The Damned - Renee Ahdieh Page 0,96
palm trees. The sand before them soon gave way to moss, which muffled their footsteps and brought the sounds of the burgeoning forest to life. Notes of fresh-tilled earth mixed with the citrus and metal in the air.
A member of the grey-cloaked warriors turned to ensure their progress, the tip of his alabaster spear brushing against a low-hanging branch. The leaves rustled, the sound crisp and clear. High above, the drone of winged insects hummed in Celine’s ears. When one of the creatures flew lower, Celine gasped. It was larger than her head, its wings like hammered silver, its eyes iridescent green. Startled by the wasplike thing, Celine’s foot slid in a pile of loam, the hem of her salmon-colored skirts kicking up pearlescent dust.
They arrived before a curtain of shimmering vines, which parted as the leader of the grey-cloaked warriors drew near. While they made their way through a long tunnel of curling leaves, Celine glanced to either side and saw branches ripple and pulse as if they were part of a beating heart. Once, she could swear she saw a satyr caught in their embrace, a muffled scream on its lips. But before she could blink, the image was swallowed once more by the burrow of shifting vines.
Celine coughed to ward away a fresh wave of panic. She could not seem to clear the sudden tightness from her throat. The feeling intensified with each step. She attempted to take a deep breath. Failed. Terror took hold of her heart when she realized she was struggling for air.
Bastien reached for her from behind, his fingers closing on her forearm. For a moment, Celine resisted the urge to lean back against him, her chest rising and falling at a rapid pace.
Arjun stepped closer. “She can’t breathe.” He yelled for the grey-cloaked leader.
“What are you doing to her?” Bastien demanded in a low voice, his tone resonating with menace.
“The feeling shall pass soon,” the leader of the fey warriors said. “The air here is much thinner than it is in the mortal realm. It will improve once we emerge in Lady Silla’s court. Not to worry; this is simply a deterrent. If an unwanted mortal wished to sneak into the court of the Vale, such a thing would stop them from crossing our borders.”
Celine almost choked. It appeared the summer fey were rather inhospitable.
A minute later, the sensation began to fade. Once they reached the end of the tunnel, Arjun bent toward her ear as if he wished to tell her a secret. He said nothing. He placed one hand on Bastien’s shoulder and the other on Celine’s. Though the wordless exchange lasted no more than the blink of an eye, Celine understood his warning.
They were treading into a world of danger. The world of Celine’s mother.
They could not afford to be separated.
As they emerged from the tunnel of leaves, the blaring white sun sliced down on Celine’s skin. Beside her, Bastien recoiled on instinct, his left hand—the one with the gold signet ring—clenched tightly.
The grove of trees before them formed an immense circle, the branches above like a bower of knitted leaves, creating a vaulted canopy a hundred feet high. It reminded Celine of a cathedral, both in appearance and in feeling. Colorful songbirds flitted to and fro. A narrow carpet of emerald clovers paved the path, leading to a throne made of bleached birch wood. A sunburst rested in its center, carved from a block of solid gold.
Celine’s steps faltered when the slender woman seated upon the throne stood in a lithe motion. Even from a distance, Celine felt her immense power. She reached for Bastien’s hand. He threaded his fingers through hers.
A soft murmur began to ripple through the gathered crowd. Celine glanced about, uncertainty tripping in her chest. Everywhere she looked, she was confronted by sights that challenged her sense of reason. Tall, willowy figures dressed in gossamer silk, with sashes of hammered gold and hair in an array of colorful hues flowing down their backs. Pointed ears. Cold affects. Cutting cheekbones. Bejeweled fingers and immense goblets. Occasionally she noticed creatures with horns or green skin or transparent wings.
When one of the horned creatures growled at Bastien, its fangs bared in warning, Bastien loosened his grip on Celine’s hand. She realized then that most of this courtly assemblage disliked the sight of her linked with the tall blood drinker at her side.
For that reason alone, Celine tightened her grip on Bastien’s fingers. Lifted her chin.
The slim figure