Page 57 of The Lost Fae
"You've never told me about your visions. I know you've said that you had them before... that you saw me as the Mortal Queen."
"I don't have them often." He shrugs one shoulder. "I have the ability, it's just not as strong as Lylix or Zeves. I can't will myself to see into anyone's past or future on command. It's one of my powers I don't really have any control over. I'm not sure that I'd want to, either. You've seen how seers can be put to work, practically enslaved."
Lincoln had been practically enslaved. No. For him it was very literal. Cordelia had been his master and he'd been traded to her like a piece of livestock. It's disgusting.
"I see," I say.
Lincoln runs a hand up and over the branches that glow with writing. I peer into the blurring middle where we'll step through worlds, wondering where we'll end up when we land on the other side. He drops his hand back to his side.
"It's the Lost Court alright. There are a lot of warnings written all over this."
I'd hope so.
"Ready?" he asks. Then, as if to quell the creeping anxiety in the back of my head, he adds "I'm sure Violet will come through for us. We'll meet her in The Shadow Court."
I nod and clasp his hand back tightly into mine. I'm dressed more sensibly this time. No heels or glittering gown, so when we cross the threshold of our world and theirs, it will be easier to catch myself. My toes sink into cold, wet sand. The sound of the ocean, the one I'd started to become too intimately familiar with, roars behind us. Waves crash into the shore. The same waves that we'd drowned on salt water in together. The thought chases a shiver over the back of my neck.
With our first glance, we're both aware that this isn't the same beach Captain Beatrice landed us on. Nothing here looks or feels familiar. Not that we'd spent a whole lot of time exploring. We could very well just be a way down the opposite end we originally walked out on… Or on the opposite end of the continent.
I look to Lincoln, his gaze calm. "Where do we go now? To Anastasia?" The moment it leaves my lips, I feel foolish for suggesting we visit the queen. There is very little doubt in my mind that if we asked, she would give us a firm 'hell no' to assisting our cause. In fact, she might even try to kill us on spot. We'd been able to escape her once, it's foolish to think we could be that lucky a second time. How she remains in power here... there has to be something more to that.
"I'm willing to bet this is the same island." He starts trudging through the wet sand and up the beach towards the waiting woods. "We're just... on a different part of it."
How far are we from Barnabus's camp? Can we be sure they are even still there? If time passes as we think it does... it has been about two weeks since they'd last seen us. Only hours for us, and their angry faces are still prominent in my memory. We can only hope that the one that had fallen ill is still alive and as bad as it sounds... that we can use it as an advantage to sway them to our side.
There are no footprints on the beach. Nor any other signs that this part of the island is inhabited. I guess that doesn't mean much, but it has to mean something. Even when we start making our way through the dense tropical forests with their towering trees and climbing vines, nothing appears to have been disturbed by life other than small animals. Nothing remotely human sized has wandered in these parts.
So we walk, heading in no particular direction at all.
* * *
Hours of the day had come and gone. Lincoln and I no longer carry on any conversation. We've both grown too tense to speak. Mile after mile we still find no signs of life. At some point, my skin begins to crawl with the feeling that somewhere out there, eyes were following me. It almost takes me back to the eerie feelings from my dreams of The Shadow Court.
Someone was always watching then. Someone is watching now. I'm almost certain of it. Lincoln has an inkling, that much I'm gathering from his thoughts and the way he wearily keeps spinning to look in every direction. Sometimes when the wind blows, I swear I can hear it carry someone's snicker with it. Sometimes that, or the slightest breath. But it's gone as soon as it comes and I'm certain I'm imagining it.
Dark clouds fill the sky, hiding the sun behind them as they lazily crawl by. I expect rain soon. Possibly a storm too. The air fills with the scent of mud and grass.
A spike of air soars by my face, tossing my hair against my cheek. I gasp, my eyes trying to follow the motion of whatever had gone right by me. "Lincoln!" I blurt.
He's already in motion, his arm reaching for me. Another burst of wind shoots by us. This one lands. Lincoln's fingers barely brush my arm before he pulls away. A small prick of what looks like a twig sticks out from his neck. His eyes go wide. My stomach churns with shock and fear sends my pulse racing.
Then his eyelids flutter. And he falls to the ground.
"No!" I yell turning away to find the source of whatever had knocked Lincoln out. Another whistle of wind, pain blooms in my arm and I look down to find another sort of twig sticking out of my arm. It plants the seeds of numbness that spread from my arm to my chest, and on to my brain.
The fog sets in.
Voices surround me. Some taunting, some cautious in their tone. I know they’re speaking. To me? To someone else? What is that they are saying?
My body sways, gravity pulling me at my waist. Pressure digs into my ankles. Pressure digs under my arms. I become aware my eyes have drifted closed. I want to open my eyes. I try to squirm away from the force of my weight on both of those parts. It’s as if... It's as if I'm hanging, dangling between two things.
I should fight. I should put up some sort of a struggle against whatever is holding me so tightly. Or... or I could go to sleep.... sleep sounds so inviting.
Just for fun, I shift. The voices around me go quiet before they pick back up again. I shift again. Silence. Where am I? That is the question.Where the fuck am I?
Memories come back at me in a flash of confusion. Lincoln's face smiling. Lincoln's rough hands reaching for me. Storm clouds gathering in the sky and whispered voices carried on the wind. A pointed twig sticking out of Lincoln's neck. My arm.
No. Not a twig. A dart with poison or something of that nature. A sedative or a tranquilizer. I'm certain.
