held by one of the mushrooms. With his hands. Because mushrooms totally had appendages. And eyes. And sharpshooter aim.
I’m losing my mind.
I plopped down onto my butt. “None of this makes sense.”
Raven knelt beside me. “Faerie is sensation.” He gripped my shoulder when I listed to one side. “Imagine a stamp and an ink pad. Faerie is the ink pad. Fae are the stamp. When you press the stamp into the ink, you saturate that being with magic. As you press the stamp to paper, each imprint, every new world or new creature, becomes more faded. Every pass holds less ink, less magic. Humans and the mortal realm are the third or fourth impression. There was little magic left by that point. For that reason, few humans have magic and their world—colors, tastes, sounds—are bland by comparison.”
Third or fourth? Was he implying there were more realms than fae and mortal?
“Is this our savior?” a mocking voice carried on a fetid breeze.
Savior? Lifting my head required absolute concentration. “Who are you?”
Raven placed his hand on my shoulder. “Forgive her, Consul.”
The voice sounded closer. “Has she been educated?”
My hackles rose. “I’ve been trained by the best marshals at the Southwestern Conclave.”
Raven’s grip on me tightened. “She is worthy to bear Macsen’s legacy.”
I raked a measuring glance over him. How long had he observed me before making contact? A while if he had claimed three of the Morrigan’s tithes to sustain him before mine. And closely, since he threw his weight behind my endorsement.
The consul’s dismissive attitude grated on me, but I held my tongue. While in this realm, I was at their mercy. With my father missing, I had no one to trust. No one other than the High Court to appeal to, and the idea of conferring with them left me quaking in my sneakers.
“Escort her to the Halls of Winter.” A soft chuckle. “My counterpart and I await you there.”
Raven gave a curt nod to thin air. He stared at the spot in the trees where the voice had originated.
What kept me from drilling him for answers, I couldn’t say. Curious as I was, instinct warned me to keep silent.
“Come with me,” he whispered near my ear. “We will be safer in Winter. There are fewer eyes there.”
The Halls, where he, as a prince, lived. Every step brought me deeper into his world.
When he rose and offered me his hand, I didn’t hesitate. I took it, hoping this wasn’t the second biggest mistake I had ever made by extending him even this much trust when he had done nothing to earn it. The first being when I fell for his sneaky ploy and rode the elevator up to investigate his apartment.
The spot where we had landed caught my eye. Mom had been cast into this world, disoriented and alone, no one holding her or reassuring her. Macsen was her only ally in Faerie, and who knew where he had gone? For now the path of least resistance made the most tactical sense, so I did as Raven asked.
Thanks, Dad.
Nineteen years ago, I was the mess he left behind. Now here I was, cleaning up after him.
Chapter Seventeen
We kept to the lush forests, hidden among the vibrant foliage, skirting the twisted roads and avoiding the quaint towns that were welcome civilization amid the sprawling wilderness of the fae realm.
Foreign scents pummeled my nose until my sense of smell grew numb. I toddled after Raven as a drowsy child trailed after a parent, trusting him to guide me while I acclimated to this bizarre paint-by-numbers world.
Here plants sang. Birds sprouted flowers from their crests. Even trees met your gaze through lichen-encrusted lashes. My brain spluttered while absorbing it all.
“I would have prepared you better if I had known how strong your reaction would be.”
Tearing my gaze from the sight of a prim white mouse wearing a kilt and wedge-shaped hat with trailing ribbons, carrying a miniature set of highland bagpipes, I zeroed in on Raven.
Words from his mouth intoxicated me as if I had drunk them.
As my ears learned how to filter out the white noise of Faerie, the butterfly giggles and ambient music heavy in the air, I strained against the melodiousness of Raven’s voice above all the other enticements.
I tilted my head. “Do you sound how chocolate-covered strawberries taste because you’re a prince?”
Pale as his skin was, the pink rising in his cheeks gave him a rosy glow.
“No.” He glanced away. “I sound—”
“—edible—”
“—because you’re intoxicated.”
I blinked at him. “How is