Heartless Page 33

Had she spent the night in the cottage she’d discovered? The one filled with shadows?

  She tried to scramble upright, but her dress had become stiff and itchy and now stuck to the floor. Great. A lock of her hair had gotten stuck, too.

  Gritting her teeth, she struggled to free herself. The gown ripped in places, but the material remained adhered to the wood planks. Stupid stickysap.

  She lay still for a moment, her mind whirling with next steps. Free herself, obviously. Search the place. Clean up and rush home to Pearl Jean and Sugars. Cookie’s forced slumber—however much time had passed—had restored enough energy to produce leaves. Already they budded beneath the surface of her skin. Could she create a doorway at long last?

  Tears stung her eyes as she used her teeth to gnaw through the glued hair. When she finished with that, she contorted in a thousand different ways, finally slipping free of the dress.

  After covering her nakedness with leaves, thankful the ability worked, she studied her surroundings. Beautiful furnishings, all antiques, with feminine decorations. Lace doilies and weird porcelain dolls. A tea party set up on the coffee table, each dish made of pink crystal, only in different shades.

  Curious but unsure, she prowled through the rest of the cottage. To her relief, no one hid in the shadows, and she found no evidence of cameras. No computers or TVs, either. If someone had visited the place, they hadn’t cleaned. Dust layered every surface. What’s more, the cupboards were empty.

  Her most astonishing finds were framed photos. One contained an image of Angel Ashtower, the creator of The Fog A.E. The others included Lulundria and three unfamiliar women, all in modern mortal clothes. The princess must have come here before and after getting hit with those ice daggers. But who were the rest?

  Holding one of the frames, she padded upstairs, hoping to find a bedroom.

  Her search offered a bountiful reward. A master suite waited beyond the last step, a spacious chamber as spinsterly as the rest of the house.

  A ruffled comforter with pink flowers draped the bed. A vast closet provided an array of gowns. The same kind of gowns Cookie had worn in Astaria. Her eyes watered all over again.

  A tunic hung closest to her. A tunic she’d seen before. In a vision. When the injured Lulundria had fled Kaysar. The bloodstains were gone, the tears lovingly repaired with pink thread shaped in a rose pattern.

  Well. Here was confirmation. Lulundria had come here to die. And she’d met with someone—or several someones—who’d repaired the shirt. The women from the photos?

  Cookie removed the garment from a hanger with a trembling hand. Forget the princess. Nothing mattered more than returning to Pearl Jean and Sugars.

  What was meant to be a quick shower stretched into half an hour as she scrubbed off the battle grime and cut a hunk of hair. She didn’t let herself think of Kaysar. Not how much she loved him or hated him or missed him. Certainly not the way he’d hurt her. She didn’t wonder if he loved her or hated her or missed her, either, and she didn’t care if he regretted what he’d done yet. Because the answers didn’t matter in the slightest. Not anymore.

  Throw me out once, lose me forever.

  Under the spray of cooling water, lingering aches and pangs faded. When finally she emerged from the stall, she almost felt like a brand-new model fresh off the factory line. Almost. She dried off the old-fashioned way and donned the tunic, the hem reaching her knees. Good enough for a trip home. Now she had to figure out where she was. No, she just needed a phone.

  Spotting a landline on the nightstand, she rushed over and dialed. Raw emotion battered her as she waited through the rings. “Come on, come on.”

  Finally, her best friend answered, her voice nothing but a tired rasp. “Hello?”

  A sob escaped. “Pearl Jean? It’s me. Cookie. I...I’m back.”

  * * *

  SEVEN DAYS AFTER Cookie’s return to the mortal world, she rested her head on her friend’s shoulder, ready to take the next step for her life. They sat in the backyard, reclining on a swing of her own creation, made of vines and cushioned with leaves and flower petals.

  After three days of avoiding her and three days of hissing in her face, Sugars had forgiven her for leaving. About thirty-eight percent, anyway. He currently stalked a bug around a garden of roses that had sprung up overnight, despite the cooler weather.

  Turned out, the permanent doorway in the Dusklands’ castle led straight to Oklahoma. The cottage was less than ten miles from her farmhouse. Cookie had found a map—a lump grew in her throat, but she swallowed it. She’d been able to provide Pearl Jean with exact directions. Only fifteen minutes later, she’d been enfolded in the woman’s arms, sobbing and telling her about every trial, leaving nothing out.

  “Your doormaking ability returned, huh?” Pearl Jean asked, her tone cautious.

  There was no reason to deny it. “It did.” Last night, as Cookie climbed into her own bed, in her own home, she’d sensed the full charge of her glamara. She knew she’d have no trouble opening a doorway again, and she didn’t have to wonder why. She’d gained control of her emotions, realizing her happiness didn’t depend on Kaysar, but herself.

  She could rule her kingdom, help her people, love her friends, and do everything she’d ever dreamed—without him. As soon as she’d barred him from her heart, the pain would fade.

  “How’d you know, anyway?” she asked.

  “Your attitude is much improved today. And before you get the wrong idea, I’m in no way saying your attitude is good. Because it isn’t. You’re still pouting over your beau.”

  Pouting? Pouting! “He’s not my beau.” Cookie didn’t want him in a romantic way anymore. She’d given him every part of her heart, and he’d thrown it—her—away.

  “Whatever he is or isn’t, you’re going back to Astaria, aren’t you? Despite cannibal centaurs, ghost goblins and vengeful kings?”

  “I am.” Though Cookie had been gone from this mortal world only a few weeks, everything had changed. For her, at least. Nothing felt right here. Mortal clothing didn’t fit properly. The scents lacked the sweetness she’d grown accustomed to. Her cold mattress reminded her of rocks, sleep impossible. “I want you and Sugars with me. I’ll protect you from the monsters, I promise. And I’ve already picked a boy toy for you. You’ll get to live in a castle, of course.” She would be winning hers back, whoever she had to fight. “You’ll have servants, magical medicine for every disease you’re soon to contract, and—”

  “I don’t need the hard sell, hon. Hot fae men? Of course I’m going with you. That isn’t even a question.”

  She snorted. “You won’t be sorry.”

  “Of course I won’t. I’ll be with you.” Pearl Jean patted her hand. “What about Kaysar?”

  “What about him? We’re done. I’m in the process of kicking him out of my heart and hanging a vacancy sign. There’s nothing he can say or do to make this better. So good riddance. Better now than later. I like being single, anyway. His loss, right? There’s plenty of trash in the sea. And I’m not protesting too much, so stop thinking I am.”

  “Whatever you say, hon.”

  “I’m moving on,” she insisted with a firm nod. Through her example, Kaysar would witness what letting go of a turbulent past and grabbing hold of a bright future looked like. If he chose to war with her, fine. They’d war. She wouldn’t kill him; she didn’t hate him. But she refused to let him hurt her anymore. If she arrived and he suggested they get back together, well, he could go screw himself.

  She’d expected his hate, but not his cruelty. He’d banished her from his life—from her home. A crime that came with a lifetime sentence.

  “Are you sure you’re moving on? Because you look like you’re going to kill someone. And really, what if the man merely suffers from Redirectile Dysfunction? Think about it. You bombed his lifelong plans, forcing him to navigate a new path. He might ju
st need time to acclimate.”

  “I don’t care.” She’d given Kaysar everything, as she’d said she would, risking her own happiness to purchase his. If he couldn’t see that, he wasn’t a man worth knowing, much less missing. “And I’m done discussing him.”

  “Fine. Don’t squeeze my head off like you did to those soldiers. Just tell me when we leave, and I’ll be ready.”

  She regretted, slightly, telling Pearl Jean every detail about the battle. “Tonight. Eight,” she said with a firm nod. Enough time to do whatever needed doing. She’d been away from home long enough. “I’m not exactly sure what we’ll find on the other side of my door, so we’ll pack only the essentials. Things we can’t live without.”

  “Deal.”

  They gathered Sugars and headed inside. The rest of the day passed with a flurry of activity. Cookie decided the essentials included snack packs with arrays of donuts, bottles of wine, a pair of yoga pants and Daisy Dukes, cowboy boots and costumes she’d had overnighted. Also food and litter for Sugars, as well as a special backpack with mesh walls for ventilation and a clear panel for his hobby. Spying.

  If she required anything else for him, she’d return to the mortal world for it. The farmhouse had just gotten a demotion, from forever home to vacation retreat.

  Pearl Jean selected medications for every ailment known to man and probably some that weren’t. A guide for identifying your diseases before they became critical. Yarn and knitting needles. Muumuus for every occasion. A six-pack of beer. And a collection of romance novels they would be sharing.

  At 8:07 sharp, they met in the living room. Sugars rested in his pack, secured on her shoulders, and furious to be trapped. The strap of a black duffel bag crossed her chest, the bag itself threatening to topple her with its weight. Worth it.

  A new game was starting, her excitement reviving. The (currently) displaced Queen of the Dusklands and her scrappy team had leveled up. The prize? A life of adventure.

  “You ready?” she asked Pearl Jean...who sat upon her scooter.

  Dark blue eyes lively, she honked the scooter’s horn. “I’ve been ready for years.”

  Deep breath in. Cookie anchored a rope around her waist and gave the dangly end to Pearl Jean. She pictured the spot she wished to land and stretched out her arms. As her audience of one oohed and ahhed, she grew vines from both hands, the stalks linking together in the center of the room, several feet from the coffee table. This time she wasn’t pulled through it. She’d gained too much control for that. If Kaysar had compelled her to stay away? Big deal.

  “Do not let go of the rope until we’ve arrived,” she instructed.

  As soon as her friend offered assurances, Cookie inhaled...and walked through with Pearl Jean remaining close behind. Suddenly, the castle filled her vision. The room with the permanent doorway, aged stone walls and—“Amber?”

  “About time,” the oracle cried, rushing over.

  The rope fell from Cookie as they embraced, clinging to each other.

  Being welcomed by a friend who’d missed her... Nothing had ever felt as amazing as this. Well, except being with—no one of importance. Anyway. Moving on.

  “I’m so happy to see you,” Cookie said, a catch in her voice. “I missed you terribly.”

  “Trust me, I missed you, too. Everyone missed you. Kaysar has never been more...Kaysar.”

  Even his name caused her pulse to flutter. “Spill the tea and make it hot. Tell me everything that’s happened.”

  “I will. But first things first.” Amber straightened and smiled at Pearl Jean. “So lovely to see you again, Pearl Jean.”

  Duh! Introductions.

  “Again?” her friend asked, confused. “Either I have Alzheimer’s or you’re the seer Cookie mentioned. I think the little brat referred to you as her first non-geriatric confidant.”

  “That’s me.” The oracle returned her attention to Cookie and motioned to a teapot she’d placed on a rock. “Now, your tea.”

  “That’s not what I meant. Oh, never mind. Tell me about Kaysar.”

  “Well, upon your departure, he summoned his army, stopping an invasion of Micah’s trolls. Kaysar has held off those forces from the front line ever since. No one has been able to bypass him to breach the fortress. You can watch the battle from any balcony, and I highly recommend you do.” A dreamy smile spread. “Trolls are surprisingly...handsome. So many muscles await your viewing pleasure.”

  Pearl Jean snagged a beer from her bag, saying, “Don’t mind me. I’m absorbing the conversation. But if you want to repeat that part about the trolls, I wouldn’t mind a second listen.”

  “Why is Kaysar protecting the fortress? For me?” Cookie asked Amber. To give it back to her? Had he realized... I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care. The answer wouldn’t make a difference.

  The seer folded her lips between her teeth and shook her head. “No. Sorry. He issued orders that you aren’t to be harmed, because you are his enemy. He’s protecting the fortress for himself.”

  The opposite of what she’d hoped—er, expected to hear. Cookie cleared her throat, swallowing a barbed lump. Seemed she hadn’t destroyed Kaysar’s vengeance, after all. She’d simply given him a new target, exactly as Micah had predicted.

  “You were right to ditch him, hon.” Pearl Jean belched in her hand. “Let’s find you a new beau. I think I recall the seer mentioning something about muscles?”

  Cookie pasted an unconcerned grin on her face. “Before I get my friends settled and kick off my takeover, I gotta know. Who are you siding with? Kaysar? Or your beloved queen?”

  “Both.” Amber gave a weary sigh. “I told him how badly he’d handled things with you, and he banished me from his presence forever. Or until he needs me again. Whichever comes first. With your return, he’ll definitely need me. I’ve seen the twisty road ahead. For once, he’s without a map.”

  Well. “Like I said, I’ve got a lot to do today. If I’m going to watch the battle, I should change.” She had the perfect outfit in mind...

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  KAYSAR RAKED HIS claws over troll after troll. The female who’d taken everything from him had returned, just as Eye had predicted. Thanks to his oracle, Chantel’s image was imprinted on his mind. She’d come through the permanent doorway, wearing clothing similar to what she’d worn the day they met.

  He dispatched his next opponent. He didn’t care about the princess’s arrival. She’d stolen his future. The one he’d begun to envision. She’d killed his vengeance, ensuring there was no one to punish for his sister’s loss...other than himself. The pain—never—went—away.

  He hated his pink-haired queen. But he loved her, too.

  He slew another troll, and another. Still another. He’d gone too long without seeing Chantel. Too long without scenting or touching her. Without anticipating the gown she’d donned, or witnessing her brilliance in action as she dealt with her foes. Without cuddling her, or speaking secrets with her, or plunging inside her, or kissing every inch of her, or yelling at her, or challenging her, or begging for her forgiveness, or demanding she explain herself to his satisfaction, or luxuriating in her adoring gaze, and he was breaking inside. One day he feared he might shatter into too many pieces to ever fit back together.

  How was he supposed to live this way for an eternity? How could Chantel have done what she did? He’d finally gained the life he’d never known he needed, and with a single act, she’d ruined everything.

  She must pay.

  Slash. Jab, jab. Duck and spin. Slash. Two trolls dropped. Had Chantel paid already? Had she paid enough? She’d been so weak when he’d pushed her through the doorway. Where had she ended up? If someone had harmed her...

  He shook his head, pretending he hadn’t considered following her through the doorway countless times. No. Eye had also assured him Chantel’s safety was never at risk�
�only her heart.

  With a roar, he massacred another dozen trolls. He could have sung, but he had no desire to end the fight too soon. Grunts, groans and cries of agony rang out, creating the perfect melody. The stench of death saturated the air, as heavy and as cloying as a thick morning mist.

  “You know she is returned, yes?” The question came from Jareth, who fought at his side.

  He’d freed the prince from his shackles the day Chantel had left Astaria, but the annoying male had followed him around like a bad habit ever since. Although, he supposed Jareth wasn’t a prince anymore, now that his father was dead. The male was to be crowned the sovereign ruler of the Winter Court.

  “Leave before I give you the troll treatment,” Kaysar snapped. Two other bodies toppled.

  The fool stabbed a troll of his own. “You should apologize to her.”

  “She betrayed me.” So why didn’t he long to kill her? Why did he sometimes long to gather her close and cling, as if his life depended on it?

  Hack. Rip. Stab. Stab. Stab. More trolls fell.

  “She set you free,” Jareth pointed out.

  “This isn’t freedom.” He hacked through a line of combatants. This was misery.

  “With one hand on your vengeance and one hand on your mate, the tug-of-war was ripping you in two. You could go nowhere, except in pieces. Maybe that’s why you needed her to wield the strength you couldn’t, hmm? You sought healing the only way you know how—through the misery of another.”

  “No.” Healing? When he’d never felt more vulnerable? Hack, hack, hack. He had absolutely nothing left. He would never have sought this position. Except...

  When Kaysar had filled her closet with gowns, he’d purposely given the white dress a place of honor. One easily noticed. Even though he hadn’t known why. He’d only known he’d thought, She will save us both in this, the first moment he’d beheld it.

  His motions slowed.

  Now, at least, you won’t think of Hador when you think of your sister. You can remember the little girl who followed you around as she clutched her pretty doll. You can smile. Peace is yours, if only you’ll grab it.