The Mist King’s eyes zeroed in on my face, as if he’d spotted my shifting mood. Toryn kept asking what had happened to me, and he wanted me to tell his king, too. Even Niamh had seemed interested. I understood why. They knew of Oberon’s cruelty. But the wound was too fresh, too close to me. I couldn’t talk about it or I’d lose the will to fight. Besides, I couldn’t share it with any of them. Even if they were working against King Oberon, they were still my enemies.
“Oberon needs to die.” He pulled a dagger out of thin air and angled it toward me. Instinctively, I flinched. The Mist King frowned. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not going to stab you with it. This is a dream, remember.”
“I don’t know the extent of your powers.” I folded my arms and nodded at the dagger. “But I’m guessing that’s intended for King Oberon?”
Hatred churned in his eyes. “Oh yes. And you will be the one who makes the killing blow.”
“Ah.” The memory punched me in the soul once more. I fought to hold back my tears. I couldn’t cry in front of him. “Your plan won’t work. I already tried to kill him once, and I failed, and I can’t do it again because…because…”
No. I couldn’t say it. Not out loud.
“You tried to kill Oberon?” He sounded surprised.
My eyes searched the forest for something to focus on. Something that could ground me. I swept my gaze beyond the tree where the Mist King had been sitting and found a rabbit bouncing along the mossy ground beside some fallen apples, its whiskers twitching. But all that did was remind me even more of Nellie.
“I know you fae think of us mortals as weak and spineless, but…it doesn’t even matter. It didn’t work.” Turning away from the rabbit, I got caught in the Mist King’s stare. He’d stepped closer when I hadn’t been looking, so close that I could smell the frosty scent of him. Those piercing eyes bored through me, searching for answers I would never give. He could sense my pain, like the predator he was. And he wanted to use it. So that he could get what he wanted.
Never mind that it was what I wanted, too.
I just couldn’t do what he asked. Driving another blade into King Oberon’s heart would only end in more innocents’ deaths. It wouldn’t work.
“What kind of blade did you use?” he asked quietly. “Was it the little wooden thing you stabbed me with when I found you?”
“When you captured me, you mean.”
Irritation flashed in his eyes. “Could you just stop arguing with me for one moment?”
“What are you going to do?” I snapped. “Burn me to death if I don’t,Mist King?”
“For the love of the moon!” He threw up his hands and stalked away from me, vanishing into the forest. Heart hammering, I sat hard on the tree he’d vacated, hands splayed across the rough wood. My sister’s tangled hair flashed in the back of my mind. Her bruised cheeks. The blood that had dripped onto the floor.
Shuddering, I squeezed my eyes shut, but that did nothing to block out of the vision of her head rolling toward me…the echo of her laughter…the softness of her once-brilliant smile.
Shaking, I balanced on the branch and pulled my knees to my chest. I couldn’t do this. Any of it. I’d shut down when King Oberon killed my sister. It was the only way I could survive, by making myself numb to the pain. Morgan’s determination to break me free had brought me back to life, momentarily, but I’d had enough.
The numbness called to me.
“Mother,” I whispered, pressing my tear-streaked face against my legs. “Val.”
No matter how much I wanted to give up, I couldn’t. They still needed me. As long as they did, I couldn’t break again.
The scent of mist washed over me. “What did he do to you?”
I didn’t look up. “It doesn’t matter. Why do you think that blade will work when mine wouldn’t? I got him in the heart. A little bit, anyway. He was too fast for it to go in very far.”
“I’m sure you’ll take this the wrong way.” The branch swayed as he leaned his weight against it. “But the truth is, mortals aren’t strong enough to kill powerful elite fae. Like kings, for example. You would have had to chop off his head with a massive axe.”
After pressing my face against my trousers to dry my tears, I finally looked up at where he leaned, arms crossed, only inches away. His eyes drank me in, but he said nothing about the streaked stains on my cheeks I’d failed to hide.
“Why do you think your dagger will make any difference?”
“This?” He held it up, his lips curving. “It’s called the Mortal Blade, forged in the Iron Mountains. Use it against a fae, even a king, and he will die. All you’d have to do is scrape him. And, more importantly, only mortals can wield it. If a fae tried to use it, the power of the blade would turn against him and destroy him.”
Lips parting, I gazed at the weapon. It was fairly nondescript for such a powerful dagger. It had an ordinary steel hilt without any ornamentation, and the blade itself was flat and plain. The single orange gemstone in the center was the only thing that stood out.
“That’s one of King Oberon’s gemstones,” I said.
“That’s right,” he said. “The blade sucks out the magic of the gemstone to power it. The gemstone is powerless once it’s used. Of course, you can replace it, but you’d need extra gemstones for that. Not ideal for a warrior on the battlefield but perfect for an assassin.”