Warrior of the Moon

38

Nahla knew where she was the moment she landed. Not because she had expected to be here, but because Tarin had described where he had been taken during his capture... and because she could feel the rotten magic in the air. She imagined if she stayed here too long, she would suffocate from it. That, or be poisoned by it.

The cave was huge, hollowed out of a mountain that, apparently, Celestine and her turned Fae had brought down themselves. It smelled of damp and mold, nothing like the pristine waters of her own lake and the caves deep within it. Lanterns had been placed haphazardly across the floor of the cavern, just enough to see by, but not easily. Infernals lined the walls every few feet, yet another indication to her that she was exactly where the general had spoken of when recounting his own capture.

"Well," a voice spoke from the shadows. It seemed to echo around Nahla, making her unsure where, exactly, the woman it belonged to stood.

Until she appeared right in front of where Nahla was kneeling, close enough that silver dust rained down and sparkled in her dark hair.

"The princess of the Realm, at last," the woman continued, her voice little more than a purr. Nahla tried to struggle to her feet, her knees aching from where they slammed against the stone on her way through the Portal, but hands were immediately on her shoulders to shove her back down. She fought down her rage; they were trying to get Queen Serena to submit to this awful woman. They were making a show of it.

"The queen of the Realm, actually," Nahla said bitingly, lifting her head to glare at her captor. "The crown has been passed on to me. While you remain nothing."

Someone behind her yanked on the chains holding her wrists, causing her to yell out in pain and surprise as her arms twisted behind her back. She did not let it stop her from imbuing as much venomous hatred as she could into her glare, keeping her eyes fixed on the figure before her.

"Seems you know who I am, then," she said lightly. Like she was amused.

"Celestine Hallewell," Nahla spat. "Embarrassment to her family. Denied and imprisoned by the Realm's royal family. Disowned by her children. Known by few and cared for by none. Yes, I know who you are."

She heard the jangle of chains and knew it meant she was about to be hurt again for her words. But then Celestine held up a slim hand, and the amusement Nahla had heard became present in her face as she grinned.

"At least you're already far less boring than Tarin's last love interest," she said, tilting her head as she surveyed Nahla from head to toe. "I must applaud my son's ambition for aiming as high as he did. If you had been of a different bloodline I might have even allowed the silly little romance to run its course. Alas, you're the key to the world I seek to build, and so my son will have to deal with his broken heart for now."

Nahla could see the resemblance. The general had a stern, unforgiving face, just like his mother. She remembered the first time she had met him, when Muiress had instructed her to go to the shore and wait for him. He had thought she was serving the Infernals, before she even knew that was what the Fae were calling the dark forces that had been gathering. He would have killed her.

At that point, she had seen none of the softness in his face that she had witnessed since. The way the armor he had up around him melted off whenever he looked at the queen was something Nahla was pretty sure he would never be able to fully hide. His eyes, normally as hard as the steel their hue so resembled, would go softer than silk when they met hers. His mother's looked like they had never looked upon somebody they cared for in her long stain of existence.

There were hints of Tarin in her commanding tone and presence, and of course in her eyes and sharp lines, but beyond that, it was Iliss that Nahla could see. They could be sisters, though there was no hint of youth in the way Celestine held herself; no lack of confidence, no concern of inexperience.