Page 120 of A Song of Air
Once the pressure of iron subsided, though it was still heavy on her bones, Bryson glanced around the room. A new pressure invaded the air, this one infused with magic. It was potent, charging a static through the air that made the hairs all over her exposed body rise.
“We have an array of relics with incredible power holstered here. Rings of iron that can glamor you into anything you wish. Weapons disguised as jewelry. Swords that can shrink to the size of a quill. Mirrors that can portal you anywhere you desire.”
Bryson followed down an aisle with gold and mountains of objects clustered on all sides of her. As she passed them, her skin tingled. She didn’t even want to begin to know what more each of these objects did.
“My goblins will fabricate something for you as well.” The queen stopped mid stride and turned to face Bryson.
“For me?”
“For your sight. All they would need is measurements. Kneel.”
The command in the last word was obvious, and Bryson was still reluctant and slow to do so. She turned to Weylyn, but couldn’t see his face at all clearly to gauge what he thought or what she should do. Was this an infamous Unseelie exchange? Would the queen demand something of her for this?
Bryson warred with herself as she slowly dropped to her knees. Then, bodies crowded around her. Little goblins grasping her face with their rough hands and twisting her head unkindly from side to side. Claws scraped near her eyes, over the marks of her scars, then pulled her eyelids open forcefully. A face appeared so close, she could make out the wrinkled details of rough, leathery skin.
“Iron poisoning,” the goblin muttered. “Iron wounds. Scars. Sightless Fae.”
Bryson huffed a breath at the clinical, rough words.
“Can she be fixed?” the queen demanded.
Bryson wanted to bristle at the callous way the queen said that. As if Bryson were broken.
“Yes,” the goblin answered with confidence. “Easily, Your Majesty.”
“Very good. We cannot have the prince’s mate weakening our bloodline, can we?”
Weylyn huffed out a breath, the sound both exasperated and amused. “It is too late to worry about weak bloodlines now, do you not think so, mother?”
The goblin stepped away from Bryson and she immediately pushed herself to a stand. The energy in the air changed then, becoming more aggressive than the iron clogging around them.
“That tongue will be the death of you,” the queen snarled.
“Really?” Weylyn mused. He injected as much humor as he possibly could into the word, and Bryson felt a sliver of fear slide down her back at the tone. She wanted to reach for him, to warn him.
Losing her sight had made Bryson perceptible to so much more than she’d ever been. To things others weren’t privy to. Like threats. Perhaps the shock of landing in Unseelie had crippled her to that part of her senses at first and nearly landed her within the mouth of a ghoul. But she knew the queen was a threat. The ultimate predator.
And Weylyn was playing with fire.
She had the urge to slap him, if only so he would shut up. He had been adamant she not say a word, but it was obvious he was trying to antagonize his mother.
“I thought you would be the death of me.”
“Yes,” the queen crooned. “Continue to provoke me and I will be. Now that her measurements have been taken, it is time to head to the feast.” Bryson felt the queen’s smile like a snake ready to strike. “The court is very excited for your return.”
And by Mana, those words felt more like a threat than anything else Bryson had ever heard. The fear was immediate, but the queen didn’t give them a single moment to contemplate it before they were whisked away into darkness once again. A moment later, they appeared within the center of what felt like wild lands.
