But the fleeting images are gone, and with them exhaustion follows in their wake. I must stay focused on my task. The echoes of a thousand queens exist in this dark void and I cannot allow myself to get lost among them.
Magically, I tap into the great roots that prop up Midscape. I feel the same cries from across the land. But they are less hungry and demanding this time.
They know I’ve returned, I realize. The plants, animals—life itself on Midscape knows the queen has returned to attend them. They are not screaming into the void of a seemingly endless winter, but making their needs known so that summer can break over a world still waking.
Fine, I relent. Take what you need.
As soon as permission is given, I feel the tendrils worm underneath my flesh. They dig into me with an inevitable violence. I grit my teeth against the pain. It’s numbed as the world begins to drain the magic within me from my marrow.
Enough, I try and demand. That’s enough.
But Midscape does not listen. This unnatural world is needy, and hungry. More, more, more, it seems to say. Everything is out of balance and it doesn’t know when to stop.
Enough!
The vines tighten around me. I can’t get a word out. They writhe within me. They will tear me apart in this dark and lonely place.
All at once, the invisible tendrils release themselves. My lungs are my own. My mind is free and exists only within my own head.
I’m pressed against something solid and warm. Two roots still cling to me but—no, they’re not roots. They’re arms. I blink up in the dim light of the throne room.
Eldas is all I see.
He cradles my shaking form against him; his embrace is the only thing keeping my bones from rattling apart. I want to thank him, but I’m too exhausted. Talking is hard. Thinking is hard.
“You did well,” he murmurs. My head rests against his shoulder by the crook of his neck.
“Was it enough?” I rasp.
“It was enough. You are more than enough.”
I hope so. My eyes flutter closed. It feels like enough. This once-cold world is now warm. In the back of my mind, I realize I know this sensation. I’ve felt it once before.
He held me like this when he hardly knew me after the first time I sat on the throne. The vague thoughts slip between my fingers, as much of a victim to the overwhelming darkness as I am.
I wake in my bed several hours later.
Dawn has broken, painting the room with a watercolor brush of periwinkle and honeysuckle hues. I feel as though I’ve run a marathon. Not that I’ve ever done such a thing in my life before. But I watched my classmates do it in Lanton and it looked exhausting.
As I push myself off the bed, a chorus of popping and snapping in my bones wakes Hook. He whines and eagerly jumps up to my face. Wet nose, hot tongue, and warm breath is my greeting party back to reality.
“It’s good to see you too,” I say softly, running my fingers through his dark fur. “Sorry for worrying you.”
Once Hook has been reassured that I’m not dead—despite how my body tries to claim otherwise—I swing my legs off the bed and make an attempt at standing. I ache, and just walking to the bathroom has me winded. It’s not as bad as the first time but I still can’t imagine doing this regularly. I already have to suffer each month because of my womanly body. I wouldn’t like to suffer each month, or more, because of my magic.
A soft sigh disrupts the quiet and I pause, looking toward my bedroom door. There’s shifting in the main room. Hook’s ears twitch, but he’s already settled back at the foot of the bed, only raising his head when he realizes I’m not coming back. I bat away the idea of some thief or fae assassin rummaging through my things. If Hook doesn’t deem the sound a threat, or even worth investigating, then I won’t be worried.
Soundlessly, I slip into the main room. There, on my richly upholstered settee, is a cramped-looking Eldas. His long legs are tucked against one end, knees hanging over the edge. A thin blanket I found in the back of my closet and had out as a complement to the lush velvet of the furniture is draped over him. It’s comically small, almost like the lanky man is using a napkin to keep warm.
Padding on light feet, I sneak back into the bedroom.
“Move, Hook,” I whisper and yank at the duvet folded at the foot of the bed. I haven’t needed it for warmth since Hook took up residence with me. “Move.”
He whines and relents.
I drag the blanket back to the main room. The fabric whispers over the carpet and Eldas stirs, muttering in his sleep. Gravity threatens to pull the duvet from my tired fingers, but I hold fast, waiting for him to settle once more. Carefully, I situate the blanket over him.
Eldas shifts slightly, but doesn’t wake. His eyes don’t open until a good hour later. I’m leaning back in my desk chair, journal in my lap, feet propped up against the desk as I stare intently, deep in thought. There’s something on the edge of my mind. Something I remember reading that connects with…