Page 33 of The Crimson Throne
“If you had any real power, you could have—”
“What?” I practically scream at him. I resist the urge to look back at Samson; I don’t want to call my father’s attention to him, and I have faith my glamour silences this conversation from him. “What power could I wield? I’m not full fae. I can make glamours and shields, and I can sometimes convince nature to help me. But I can’t—”
“You can’t do any of it effectively.” My father’s voice is cold, and the louder I get, the quieter he speaks. It just serves to infuriate me even more.
“Then help me!” I scream. “I’m just one girl, and this task you’ve given me is impossible!”
My father swallows, hard, as if he’s forcing himself not to vomit. “A millennia of peace brought on by my family’s magic, and it’s all going toend with my half-human bastard. Weak.” He sighs, and I feel the weight of my ancestry upon me.
My father is a prince in the Seelie Court because his family built the wall and expelled the Red Caps. It was designed to be a protective force, and the Leths to be the guardians who maintained it were a symbol of unity between the fae and human realms.
My father sneers down at me. “Like I said. Pathetic.”
I feel power swirling in my hands. This isn’tfair.
But before I can say anything, do anything, I hear movement behind me. Samson. I whirl around in time to see him bent over my saddlebag, something thin in his hand.
“What’s this?” he asks.
I squint.
A needle.
No, that’s impossible—I sent that needle and the cauldron to the Seelie Court, where the fae leaders rule. How does he have it now?
“Don’t touch that!” I scream.
Too late.
For reasons I cannot fathom, Samson pokes the needle tip into the end of his finger, pressing the pad against the sharp point until a bright red drop of blood blossoms.
But the needle, of course, is not satiated with that.
“What—” Samson starts, his voice fearful as the needle absorbs the droplet…and continues to suck away at him. His finger turns into a shriveled stick, thinner than the twigs he brought for fire.
“Alyth?” Samson’s voice cracks. “Help…help me…”
Horror washes through me.
Because there is no way to help. Once a Red Cap weapon has been activated, as this was, there is simply nothing anyone can do.
Except watch.
“Why?” Samson chokes out as first one arm and then the next withers away. His knees give out, and his back hunches, spasming in pain. His muscles twist, and he shouts in agony.
“No, no.” I’m sobbing, begging, but no one can help me. Not now.
My father—
I spin, but he’s gone. I failed Samson, just as I failed my father, as I failed Scotland, the fae, Mary, everyone—
“Alyth?”
My eyes fly open, my heart lurching so violently that I’m left gasping for breath.
I see his eyes first—bright green and very much alive. Samson leans over me, his face full, his body well. Beyond him, the sky is starting to lighten.
It’s dawn.
