“He’s alive!” The Mist King’s shout tore through the mists.
I whirled toward his booming voice. He curled over his friend, clasping his raised hand. With a gasp, I rushed toward them, Niamh and Alastair by my side. When we reached them, I noted Toryn’s pained eyes, his grimace, the hiss between his clenched teeth. Smoke still curled off his body.
“Toryn.” Niamh fell to the ground beside him and began to weep while Alastair jammed his fist into his mouth, pacing beside the group. The Mist King’s body shuddered. He leaned down and whispered words to Toryn, words I couldn’t hear.
I pressed my lips together, emotion blasting me like a sudden gust of wind. He was badly hurt. His wounds still gushed blood, and his skin looked like pieces had been burned away. But he was alive.
The fae clustered together, a circle of love and unbreakable bonds. I almost felt as if I should leave them alone to process all this. So, I drifted back over to the horses and rubbed Midnight’s snout. He nickered in answer.
After a moment, Niamh drifted over to me, wiping the tears from her face. Alastair followed. He had a dark look in his eye, one I understood all too well. The storm fae had launched an attack on their kingdom. They’d almost killed their dearest friend. The perpetrators were dead, but that wouldn’t be enough. The storm fae queen had likely sent them here. The Kingdom of Shadow would want to retaliate.
“We need to take Toryn back home,” she said as she motioned for me to join them where Toryn had slumped back onto the ground. “He’s going to be all right, but he has a long road ahead of him. Those are magical wounds. It’s going to take time. There is no way he can continue on like this, and he certainly can’t travel home by himself. We need to go with him.”
My heart ached. “Of course.”
“What about the…you know?” Alastair inclined his head toward me. The mission. The vow. Finding my family so that I could kill Oberon. To them, that likely mattered very little now. They had far greater things to worry about. Their friend was half-dead, and a war was brewing. It would not be long before the storm fae tried something else.
“Tessa and I will continue on to Itchen,” the Mist King suddenly announced, his voice raw and hollow andwrong. “You two will return to the castle with Toryn, and I’ll keep in touch with the communication stones. Alastair, you take charge while I’m gone. I trust you more than anyone else.”
My breath stilled. I could hardly believe his words. “Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”
“Don’t argue with me, Tessa. I made a vow.” He remained hunched over Toryn, clutching his sleeping friend’s hand.
Alastair and Niamh exchanged a dark look before helping the Mist King lift Toryn onto the back of one of the horses. He cracked his eyes open for a moment, took the reins, and then slumped forward, wincing in pain. The Mist King murmured to his friend, his whispered words snatched away by the wind.
Then, he turned to his raven. “Go with them. Make sure they stay safe.”
The bird cawed.
Niamh walked back over to me. I hugged my arms to my chest, unsure what to do now. I didn’t want them to leave me with him, but I couldn’t say that out loud. Not when they had to return their wounded friend home. It would be wrong of me to do anything but stand aside and let them go.
She gave me a strained smiled. “You be careful now, Tessa. And keep an eye on him.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s the one who’s supposed to keep an eye on me.”
She nodded, but then dropped her voice to a whisper. “Do me a favor, eh? For the next few days, could you just drop the Mist King thing? Use Kalen. All right?”
I heaved a sigh. There’d been something so satisfying about the clench of his jaw every time I’d called him by that name. He hated it with a ferocity that made me smile. But I saw where Niamh was coming from. He’d almost lost someone important to him. Maybe, just for a few days, I could soften my jabs.
I nodded.
Alastair handed me another chunk of bread and gave my cheek a pinch. “We’ll see you soon, little dove. Be on the lookout for snakes, eh?”
“I’ll do my best.”
And then they were gone, riding off into the mists, Boudica following close behind. Their king watched them go, rage and pain burning in his eyes. My heart pounded out a frantic beat. This was exactly what I’d worried would happen. It was just me and him now, alone in the darkness.
Twenty-Five
Tessa
We rode silently for hours. The Mist King—Kalen—didn’t utter a single word, nor did he complain when I asked to stop for a break after my butt began to ache. In the endless expanse of the mists, I watched him as I took a drink from the canteen. He remained on the horse, his hardened gaze focused on something in the distance. I drank in his clenched jaw and the tension in his broad shoulders. Hard and unyielding. But I knew how he felt. Inside, he stood on the precipice of a towering cliff. One wrong step, and he would fall.
And that fall would break him.
After resting for a few moments, I climbed back up on the horse, sandwiched between the reins and his warm chest. His arms wrapped around me, bringing with them the scent of his mist and snow. Without a word, we were off again, charging through the shadows. The world passed by us, though it was impossible to see anything other than vague shapes in the mists.
Several more hours crept by. My eyelids grew heavy, and I found my chin lolling onto my chest several times, my body starting when I drifted to sleep.