Voices drifted into Halana’s ear as she floated in a dreamless dark, the strange cadence both unfamiliar and comforting. It reminded her of Mardella, the witch she’d befriended in the Inkwater swamp. From before she lost Baelin… Her mind shied away from the memories. His lifeless body on the mossy ground as Ithric wept over him; her mad whirlwind cutting through the wolves after she claimed her brother’s sword; her father’s shoulders shaking as they stood over the grave together, his long red hair so similar to hers. She wanted to go back into the dark. It didn’t hurt in the dark.

Not yet, Lana-bear. Wake.

Baelin’s voice drifted into her consciousness, as if a piece of him remained with her. Her spirit ached, a desperate want for her brother, her twin, the one person who’d truly understood her, to be by her side once more. It stung just as much as when she’d lost him, as if her chest had caved in and a fist gripped her heart, clenching tight. Could she survive this pain? Did she wish to?

The foreign voices came to her again as she woke, her mind becoming aware of her body once more. Everything ached, from her stiff legs to the crick in her neck. Her muscles screamed for relief, knots and cramps making their presence known as she attempted to move her uncooperative limbs. Her armor was missing and her feet bare, the cold wood smooth under her heels. She tried and failed to swallow the meager amount of saliva in her awful-tasting mouth, her tongue a leathery withered thing as she ran it over the grimy film covering her teeth. She registered a masculine voice, much closer than before, and she paused her inventory on her aches, keeping her breaths slow so he wouldn’t know she’d awakened.

The man spoke over her to someone else, speaking Adriaen before switching to Common when another set of footsteps approached.

“Why hasn’t she woken up?” The first gruff voice demanded, somewhere next to her head. She had the curious sensation of spinning, as if she’d had too much ale. “They’re going to want to see her.”

His voice was familiar, a faint memory tickling at the back of her mind as she soldiered through the mental fog. The shadow fae from the woods… They’d taken her captive, believing her to be Chrystalyn. Fuck. This wasn’t good.

A woman spoke, the same person whose chanting had put her to sleep. “She was under for two weeks. It takes time for the mind and body to become reacquainted with one another.” The woman’s voice lowered to a purr. “Patience, Carmine.”

His curt reply didn’t return any of her familiarity. “She better wake soon, Vittoria. Or it’s on your head.”

Two weeks? Sweet cascades. Where had they taken her? Halana slitted her eyes, peering out through her auburn lashes to take in the room. She appeared to be underground; dark gray stone flecked with rust stains made up the walls and floor, heavy, rough-hewn shelves covered the far wall, stacked with crates and ropes, witch-lights floating near the ceiling lit the space. Saltwater and dead fish scented the air, so she couldn’t be too distant from the sea. Could she still be in Garnet Bay? No. That was a fool’s hope, and she refused to lie to herself. Always think the worst and you’ll never be surprised. It was her father’s favorite saying, and the one he always brought out when planning a complicated sortie or gambit. Worst-case scenario, she was in Adria, in the hands of allies to the traitor. Which meant she should act carefully… Something she wasn’t good at.

She could almost hear Cianán’s laugh at the idea of her treading with care through any hostile situation. How many times had they argued over her lack of tact? She’d rather kick some ass and have to apologize later if she was wrong than deal with clever wordplay and secrets like him. Baelin had always been there to back her up, and by her side in her many, many punishments. That had been the only thing that had ever given her pause, not wanting to get her twin into trouble. But now she was alone and unchained. What did it matter when she didn’t care about the consequences?

The corner of her mouth quirked up, and when the witch shifted in front of her, she launched herself at the smaller woman. Or at least she tried. Her legs crumpled beneath her and she and Vittoria fell in a heap, Halana landing on top of her.

“Flaming hells!” A man shouted as she scrambled onto the witch, locking her arm around the woman’s throat and dragging her back against her as she fled to the corner, still on her knees, her legs unwilling to support her.

“Stay back or I’ll break her neck,” Halana growled, her voice a rough rasp. The witch in her grip tried to speak, and she tightened her hold. “Don’t even think about it.” The shadow fae advanced with his hands raised in placation, and she stiffened. He was the biggest threat in the room. “Back up,” she warned, her gaze narrowing when he stopped.

“Peace.” He looked so much like Cianán that her treacherous heart pounded in her chest. He had the same bronzed skin and sharp features, but his hair was indigo, while Cianán’s was a true violet. And his eyes… Cianán’s were as pale as winter slush, just the barest touch of gray. This man’s were black—with no separation between his pupil and iris—and a shiver of discomfort ran down her spine. She almost wished she hadn’t demanded that Cianán stop following her. It would be nice to have backup against another shadow fae here. “I’m sorry that we had to keep you sedated. The situation in the forest was too delicate to risk.”

She raised her lip in half a snarl. “Go fuck yourself and your peace.”

The second man started forward and the shadow fae lifted his hand, stopping him before addressing him in rapid Adriaen. The dark-skinned man shot her a disgruntled glance before turning and running for the door through a darkened archway that the witch-light didn’t illuminate. Fuck. She had to get out of here and fast. She grit her teeth, forcing her feet underneath her and pushing to stand, yanking the smaller witch along with her. The woman whimpered, shooting the shadow fae a pathetic look that he ignored. Halana found the other exit across the room, panting as she tried to convince her legs to move.

“Just listen, Chrystalyn—“ The fae, Carmine, Vittoria had called him, began, and she cut him off with a derisive laugh.

“No, you listen.” She rasped, edging against the wall. “I’m leaving and if you try to stop me, I’ll kill her.”

He smirked at her. “With what? We took your weapons and armor. That bracelet on your wrist prevents you from using magic against me.”

“Then I’ll tear her throat out with my teeth.” Her low voice was startling even to her own ears, the combination of her scarred vocal cords and the enchanted sleep making it a horrifying rasp like dried leaves skittering on stone. His shocked expression at her declaration heartened her, and she took another step. She’d spent most of her life proving to men that she was a threat. That this one realized it early without her having to beat it into him spoke to his intelligence.

“Carmine.” The woman, Vittoria, called out to the fae as Halana stumbled with her back against the wall. “Please, she’s going to kill me.”

“Shut up.” Halana tightened her grasp on the woman’s throat. “I know you’re the one who put me to sleep. The only reason you’re still alive is because you make a good shield.”

Vittoria whimpered again as Halana dragged her closer to the door. Each step felt as if she’d run a mile, her legs shaking beneath her like a colt. Her muscles, the strength that she’d worked so hard to gain, were failing her and it only fueled her anger. She didn’t care that she choked the smaller witch, or that the shadow fae was edging nearer, ready to flash her anywhere he pleased. She had enough rage to see her through.

The pounding of boots on pavers neared, and the indigo-haired fae smirked, and the urge to punch him in his teeth was almost overwhelming. She didn’t think he could travel with more than one person in tow. As long as she kept a hold on the witch and her back to the stone wall, he couldn’t get the drop on her. If she could get a hand on a sword, she’d have a chance. Her heart dropped when she realized they’d taken Baelin’s sword. She could stomach losing her armor and her blade.

But not Baelin’s.

“Where are my swords?” She whispered into the witch’s ear, loosening her hold. “I won’t kill you if you tell me.”

Vittoria coughed, sucking in a breath, but when she spoke, it wasn’t to reveal the location of her things, but a spell. Halana tightened her grip once more, cutting off the witch’s air entirely as a group of guards spilled into the room.

“Vittoria!” Shouted the dark-skinned witch from before as the soldiers rushed her. She shoved the half-strangled woman toward them, lunging for the closest guard. It helped that they weren’t trying to kill her, only to disable her, and hadn’t drawn their swords. She punched the first man in the face, the momentum too much for her weak legs, and she crashed into him, her hand closing on his sword hilt. She pulled hard, and the weapon came free, the weight of it comforting in her palm. This is what she was meant for. Halana slashed with the blade, catching the arm of the guard that had attempted to pull her off his comrade.

She screamed as she struck again, her sword biting into the shoulder of another soldier as they shouted in Adriaen. One managed to grab her free hand, pulling her off balance, and she went down hard on one knee. The shadow fae flashed to her side and kicked her sword out of her grip as she swung it. Another guard grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet as she thrashed. It was no use. Her body was too exhausted from her ordeal for her to fight properly, and her wrists were shackled behind her back as she struggled.

Carmine stepped toward her, a self-satisfied smirk twisting his lips. “It didn’t have to be this way, Chrystalyn.”

“That’s not my name,” Halana whispered under her breath, forcing him to lean close to catch her words. He was shorter than Cianán, almost six feet like herself. She thrust her forehead forward, smashing his nose in a vicious headbutt. Pain exploded in her head, but it was worth it to see the blood gush from his nostrils.

“Fucking hells,” he said, his voice nasal as he gripped his nose. “I just want to talk to you!” He shouted, his accent thick to the point she could barely make out the words as a woman strode into the room. She was tall, almost as rangy as Halana and other female fae, with shining black locks and dark violet eyes. There was something familiar in her features, and she recognized her similarity to Chrystalyn a moment later. There was no mistaking the connection, regardless that this woman’s skin and hair were darker than her daughter’s.

“What are you doing to her?” The woman demanded as she joined their group. Vittoria looked ready to snap, her brown eyes flashing before she lowered them. Carmine scowled at the witch, his demeanor marred by the dark blood coating his upper lip.

“We did nothing to her. She almost killed half of us. Again.”

Halana bared her teeth. “You abducted me, asshole.”

“Let her go.” The newcomer demanded, her imperious expression the same as Chrystalyn’s when she tossed wicked barbs at court. Hands released her arms, though her wrists remained bound behind her back, the coarse rope chafing the metallic bracelet that prevented her from accessing her magic. The woman stepped forward, searching Halana’s face, and the shadow fae held up his hand, preventing her from moving closer.

“Be careful.” He warned, his gaze locked on the new witch. “She’s half-feral.”

Halana rolled her eyes. “Only half?” She turned her attention to the woman who watched their exchange thoughtfully, cataloging everything. It reminded her of Cianán, a spy who noticed every detail. “I’m not Chrystalyn. They picked up the wrong fae.”

“What?” Carmine demanded, no doubt tasting the truth of her words. No other fae were in the room, only witches and humans. “We found you right outside Braewood fortress. You threw ice at us.”

“Because my dad’s an ice fae.” She smirked at his sour expression. “I’m not Chrystalyn.” She repeated for the woman in front of her, whose face crumpled. Pity filled her as she watched the witch take several deep breaths before speaking again.

“It’s obvious some error has occurred.” She shot a glare at the shadow fae and the other witches, who dropped their gazes. “Let’s start at the beginning. My name is Omylia Aiello. What is yours?”

“Halana Winddane.”

Omylia darted a look at Carmine, who nodded, confirming that she hadn’t lied, though his ears had perked when she gave her name. Interesting. If there weren’t many fae in Adria, then he seemed to be their truthsayer.

“What transpired when they abducted you?”

Halana stared at her, unsure of what her intentions were. Cianán had said that Chrystalyn was part of a conspiracy to depose King Aleric and Roric, but she’d sworn that she’d hardly contributed and had planned to sail to Adria… How connected was this woman to the plot at home? Some strange magic had been at work to immobilize the creatures in the forest, who were no doubt there to attack Braewood. These witches were not her allies. That was clear.

“How about you tell me what happened when your forces attacked Braewood?” Halana threw back. Omylia glanced at Carmine, who shook his head.

“I don’t know. Teilo and Luis never returned, and we cast off without them.”

Halana exhaled in relief. The wolves had defended themselves, partially at least.

“You worry about the werewolves?” Omylia asked, her expression shrewd as she took in Halana’s scarred face and throat. “I thought the ice fae hated the shifters. You’ve warred for centuries.”

“It’s a recent development.” Halana tested her restraints, tugging on the ropes. Her body was exhausted, and just standing was enough to make her lightheaded. She needed food and water, and proper sleep. Not whatever they’d done to her.

“What happened when they captured you?” Omylia asked again. This time Halana responded, describing how she’d spied their encampment in the forest and how they’d attacked her and eventually bound her without confirming her identity.

Omylia turned on Carmine, her voice cracking like a whip. “How could you be so careless? My daughter could be dead now. Because of you.” Her eyes flashed violet, similar to Mardella’s glowing gaze whenever too many emotions overcame her. If this witch had even a fraction of her friend’s power, she didn’t want to be on the receiving end of it. She stepped backward, bumping into a guard who shoved her forward.

She landed on her knees, breaking the stare down between the witch and shadow fae. A flash of hurt passed through the fae’s eyes, but Omylia’s face was drawn with rage and pain as intense as what filled Halana’s breast. The older woman knelt, helping Halana back to her feet. The warrior eyed the witch, making a snap decision.

“Chrystalyn wasn’t at the fortress during the attack.”

Omylia’s hand spasmed on her biceps, muscles that weren’t as firm as when she went into her witch-induced slumber.

“What do you mean? Did Morson save her?”

Halana shook her head. “No. She turned herself in for treason. Chrystalyn is safe and sound in a prison cell at Frosthold.” She didn’t think that Chrystalyn would be executed. She was the queen’s niece and would get out of her confinement one day. Eventually. Given how conflicted Lowan was about the situation, he’d probably already petitioned for her release. King Aleric would give his former mate’s son anything he asked for, no doubt.

Purple light filled the witch’s eyes again and Halana regretted her kindness as the glow bathed her face.

“Why? Why would she do that?”

Halana shifted, her weak legs shaking. “Well, she said her father forced her into marrying the Wolf King, and then she fell for him…” She trailed off as Omylia’s hands glowed, the purple light edging to white.

“Morson. Did. What?” She enunciated each word, her teeth snapping at the end.

“You know what? This seems like a family dispute that I shouldn’t be involved in.” Halana said, trying once more to free herself. “I’ll just be on my way and we can put this mix-up behind us.” She tried to give them a winning smile that was more of a grimace, given their reactions.

“We can’t let her go,” Vittoria responded, jerking her chin to the doorway. Halana looked down her nose at the other woman, wishing she’d broken her neck instead of just ringing her throat with bruises. “The king and prince know she’s here. They expected to have another witch today.”

As if summoned by her words, a handsome man strode inside, his steps sure as he stopped in front of where she waited, the rest of the group falling into bows and curtseys. He looked at her expectantly, and she snorted.

“Not happening.” He wasn’t her prince. Why would she kneel? Roric and Ithric would never expect such deference.

“Rise.” He studied her as the others stood, an air of nervousness that hadn’t been there before filling the room. She scrutinized him in return, human or witch, she wasn’t sure, with wavy, tawny hair and warm chestnut eyes. He had the same pampered look that reminded her of most nobility; clean and strong, but soft. As if adversity hadn’t ever touched his life. That held to reason, seeing as he was a prince. She glared at him, not enjoying his lingering perusal of her body.

“This isn’t the family reunion I expected.” He said, glancing at her bound hands and the number of guards surrounding her. “Your daughter appears to be more formidable than we believed, Omylia.”

“There was a mistake, your highness.” The witch said, her voice calm and controlled once more. “Chrystalyn is being held as a prisoner in Frosthold. This young woman was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Was Omylia trying to help her?

“A shame. I was hoping to meet her.” The prince raised his ruddy brows, glancing at her, then the witches that had captured her. “I take it that the mission wasn’t a success then. Not surprising given that Carmine was in charge.”

The shadow fae scowled. “It’s lucky that my mistake was fortuitous then, Aurelio.”

Halana noted the lack of deference to the prince and how the other witches had shifted closer to Omylia. There were strange undercurrents in this kingdom, ones she didn’t understand.

“How’s that?” The prince’s voice was slick, sliding over her as it had when referring to his desire to meet Chrystalyn. His face was growing more punchable by the second.

“We didn’t bring home a witch, but a bargaining chip.” Halana’s stomach dropped. Fuck. “This is Halana Winddane, daughter of the fabled General Rhyan Winddane, and exactly what we needed.”