THE DARKENING (The Divided Realms: Book 2)

CHAPTER TWELVE

Willow didn't become desperate until late in the night. Most of the fey partygoers had vanished back to wherever they had come from, but a hard core group of them still twirled away under the stars. Brand had figured out her predicament from her silence and the strained look on her face. To his credit, he'd tried to be sensitive about it. After Willow had knocked down all his suggestions, though, he'd finally lost patience and tossed a blanket over her head. "Do it," he'd ordered. "Or I'll come under there and assist you."

The relief Willow felt at peeing overrode her humiliation. She came out from the blanket smiling sheepishly. Mistolearian guys were a strange bunch. Flash a little midriff or an ankle and they blushed like schoolgirls. But pee in front of them and they weren't even fazed.

"Better?" teased Brand.

"Much."

"Good. Now, eat something." He handed her half the bread he'd saved. "The gods know how long we shall be here. We must keep up our strength."

Willow tore off a small piece of crust and nibbled at it. Next thing she knew, she'd polished off the loaf, some straw-specked meat, two apples, and four palmfuls of water. A burp exploded from her mouth, making Brand grin.

"Er, excuse me," she said, cheeks flaring.

Brand bowed his head. "Of course, Your Highness."

She threw an apple core at him, missed by an inch, so gave him a scowl instead. Slowly, the lights winked out. All the faeries vanished from the grove, along with their party tents and feast tables. For the first time, Willow could hear the hum of insects. The large jungle cats, which had mingled with the faeries like house pets, had disappeared too.

Willow peered through the bars, searching the inky forest for movement. Wind whispered through tree leaves, but the dark underbrush lay still and disturbingly quiet. She made herself comfortable in the straw beside Brand and stared at the bars of the cage, silvered and spectral in the moonlight. A footstep padded in the night. Willow sat back up at the sound. There, standing outside the cage and watching her curiously, was the most amazing-looking girl Willow had ever seen.

Like the bars, the incredible apparition seemed spun out of moonlight and glittering silver, her hair rippling past her waist, gleaming the palest shade of white blond. She stood tall as Willow but thinner, more fragile. A fey angel in a sparkling silver dress come to save them.

Willow shook Brand. He didn't respond. She looked down at him and saw that he slept. Not a real sleep, she was sure, but one the faerie girl had cast on him. Willow's eyes locked back onto the faerie, trying to see the hidden danger in her delicately beautiful face.

"You are not what I expected."

The low voice, soft and lyrical, reminded Willow of birdsong or gently plucked harp strings, and made her yearn to hear more. She crept closer, not sure if she was awake or dreaming.

"No," spoke the voice again. "I thought you would be graceless. An ill-favored creature worthy of pity. But Father has again misled me. You appear as fey as I do."

"Who ... who are you?" ventured Willow. The faerie girl seemed friendly enough. Maybe she would help them.

"I am Dacia Thornheart, daughter of Jarlath Thornheart, of the House of Jarlath."

Willow gulped. Then again, maybe she wouldn't. "Then you ... you're Nezeral's ... sister?"

"Yes. Nezeral is my elder brother." Dacia peered at Willow, her heart-shaped face pressed against the bars. "You really do look fey. Father is trying to hide it with this cage and the rags he dresses you in. But I think no one is fooled." A small, cat-like smile crossed her mouth. "How did you do it, Willow, human princess of Mistolear? How did you defeat my brother?"