A Court of Truth and Deceit

Chapter Thirteen - Feyre

Three more months before ACOWAR!!

I whirled through darkness for several long seconds before suddenly slipping back into the world of light and slamming into soft, yet firm ground. Pain—and cold—seeped into the left side of my body. I groaned, my hands scrambling in the white mess, trying to find purchase to pull myself up.

    I froze. Looked down and actually focused on where the hell I was.

    White fluffs stuck to my left sleeve. My hands were freezing, already turning white from the cold. Where the hell...

    "And just who do you think you are?" Someone sneered. Adrenaline pumped into me once more; I whipped around, sending those white fluffs—snow, but the scenery wasn't anything like the mountainous views near the Illyrian camps—flying outwards from my hair.

    A stocky sentinel stood a few feet away. Glaring, pale blue eyes and straight black hair that fell nearly to his shoulders.

    "Where am I?" I asked, carefully standing up and brushing off the snow flecks on my leathers. The sentinel raised an eyebrow at me. I waited.

    "Wydeira Glyn," he answered, paused a moment, and then added, "Winter Court." I guffawed. I'd winnowed to the Winter Court? I tried pulling on that thread of magic again, trying to pull myself into that shadow dimension, trying to winnow to home: the Night Court. Nothing. Exhaustion, maybe. Or maybe lack of expertise. I'd traveled from the heart of the Spring Court to the Winter Court in one jump. The most I'd ever done before was short jumps across the span of several trees. I tried to push down the gnawing mass of panic that was already threatening to engulf me. If I could face down the King, I could handle being isolated in a foreign court.

    The sentinel scrutinised me. "Who are you?" He asked again. I bit my lip. I couldn't remember this particular fae Under the Mountain, perhaps he hadn't been important enough to be called down there, but then, even if I didn't answer... surely he would recognize me anyway.

    I tried reached for his mind with my invisible talons, but it was as if the magic had left me. Gone. A new surge of panic rose up. I couldn't even contact Rhys. By the Cauldron... Rhys... my mate didn't even know where I was

    The silence had gone on too long. The sentinel went from scrutinization to immediate suspicion. A small part of me had been surprised when he hadn't tackled me on the spot when I'd appeared out of nowhere.

Faster than my panicking mind could process, he grabbed my left forearm—his hand was freezing cold and sent spasms through my arm—and we winnowed out.

    We arrived in the middle of a huge chamber. The unexpected travel would have made me fall, had the sentinel not been holding tightly to my arm.

    "Gendon," a soft, yet cold voice called out. The sound echoed about the vacant chamber—a chamber that, unfortunately, wasn't much warmer than outside in the snow. "What is this?" My face twitched from barely repressed anger and frustration, ripping my arm out of Gendon's hold.

    "Don't touch me," I snarled at the sentinel. The sentinel didn't even blink, didn't even react, as he stared forward for a beat before bowing low.

    "Apologies, High Lord, for the intrusion. This girl winnowed into Wydeira Glen and was unwilling to divulge her identity. I thought it best to bring her to you." I whipped around.

    High Lord Kallias of the Winter Court lounged on a throne of ice, a jagged crown of ice gleaming from where it sat upon his head. The backrest was formed by long, sharp icicles—short near the edges, and longer toward the middle. Rings of spikes shot out, forming a dais. A cold throne for a cold ruler.