The Queen's Choice. Cayla Kluver

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      CHAPTER FIVE

      BLACK MAGIC

      I ran and ran, winter birds cackling above my head, the snow turning my hands and wrists red with cold every time I stumbled and collapsed. My eyes fought for clarity as the pain in my shoulder blades stretched and intensified, but I pushed on through the maze of trees and the pristine white ground. There was pressure in my skull, and a persistent buzzing that after a time muted my hearing and reminded me of how little I’d eaten in the past— What had it been? A few days? A week? Nature forbid it had been more.

      When I recognized a cluster of saplings, my energy was renewed, and I pulled myself up a slight incline, certain I was going the right way. Footprints soon marked a path, and that path led me to the eerily vacant Road, bookended on either side by walls of inhospitable thicket. I stopped, panting heavily, listening to the wind as it whistled a warning song through the hollow tunnel of trees.

      My blood, perverting the snow, was the sole aspect of the landscape that was not gray or white or muted green like the needles of the trees, making its color all the more horrific. In a frozen, crimson grin it engulfed the base of the balsam against which I’d been pinned and stained the trunk, leaving me to surmise that it could not have been long since I’d been injured. Not the weeks I had feared, at any rate. It hadn’t snowed since I’d been attacked.

      I dropped to the ground and gazed across the Road, squinting into the heatless sun. I saw a glimmer on the other side, a haze of beauty I would have called an illusion, except that magic was visible to those with a sharp enough eye. This gave us an advantage in recognizing one another in the Territory, for even a Faerie’s shroud was not imperceptible if one looked closely enough—light reflected from the supposedly empty space at Faefolk’s backs. Rarely could a human identify us, not with their diminished senses, but a few were gifted enough to spot the signs. What I saw across the Bloody Road were the lissome currents of Nature’s purest creation, currents of magic I longed to feel against my skin.

      My heart seemed to pitch forward, and I stood, allowing my feet to follow. I lurched onto the Road, concentrating my thoughts on Davic, urging whatever magic remained in my body to trace the path of our promise bond and bring him to me. Although something fluttered under my skin, it was trapped there, stretching its fingers but unable to claw free. My bond with Davic may have still been in existence, but it floated without direction, just as my steps took me no closer to that beguiling sunrise in which everything was discernible—Ione’s diamond-blue eyes, my father’s gentle, reserved voice, the halo of righteousness that Ubiqua wore like a crown, Davic’s easygoing smile. My body was weakening, my hope and resolve with it, and the very essence of my being wanted to emerge from my chest. How easy it would have been to let it, to sink into obscurity and give myself back to the earth and its elements.

      Then a tingling sensation invaded my arms, beginning in the tips of my fingers and growing in strength. It wasn’t painful, even as a similar sensation conquered my legs, and I watched in awe while my hands fell away like sand slipping through an hourglass. But when the sensation invaded the core of my being, striking me with the weight of an anvil, fire roared up my throat. I threw myself backward, but I was too far from the human side of the Road. I would die here on the frozen ground, and though I had contemplated death moments before, facing it in truth now was the surest proof that I wanted to live.

      Through my terror, I felt pressure under my arms, and then, miraculously, the burning receded, and I was left a shuddering heap in the snow. Magic, black and cloudy, leaked from my pores, called back to the Road and its home in Chrior. I looked up to see Shea sitting beside me, examining her hands as the elusive substance slithered between her fingers, her disgust and confusion unmistakable. She tried to wipe her palms in the snow, her pallor a reminder that she, too, would have felt the retribution of the Road.

      “It’s magic,” I murmured, watching the inky film evaporate from her skin. “It’s leaving me. Forever.”

      “What the hell were you thinking?” she erupted, startling me with her vehemence as she snatched my collar with both hands. “You can’t go home. If I hadn’t followed you here, you would be dead, do you understand that? Home is gone, Anya. There’s no going back.”

      Her dark eyes were red rimmed, and she pushed me away to swipe at them. Underneath her cloak she was in her nightclothes, and she was shivering uncontrollably despite the sweat beading on her brow.

      “Why do you care?” I bristled, crawling to my knees, guilt spurring my raging emotions. “Why would you risk your life for me?”

      “Maybe I’m stupid! I mean, I don’t even know you. But you must be important to someone. Or at least, someone is important to you. You kept saying his name in your sleep.”

      “Davic,” I whispered.

      “No. The name you said was Zabriel. Now tell me, would he want you to do this?”

      Shea stood and offered her hand to help me up, and the heat of shame blazed across my face. How could I have forgotten, even during these dark days, even for a moment, the reason I had left Chrior? Ubiqua’s throne was not mine. Now it could never be, and the need for Zabriel to be found was greater than ever. With no way to communicate the new urgency of the situation to my friends and family in the Faerie Realm, the task was mine and mine alone. I had to locate Zabriel and convince him to return or else intercept Illumina and enlist her aid.

      I trudged through the snow behind Shea, the two of us no longer speaking. Despite the pangs that afflicted my back, I dreaded our arrival at the cabin. The man I had injured was probably Shea’s father, and he would likely not be pleased at my return. He confirmed this the moment I walked in the front door. Half a foot taller than me, he made me feel insignificant as he gripped me around the arm, tightly compressing the abrasion left over from my bullet wound. I winced but said nothing. He escorted me to the bedroom I had been occupying, his lined and weathered face wearing a glower that warned me not to challenge him. With a shove, he sent me inside before closing and locking the door.

      Rooted in place, I listened to his footsteps recede. My breath came fast and short, swirling about me in the stagnant room, and I resisted an urge to hammer on that door and break it down. I wanted Shea’s father to know I was a fighter, and not anyone’s prisoner. The irony was that my own actions had made me a captive—this morning, the lock had not been in use. Dragging my feet, I paced, ignoring the ache in my back and the hunger СКАЧАТЬ