Page 57 of The Crown of the Last Fae Queen
“Yes. Or if they’re in distress. Any strong emotion, really.” She lifted her shoulders. “The more emotionally connected you are to one another, the more you can feel through the bond.” It seemed like she didn’t want to talk any further, because she pulled open the door to Kolfinna’s room and motioned her inside. “I’ll let you know when it’s time for lunch.”
“Thank you.”
It wasn’t until Kolfinna was inside that her exhaustion truly hit her and she stared longingly at her bed. She had dozens of questions swirling in the back of her mind, but she needed to shower first, then take a nap—both of which sounded heavenly at the moment. Later, she’d have to think of a plan, and how all this new information could be used to her advantage.
17
SEVENTEEN – KOLFINNA
That evening,Kolfinna waited for Blár, but he didn’t show up. Then she was dragged into the dining hall to have dinner with Vidar, which ended up being awkward, since neither of them spoke the entire time. She was supposed to gather information on him, but she found it hard to say anything—not with the memory of his grief-stricken expression and the longing in his eyes as he stared at the painting of his wife burned in her mind. When she was back in her room for the night, she remained bundled in her blanket, lying sideways and staring at the window intently.
Finally, when her eyes grew heavy and the night deepened, she heard the sound of someone vaulting through her window and landing on the floor. A grin spread on her face and she propped herself on her elbow.
“What took you so long?” she whispered, making out Blár’s outline against the window. She pushed the blankets off her body and swung her legs around. Her feet had just touched the ice-cold stone floor when a crackle of electricity sounded in the room and blue-white light shot at her.
Instinctively, she lurched to the side, rolling on the floor. The spot above her bed was scorched, her bedding bursting intoflames from the wayward electric sparks. The realization struck her instantly.
This wasn’t Blár.
She called her mana forth, but the stones didn’t move, the earth didn’t shift, and her shadows didn’t rise from within her. A cold, dark feeling stirred in her chest as she dove to the side from another electric attack. The runes in the room kept her from using magic. She would have to fight with her bare hands—a thought that sent razors down her spine, because close combat without her powers was her weakness.
“Who are you?” she gritted out, eyes darting from the man to the rest of the room. She didn’t spot anything that she could use as a weapon.
He didn’t answer, only circled her, electricity sparking on his fingertips. He was shorter than Blár, which should have been her first indication that it wasn’t him, but her giddy excitement had clouded her judgement. She scanned his face—dark eyes, mop of blonde hair, mid-thirties—for any familiarity, but he was a stranger.
The man shot electricity at her in quick succession, his hands moving in a blur as white-blue magic burst from him. Kolfinna ran to the side of the room, ducking and rolling. Pain exploded on her leg and she bit back a cry, skidding over the floor as adrenaline rushed through her veins. The smell of her burning flesh stung her nostrils. Another burst of electricity struck the space beside her head, and she rolled on the floor with trembling legs.
He lunged at her, his hands swarming with bright light, and Kolfinna wrapped her hands around a metal candelabra sitting on one of the nightstands and swung it at his face. He fell to the side, clutching his cheek as blood rushed from his nose. She smacked it into him again, the metal bending with impact.
She raised her arms to attack him again, when someone crashed into her. She fell to the floor in a heap as a blade jammed into her stomach. The impact made her gasp, a hot, piercing pain overriding all of her senses.
He’d stabbed her.
Her eyes widened at the sight of the new intruder. This one had dark hair and even darker eyes, his lips twisted into a hateful sneer. She didn’t recognize him, but she recognized the hatred that burned in his eyes. A hunter? Or maybe someone who knew who she was and what she meant to the fae. She had been so intent on beating the first assailant that she hadn’t even noticed when two more had snuck inside. The other assailant was checking on the one she had attacked.
Warmth bloomed in her stomach and the man pulled back to stab her again. She tried pushing him off her, but all her hands did was leave sticky, bloodied streaks across his chest. The blade sank into her belly again, and a bloodcurdling, guttural scream ripped from her throat as she tried to fend him off.
Was this how she was going to die?
Magicless and powerless? At the hands of strangers who hated her?
She pushed him back with quivering, weak arms. She could feel the blood rushing from her wounds, and with it, her body heat. She was growing colder by the second.
The man pulled back to strike her again, but the door to the room flew open and a ball of fire surged in the room like an inferno. He scrambled off her in a split second, raising his hands to form an icy shield, but the fire struck his shoulder before he could finish.
“Kolfinna!” Yrsa ran in the room, fire glowing from her hands.
She struggled up to her knees as the three men attacked Yrsa with a barrage of magic—ice, electricity, and fire. Kolfinna’sattention was drawn to the door and she clamped down on her wounds with her hands, her fingers immediately becoming drenched in bright red.
Why wasn’t she healing?
Was it the runes in the tower that were holding her healing powers back?
“Kolfinna, run!” Yrsa shouted above the crackle of electricity and the roar of fire.
The room quickly became engulfed in flames, ice, electricity, and smoke. Her feet slipped on the frost-touched floors, her surroundings spinning. The adrenaline was keeping the pain at bay, she was sure, but it couldn’t stop the tremors running through her body, nor the cold, cold feeling stretching deep within her, dragging clawed, skeletal fingers across her soul. She had been on death’s doorstep several times before, but never like this. Never this powerless.
She lurched through the threshold of the door and willed her legs to move faster. Her hands left bloodied prints along the railing of the stairs. She was moving painfully slowly, the walls distorting, her breathing labored and her body nearly collapsing.
