first floor, windows cluster like lines of grapes growing in a row, each window covered in ornate stained glass. The rooms look small compared to Castle Lios’s expansive rooms and winding halls, but there’s so many windows that there’s no question in my mind that this is where the ruler of this place lives.

The guards cover their mouths with scarves as we appear in the courtyard, and I could swear they flinch. Not a good sign.

Nemeth releases me and I step dutifully behind him, pretending to be subservient. As I do, I eye our surroundings. We’re in a gated courtyard on the “bottom” floor of the mountain, surrounded by high stone walls. There are plants growing here, strange twisty-looking things climbing and growing under the anemic light of magical lanterns that cast their glow. I look down at our feet, and there are a dozen circles in the tile mosaic floor, as if the people might teleport in and slowly gather here. There’s no red symbol painted on the door here, either.

“Prince Nemeth here to see my brother,” Nemeth declares in a booming voice as he approaches the guards. I trot behind him, trying to look cute and helpless.

The guards cross their spears over the doors, barring him from entering. “No humans. She will have to wait nearby.” One gestures at the far side of the courtyard, where I see a small gazebo-like structure heavily encrusted with pale green vines and more of the strange lighting. “The king’s orders.”

Nemeth growls furiously, one hand nudging me behind him. “The king has asked for both of us⁠—”

“Aye, and he changed his mind,” the second guard says. “And if you go in, you must cover your mouth. King’s orders.”

My mate reaches for his hammer.

I put a hand on his arm. “Nemeth, it’s fine. Just go talk to him. I can wait out here for a bit.”

He turns toward me, frowning. “I should take you home⁠—”

“No,” I say quickly, giving his arm a pat to soothe him. “We’ve come this far and dressed up to visit. Go in and talk to him. Tell him I wish to speak to him, too. I’m sure it’ll be fine. Just ease the topic of your wife into the conversation.” I take his hand in mine and kiss the back of it. “I can sit in a garden and wait. I don’t mind.”

He sighs heavily, glancing over at the guards. It’s clear he doesn’t like this.

“I’ll be safe,” I reassure him. “Unless you think the guards will hurt me?”

We both glance over at the two men in front of the doors. They’re watching me hold Nemeth’s hand with looks of revulsion, which is odd. I mean, I know humans and Fellians look different but the disgust is a new take. Nemeth notices it, too. He turns back to me, leaning in. “I don’t like this, Candra. There should be more guards here.”

“More?” That surprises me.

“Aye. The palace has always had ten guards at its doors. I don’t understand this.” He shakes his head. “Just as I don’t understand why Ivornath would change his mind about seeing you.”

“Well, go and change it back,” I joke. “I’ll wait here.”

He nods and pulls me close, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. Then, he leads me toward the gazebo in the midst of the garden and pauses in front of the latticed door there. I can see another figure waiting in the deep shadows inside. Probably another human left behind by someone, since we’re being treated like rabid dogs. I turn and smile brightly at Nemeth, showing him that I’m fine with this.

With one last longing glance, he leaves me and heads for the door. The moment he does, a guard steps forward with a water-skin. “Wash your hands and face. King’s orders.”

I watch as Nemeth mutters something unpleasant to them but does as he’s bade, and then disappears inside, the doors finally open for him.

By the gods, I knew Darkfell would be strange, but I didn’t realize just how strange.

I turn around to the gazebo door and pause. There on the delicate lattice of wood, just above the door handle, is another one of those swirling red marks. Does it mean “human,” I wonder? I push the door open and head inside. “Hello,” I call out to the other occupant. “May I sit with you?”

“Good,” says a hard voice that makes me gasp in surprise. “You’re finally here.”

I stare in shock as the woman inside lowers her hood.

It’s my sister, Erynne.

She’s thinner than I remember, her face hard and there are lines at the corners of her mouth, as if she’s permanently frowning now. But Erynne is still beautiful and regal, and she’s family. With a choked sound, I launch myself at her, hugging her tight. “By the gods,” I weep. “Erynne!”

“Tears do no good,” my sister says in a brittle voice. “Save them for someone else.”

I pull back in surprise, gazing up at her. Erynne’s always been taller than me, and svelte. She seems hard now, though, as if all her softness has disappeared. She smiles at me, but there’s no affection in the expression, and I swear I can see every tendon in her throat when she does.

“Erynne,” I breathe. “I’m so glad to see you. But you’re so thin⁠—”

“And you’re not. I shouldn’t be surprised. Even when Mother tried to make you watch your food, you always looked plump.”

I flinch at her cruel words. She’s angry, I realize. Angry that I’ve left the tower. That I’ve failed in a Vestalin’s duty. That must be it. “How did you get here?” I ask, determined to ignore her anger. “Is it true that Lios is destroyed and the humans here are enslaved?”

Her gaze goes blank for a moment, and then she focuses on me again. “I should be asking how you got here. When did you arrive? Has it been seven years already?”

That worries me. Surely she would know if seven years have passed? And if she thinks it’s been seven…then why is her gaze filled with such hatred towards me? “It’s only been a little more than two.”

“Ah. So you abandoned your duty.” Her smile twists. “You fool. It still took two years, did it? How witless you must feel.”

“We stayed until we had no supplies left. No one arrived to bring food for either of us, so we left and traveled to Lios…or what’s left of it. Is it true? Tell me it’s not,” I beg. “Tell me what happened.” Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe, despite the odds, Lios has somehow survived. That the people retreated further into the mountains and created a settlement there. That they’re thriving on plants that grow abundantly in mud and excessive rain.

Something. Anything.

“You don’t know what happened?” My sister’s hard expression changes ever so slightly. “You truly don’t know what occurred?”

I shake my head. “I’ve been in the tower for the last two years. I know nothing beyond the doors closing behind me. Please. Tell me everything.”

She touches the collar at her neck—a slave collar, just like mine, but hers is a real one. “Lionel set sail the moment you crossed into the tower,” Erynne says in a distant voice, her gaze distracted. “It didn’t matter that the winds hadn’t yet died down, or that the weather was foul. He’d sent you and he expected the goddess to shower him with fair weather. He was such a reckless idiot.” She sounds almost affectionate. “I’m told he lost half his ships before they even made it to Darkfell, and then he set siege to the mountain. Can you imagine? Waiting outside a stone mountain in a boat?”