Page 22 of The Blood Queen

Just because we have to be somewhere doesn’t mean we will get what we need in return.

Silence creeps around us. It’s strange, to be surrounded by life—trees, flowers, vines, underbrush—but for there to be no sound. Nothing outside our own rustling footsteps and heavy breathing breaks the eerie stillness.

Samson still lingers behind me, so I slow my steps, reaching for his hand. I don’t want to lead us anywhere; I only want him to be beside me.

Every once in a while, we pass an area colder than the rest. A giant obsidian stone, frost creeping across the black. A frozen pond, the water shadowed and impenetrable. A tree hollowed out by fire, except the embers are frigid as ice.

“These are the portals that were forcibly closed,” I whisper, my voice ringing through the silence. “Every time the connection between Scotland and the fae realm is severed, it leaves a scar.” I suspect that if we were to go back to the fairy circle, the ground would be frozen and fully black now.

So many of the portals have been closed over the centuries as the fae moved farther and farther away from humanity. It’s a bit of a consolation now, knowing that there are no traceable portals remaining in the south, where the High Blade is.

But there are so many that do still remain. She knows it—she knew more would be in the Highlands. And she’ll find them and break through one eventually.

Don’t give up. I think about the spiders in the cave. An unbidden smile twitches at my lips, recalling Samson’s reaction to the wee things. But it felt like a sign too. That was Dunskellie Grotto, where Robert the Bruce hid from English soldiers centuries ago. I’d wager he felt defeated, crouched in that dank cave while Englishmen hunted him like the High Blade hunts us. He might have felt as hopeless as I do now, but he ended up king of Scotland, so there’s that.

Me, I’d just like to survive another day. At least the temperature here is milder than the harsh, cold December winds in Scotland, so I’m not shivering. But the cuts pull open with every step, my skin inflamed and red, painful to the touch.

Samson’s grip tightens on my hand. “Do you hear that?”

I pause.

Buzzing, like bees.

But not.

“The portals in the lowlands are closed, and that kills off some of the wildness in the fae realm, some of the life. We’ve made it to an area where there are portals, where the fae realm is linked to Scotland.”

“How far have we traveled?”

“No way of knowing,” I say. The fae realms have their own magic and don’t adhere to the strict ways humans measure things like distance. When we reemerge in Scotland, we might have traveled a county over or all the way to the Orkney Islands.

But when the mossy path curves around a tree, I suck in my breath. Because now?

Now I know exactly where we are and why the wisps brought us here.

“What is it?”

I haven’t said a word, but Samson can tell something’s wrong.

“I know this place.”

My hand slips from his as I take a few steps toward the trio of stones in the center of the path, huge boulders, two at the base, one atop them forming a small window in the center.

This is a portal back into Scotland.

A live one.

“Where are the guards?” I ask, looking around. “There should be a guard here, someone.” I didn’t expect anyone in the areas connected to the lowlands, but this is a live portal. Small and mostly forgotten, yes, but still important. My mouth tightens. This is exactly what the High Blade wants, lax security and forgotten portals, and—

“Alyth?” Samson asks tentatively.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts. “I’m just angry.”

“Really?” he asks. He pulls my attention, ducking down to meet my gaze. “Because you look sad.”

“Oh.” A soft sound escapes my lips. How can this man look past my mask so easily? I hadn’t even realized I was hiding behind my anger, but…

I know this portal.