Spirit of the Fae (Dragon's Gift The Dark Fae #4) - Linsey Hall Page 0,11

asked.

“No.” She shook her head. “If you die during the challenges, you’re gone. Forever.”

Shit. The king and queen hadn’t mentioned that. Why the hell hadn’t they mentioned that?

Maybe because they wanted to use us for something. I’d caught that snippet of their conversation, but hadn’t heard enough to figure out their end goal.

She gestured all around. “And this place is quite nice. You might as well stay here, where you are assured some kind of life. It’s what we all chose.”

I looked around, trying to see this palace the way she saw it. All I saw was a prison. True, it was beautiful, in the way that all Fae palaces were. But there were guards at every hallway intersection, and the king and queen seemed to keep a very tight rein on the place.

“We have something worth fighting for back on earth.” Understatement of the century.

She smiled, and it was almost sad. “Don’t we all. But I suggest you make your peace with being here, as you would not survive the upcoming challenges.”

“We won’t be changing our mind,” Tarron said.

She turned a corner and led us up a wide, winding staircase. “You don’t mind being separated when only one of you wins?”

That had been the condition of the challenges, but I was going to find a way around that. “We aren’t concerned about that.”

It was a lie, but better than saying I planned to break the rules.

She shot me a suspicious glance over her shoulder. “Only one may leave at a time. This place has never allowed two. The magic required to put you back on earth is too great.”

“You know a lot about this place,” Tarron said.

“Of course I do. I’ve been here for three hundred years. And we all know a lot about this place—and the challenges. Everyone wants to try to get back to earth when they first arrive here. Then they hear about the challenges, and they change their minds. Quickly, too, I assure you.”

This Fae seemed like she knew her stuff—a good ally to have.

I stuck out my hand. “I am Mordaca.”

She considered it briefly, then shook it, all without stopping her purposeful stride down the hall. “I am Erala.”

Tarron held out his hand. “Tarron.”

They shook, then she led us up a wide spiral staircase. She stopped in front of a huge door that sat at the top of the stairs several stories up. “You will be spending the night in the west tower.”

Carefully, she withdrew a key from a silver pouch at her side and inserted it into the massive golden lock. It snicked open, and she pushed at the heavy door, grunting slightly.

“These are our chambers?” I raised a brow.

“Looks more like a cell,” Tarron said.

“It’s both.” Erala smiled. “It is far from a prison, but you cannot be allowed to wander unsupervised after hours. You don’t know this place, and you’re still angry about being here. You are a risk.”

Well, she was right about that.

I followed her into the tower room, shivering at the prickle of the protection charm that sparked against my skin.

“Damn, that’s strong,” I muttered.

“Nearly unbreakable,” Tarron murmured.

“Nearly.” I smiled. Nothing could keep me in.

Then the charm sparked more strongly, burning harshly against my skin. I yelped.

Holy fates, maybe this could keep me in. I glanced at Tarron, whose jaw was clenched tightly.

He gave a slight grimace, his eyes dark. “I may have to retract that nearly.”

This place had some serious prison magic going on.

“If the door is not unlocked by one of the approved Fae, the charm will burn you alive,” Erala said.

I gave her a weak smile, my mind spinning with ways to get around that.

The chamber that we’d entered was unexpectedly gorgeous. There were no windows, which made my skin crawl with the slightest bit of claustrophobia, but the furnishings were rich and opulent, with velvet coverings in deep jewel tones. A deep copper bathtub sat at one end, right in front of a crackling fire, with a table full of food on the other side.

“This is quite the gilded cage,” I said.

“For royalty.” Erala smiled. “As I said, don’t try to leave. You won’t survive the attempt.”

Great. “Sure thing.”

She turned and left, stopping at the door to look back over her shoulder. “Please, reconsider facing the challenges. No one has ever survived—not in thousands of years.” Her gaze flicked to the wounds on our bodies. “And you’ve already been wounded by Ankou’s minions. You’re weakened.”

“Ankou?” Tarron asked.

She nodded. “The Celtic embodiment of death. He lurks