The Faire (Harrow Faire #5) - Kathryn Ann Kingsley Page 0,16

because of what we’ve done. Cora’s fate is loathsome, but her sacrifice is less than what we have given back to the world in exchange.”

“I suppose.” Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “This just feels wrong.”

“I have sent thousands of men to their deaths in war. I have committed terrible sins, all in the name of protecting the innocent.” Turk reached out for Amanda’s hand. She took it and smiled tenderly at him. That gave him all the strength he needed. “And I will do it a hundred times over if it means I can stop this creature that cursed us. Remember what it’s done to you. To your mother.”

Jack nodded weakly. He glanced up at the tower. “Still feels wrong.”

“I understand. It is not to be ashamed of. It feels wrong to me, as well. But we do what we must. Come, Amanda…the sun’s about to rise. The others will be expecting the trial to begin.”

“What’re you going to tell them, then?” Jack shoved his hands inside his leather coat.

“The truth. That they conspired against me. That they wanted to pitch Harrow Faire into chaos.” Turk leaned down to kiss the top of the Aerialist’s head.

“And when they ask you why?”

“Why did Simon ever need a reason to cause problems?” Turk began to walk away, still holding Amanda’s hand. He would be forever grateful that Harrow Faire had brought her to him, even if he knew it was meant to be some manner of peace offering. He appreciated it all the same. “The Family may have come to adore Cora,” he called over his shoulder as he left Jack standing by the door to the tower. “But they will always hate Simon more.”

Cora was cycling in and out of consciousness. The darkness was preferable to the searing pain of the jagged metal teeth and claws that jutted up through her body. She could feel herself trying to heal. There was a weird, uncomfortable itching in her skin as her flesh tried to close around the foreign objects that had no business being inside her.

But she couldn’t heal. Not enough. She preferred the quiet places in her mind when the darkness took her to the agony of being awake. But that wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part was being unable to breathe. She had to tilt her head in just the right way to get any air at all, and it wasn’t enough. It was a slow suffocation.

Back and forth, back and forth, waking and darkness. There was a dim light in the pit, wherever she was, even if the electric lights on the posts were turned off. Turk left us in the dark. Couldn’t he have at least left a damn lightbulb on? Douche-canoe.

It was the same strange un-light that filled the forest of the Inversion. Everything was just ambiently lit from some source she couldn’t identify. She realized the tower she was in was literally upside-down. The lightbulbs were pointed toward the floor that was the ceiling. The railings were on the underside of the stairs. The windowsills were on the top of the windows.

Everything was Inverted.

And outside the windows, she saw nothing at all. Just a void, like the sky had been.

“Poor thing. I’m so sorry.” Someone stepped from the shadows. It was Lazarus. He frowned at her, looking at her twisted body, impaled on the metal. He hissed in sympathetic pain.

She tried to speak but only managed to cough up blood.

“No, no…shhh…don’t talk.” He walked up to her and gently stroked her hair. He pushed some of it out of her eye. “I’m so…so very sorry.”

He had warned her that he couldn’t help her. He wasn’t going to be any source of relief. He couldn’t free her. She reached for him, and he took her hand. Don’t leave me alone. Please.

“I’m here. I will always be here.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “We’ll die. But we won’t die alone.”

She remembered holding her father’s hand as he died. Cancer had taken him. It had been quick, but it had been brutal. He had looked so small, so weak, and not like the man she remembered. He had been in so much pain, though. It had been his time, and he knew it.

Every detail of that hospital room still haunted her. When she shut her eyes, she could see every bit of it. The clock on the wall. The whiteboard blithely announcing the date and the name of the nurse on duty. She knew the