The Glass Queen (The Forest of Good and Evil #2) - Gena Showalter Page 0,42

I frowned. Was she part witch, or had she been infused with magic as a child?

Usually avian preferred not to partake of magic, or so I’d been told. Still, she wasn’t wearing wrist cuffs to protect her hands, the conduit for magic.

Trio came to his feet with a growl. “Out of my way.” He shoved Eve aside and crushed my forearm in a vise grip, making me yelp. As if I were little more than a rag doll, he yanked me against him.

Eve launched into action, kicking his arm, forcing him to loosen his hold. I stumbled backward, and she performed a second kick, nailing him in the stomach. When he hunched over, gasping for breath, she fisted his hair, then double-kneed him, first in the nose, then in the chin. He collapsed, unconscious.

My hero! “How did you do that?”

“Practice.” She brushed her hands together in a job well done. “Now, close your eyes and I’ll, uh, fly you to the coliseum. Because I have wings. You noticed the wings, right?”

Something about her voice... I couldn’t not obey her, my eyelids closing of their own accord. When she wrapped an arm around my waist, I experienced a moment of weightlessness, disorientation, and dizziness. The foundation under my feet vanished, the two of us seeming to hover in the air.

All of a sudden, a new foundation materialized underfoot. I inhaled, taking in an array of perfumes mixed with sweat and soap. The roars of the spectators cranked up to top volume.

Only a couple of seconds had passed since I’d closed my eyes, yet I was certain I was now standing inside the coliseum.

I tried to open my eyes but my lids were stuck. Fighting panic, while panicking, I cried, “Something’s wrong. I can’t open my eyes. What’s wrong? Eve?”

“Oh. Right. Yes, go ahead and open your peepers.”

Just like that, my eyelids popped open. Okay. Much better. I exhaled, now beyond certain she did indeed wield a magical ability. I’d heard whispers that there were people who could compel the actions of others with a spoken word, but I’d never actually met anyone who could do it.

For whatever reason, she must have used her voice magic to make me think so little time had passed since we’d abandoned Trio. And I’d had no idea.

The terrible things this girl could make me do...

“Well, don’t look at me like that,” she said, the note of power replaced by exasperation. “I’m just a girl, standing in front of another girl, wanting her to withhold judgment until she gets to know her better.”

Well. Wasn’t that what I’d always wanted from others, too? I nodded, and she grinned.

“I’m starting to like you, Ash. Now look.” With her hands on my shoulders, she spun me around.

Oh, my. I marveled at the grandeur. We stood at the top of the coliseum, to the right of the royal dais, where my father and Dior presided over the tournament from golden thrones. Four servants held a large tarp over the area, bathing them with shade. The most beautiful red ribbons hung from the corners of that tarp, dancing in a slight breeze. Another servant stood to one side, fanning the king with a palm frond to ward off the unseasonable heat. At least, I assumed it was unseasonable. I’d never visited Sevón before.

As she had in the throne room, Dior occupied the queen’s seat, rather than the child’s. An honor I didn’t think she deserved.

Spotting me, she smiled and waved. I forced myself to wave back. Smiling, though... I wasn’t there yet.

On my father’s other side were two cushioned chairs, one occupied by the witch Ophelia, and the other claimed by a lovely girl I’d never met.

The newcomer had hair a brighter red than Trio’s, white skin with a rosy undertone, and the most incredible purple eyes framed by thick black lashes. She wore the same type of clothes and armor as Eve and just as many jewels as Ophelia. Must be the royal oracle.

The two were bent together, whispering and laughing.

I returned my gaze to my father. As he watched the contestants, he appeared focused and gleeful. Part of me wanted to rush over and hug him, and I didn’t understand why. Did I enjoy torment or something? Father would rebuff me immediately, and I’d look the fool. Again.

Why couldn’t he love me the way I loved him?

My shoulders drooped. “Do I look presentable?” I asked my avian escort. “There wasn’t a mirror in the tent.” Would I make Father