Page 140 of Of Iron and Moonlight

“My dear Champion.” The High King took one step inside. “I know you’re in here.”

Njall pushed them deeper into shadow.

“My potion master appears to have gone missing,” he continued with a mocking lilt. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Kalaetzu made a small, brittle sound, like a harp string snapping.

“If you reveal yourself now, perhaps I let the Tsuchitsan live.” A pause. “Perhaps I let your father live.” He took a few more steps into the chamber. “I require only cooperation.”

Njall flinched. Elara felt a bead of sweat slide down her neck.

“I give you a place in my court. My protection. Access to my most sacred work.” He drew closer to the alcove. “This is how you repay my generosity?”

Njall pressed a finger to his lips. “On my mark,” he mouthed.

“I haven’t yet told you the best part. Together we could have seen the restoration of fae to a power we have forgotten we once possessed.”

The High King stopped. His head tilted, listening.

The moment of silence stretched.

“It’s a shame you didn’t accept my mercy. I find I’ve lost the inclination.”

He flicked his fingers.

Guards surged.

“Now,” Njall breathed.

They bolted in the direction from which they came as shouts erupted behind them.

Elara surrendered to the run. Her lungs burned. Boots barely touched the floor before lifting again. Corridors dissolved into streaks of stone and shadow. They flung themselves around blind corners as blades sliced the space they had just occupied. Once a spear passed so close to Elara’s cheek the wind stung her skin.

Suddenly Njall grabbed them both and crashed through silver doors that burst open into moonlit gardens. The doors slammed shut behind them, muffling the guards’ roar.

Elara doubled over, dragging air into her lungs. “We must,” she gasped, “keep going.”

Njall scanned the frost-covered hedges. “We find somewhere to hide out here. They’ll tear the castle apart first, then come looking in the gardens.” His eyes skittered, fierce thought behind them. “When they do, we will return to the throne hall.”

“If they haven’t warded it by then,” Kalaetzu muttered. “That’s what I would do.”

“I doubt such a thought will occur to them so quickly,” a melodic voice sang from the dark.

Elara’s heart dropped to her stomach.

A slender female stood on the frozen path. Nearly white hair fell loose beneath a small silver circlet. There was no wind, but her gown drifted like winter mist.

“Queen Sifia,” Njall breathed, bowing instantly. He elbowed Elara and Kalaetzu. Elara dipped into a clumsy curtsy. “We—”

The queen raised one finger for silence.

Her other hand lifted toward the sky. Snow began to fall—at first a scattering of flakes, then a thickening curtain of white until the hedges faded and the garden blurred into a storm. It was gentle, meant not to bury but to cover tracks the instant any boots touched earth.

Amethyst eyes, unnervingly calm, met Elara’s through the snowfall. Sifia pointed toward a gate half hidden in brambles. Violet wards along its frame flared and unraveled like threads. When she lowered her hand, a rueful smile touched her lips.

“Thank you,” Elara whispered, disbelief holding her in place.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Njall blurted sincerely. Without wasting another breath, he clasped an urgent hand around Elara’s wrist. Kalaetzu stumbled after them as they plunged toward the gate.