“If you are not of my court, or of the Hunt, you better have a damn good explanation for being here,” she thundered. “Do not mistakemySummer Court for the”—she flashed teeth at Keenan—“moreimpotentone that you are used to seeing these last centuries.”
Keenan held her gaze but said nothing.
“Go,” she said. “I will not forgive this. I’m sick of everyone underestimating me. I’m not a child, not a mortal, not the ‘young queen.’ I’m your fucking equal, Keenan. Summer balanced Winter, and you forget yourself coming here as if you haverightsto speak to my guest. If you test me again, you won’t like the result.”
Then she stepped around him. Her guards and the Hounds parted for her with respect gleaming on their faces, and then they closed formation behind her.
ChapterThirty-Three
Urian
The cell where Urian was held was flooding. He’d wanted a drink after he’d been brought here, but now even the trough in his cell was under the floodwater. It was as if a desert monsoon had swept through the building, and the park outside he presumed, and lingered.
The muddy mess was up to his shins when he woke a few moments ago, and if it continued much longer, he would be forced to consider climbing—assuming he could do that with the chains. There were no guards. For the first time since he’d been here, he was completely alone.
“Hey! I’m in here!” Urian had yelled. “Assholes! I’m not amused right now.”
He looked around for ways to get free. The manacles were wrought of thorns and sunlight, and Urian ought to be able to work with that if he had as much affinity for summer as he believed. He wondered if the Summer Queen’s choice of restraint was simply a test.
He’d debated altering the manacles. The thorns were his concern. He could make sunlight obey him. It wasn’t as easy as shadow, but it was possible. He was not as capable with plants, and the thorns around Urian’s wrists were likely to spear his skin if he removed the sunlight. Would the thorns pierce him fatally? Right now, they were simply abrading his skin, but without the sunlight, would they be deadly?
Maybe. But drowning definitely would be . . .
Urian tested the malleability of the sunlight. It was responsive, sluggish but not silent. He weighed the possibility. The water wasn’t filling too fast so far, but it was not stopping. And whether it was drip by drip or a surge, it was still adding up.
Then he heard the unmistakable sound of a fight outside.
The water turned to an icy slush. There weren’t a lot of guesses as to what that meant: the Winter Court was here.
Urian didn’t know whether they were here helping Irial in an ill-fated rescue, or they were here to take him captive, or if it was unrelated to him entirely. But being caught between three courts seemed like a terrible idea.
He shivered, his legs growing numb under the ice water. He shoved his wrists under the water briefly, trying to slow the flow of blood in his veins so that he’d have time to pull the thorns from his skin before bleeding out.
When he heard the roared words of rage from what could only be the Summer Queen, he decided that he’d rather not be trapped no matter who came into the prison.
“Please let this work,” he whispered.
Then he drew the sunlight off the manacles into his skin, leaving only the several inch long thorns behind. The plants did not shrink or retract no matter what he willed.
He submerged his wrists again and then raised the thorny restraints to his mouth and began biting and spitting them out. He was tearing flesh from his wrists, and he let out several noises that were sounds he would never admit to making.
But bite by bite, icy water after icy water, he torn them free.
If he’d had another few moments, he’d be free entirely—but then the Summer Queen strode through the flood water. It melted in her path, leaving the room akin to a sauna. Steam rose and curled around her, making her look like a terrible vision of danger headed right toward him.
It took almost every ounce of courage not to step back. It took the last ounce to step toward her. He was only bound by one hand now, but not strong enough to fight her properly. He was losing blood, wavering on his feet from pain, but he let her gaze.
“Niece.”
The Summer Queen grabbed him, her hands burning like fire, scorching his skin. He missed the water.
Hell, he wished for ice.
Or to pass out.
“Not the softer regent at all, are you, Ashes?” Urian muttered.
She shoved sunlight toward him like a fist, and without thinking, he pulled shadows from the room and wrapped them around that burning ball of light.