Ambrosia (Frost and Nectar, #2)
C.N. Crawford
1
AVA
Igazed into the puddle of water on the forest floor, staring at the deep bronze horns jutting from my head: small and devilish, curved out and up to the sky. My eyes looked dark and murky, the slate green of a stormy sea. Dirt was smudged on one cheekbone, and I wiped it off with a shaking hand.
When I’d fallen through the icy portal into this place, my hair had shifted from lavender at the ends to a pale green. My clothing had changed, too. I now wore a damp, seafoam green dress that clung to my body, soaked through by the portal’s water. The forest’s damp earth stained my little white shoes and the hem of the gossamer dress.
With a shiver of horror, my gaze shifted back to the horns. My pulse ratcheted up.
Demon.
That was the Seelie term for the Unseelie.
Once, Torin had said, “A king is supposed to show that he has the power to defeat the demons.” A tapestry hung in the Great Hall of his castle, and it depicted an ancient Seelie king severing the head of a demon with golden horns.
Horns that looked a lot like mine…
Dread sank its talons into my heart. Would Torin drive a blade through my throat if he saw me?
Ava Jones didn’t have these horns. They belonged to the new me, a demon with a forgotten name.
I reached up to touch one of the curves, running a finger over the tip. It was disturbingly sensitive, sending a shudder through me. Sharp as the point of a fae sword. For a moment, my mind blazed with an image of the horns tearing through someone’s gut…
I shuddered again. Underneath the glamour of ordinary Ava Jones, a monster was waking.
When I pulled my finger away from the point of my horn, a scarlet droplet glistened on my finger. I stuck my finger in my mouth, tasting copper.
I breathed in, trying to calm myself. The scent of the forest filled my nose, rich and primeval: moss, soil, and undertones of sweet almonds. The scent tickled something in the darkest recesses of my memory. Mist billowed around me, obscuring my reflection in the puddle of water.
Leaves rustled, and I jumped to my feet, remembering a terrible, blood-chilling fact I’d forgotten in my distraction: there was a spider behind me, a freakishly large spider.
I whirled around. A spider the size of a dog crawled closer, all six of its iridescent eyes locked on me.
I started to back away carefully, my little shoes drenched by the puddle. The spider scuttled nearer, mouth open to display its long, pointed fangs.
As I edged away, I silently cursed the magic of this place for supplying me with a pretty dress, but not a sword to defend myself. There were the horns, of course—but I wasn’t ready to get that close.
The spider skittered closer, and I turned and sprinted in the other direction.
Hiking up my dress, I raced through the mist. Gnarled tree roots jutted from the damp earth beneath my feet, and I took care not to trip.
I could hardly see where I was going in the fog, and the thick brush scratched my arms and legs. I splashed through muddy puddles and swatted branches away from my face.
Panicked thoughts flitted through my mind as I tried to make sense of my current situation. Exactly what had happened in the past hour?
I was supposed to be Queen of the Seelie now.
I should be sitting on a throne, replenishing the kingdom with my magic, saving it from the frost and famine. I should be Torin’s wife—at least for show. I should have fifty million in my bank account. But Moria had showed up in my room with a story about a murdered sister and a premonition of my death. She’d been certain that Torin would kill me, too. Gleeful about it, really.
My heart splintered.
And maybe she was right. Because from what I understood, a Seelie king was honor-bound to slaughter an Unseelie like me .
I fled through the forest, Torin’s words ringing in my skull: Monsters…demons…even speaking of them could draw their twisted attention.
A low, hissing noise sent fear crawling up my spine. I glanced back. The monstrous spider was gaining on me. I ran faster through the mist, my lungs burning. Thorns scored my bare arms with angry red lines. In the distance, I heard the rush of a river, and I ran toward the sound. If I followed the river, it might lead to a village or settlement.
Any moment, I expected the spider to pounce, the feel of its hairy legs on my back followed by the burning pain of fangs sinking into my neck.
When I stumbled over a root, I whirled my arms to steady myself. Snatching a fist-sized rock from the ground, I spun and hurled the rock at the spider’s eyes. The creature jerked back with a screech, and I sprinted away again.
As I reached the roaring river, the setting sun tinged the fog with a rose gold light. White water rushed over snags of driftwood and tumbled down a gentle slope into a clearing. A cool spray misted over me. When I searched the fog, I didn’t see any movement.
I followed the narrow path beside the river. Further into the woods, the forest hues shifted into vibrant, enchanted shades. Green leaves blended to maroon, then bright red, and the tree trunks ranged from indigo to midnight blue. As night fell, the light was darkening to twilight shades of violet and periwinkle.
I hurried along the edge of the river bank, over slippery rocks and gnarled roots. Night was closing in, the shadows thickening and lengthening around me. I sucked in a deep breath, trying to imagine how I’d navigate this place in total darkness.