by Bec McMaster
“Without her—” Eris bites off a curse.
“We will have to find someone else to help us.”
“There is no one else.”
“There are always opportunities.”
“Ugh. You’re starting to sound like Thalia.”
I grin.
She pushes herself further upright. “What did you do last night? I felt you. I heard you calling to me in the dark. And it….” She shakes her head, bleakness flashing through her eyes. “It knows you were there too.”
“What is it?”
“Oblivion,” she says with a whisper. “Something that is best kept locked inside me. Forever.” And then she’s angry again. “And I had it locked away. I had it buried down deep inside me until you woke it!”
“I’m sorry. I was just trying to help you.”
Eris throws the bedspread back, slinging her legs over the edge. I reach to help her, but she waves me away sharply. “Don’t touch me.” And then a little quieter, when I rear back. “Don’t touch me. It can sense your presence. It wants to drain you dry.”
“Will you be able to… handle it?”
Tension tightens her jaw. “I have to.”
There’s strain on her face as she dresses swiftly. And I wonder if this is what every day of her life feels like.
“I’ll hold myself together,” she growls, “until Thiago gets back, and then he can ward me seven ways until Sunday.”
Sometime during the night, warm arms curl around me in bed, a gentle kiss pressing against the back of my neck.
“Did you miss me?” comes a familiar rumble.
It draws me out of sleep—nice dreams for a change—and as I blink in the light of a lantern that’s been newly lit, I realize my husband is home.
“You’re back.” I turn into his arms, pressing my face against his shirt and the hollow of his throat. I don’t quite cling to him. “How was the front?”
“Busy.” He steals a kiss, and I melt into it.
Every hard inch of him drives me into the mattress, and I run my hands through his hair as I drink at his mouth.
Finally, I can breathe again.
“What are we doing today?” I murmur.
He gives me a rather pointed nudge.
“That’s only an hour’s worth of distraction,” I tell him. “After that?”
Thiago smacks my hip. “And after that we do it again.” He kisses my chin. “And again.” A kiss to my throat. “And again.”
And then he’s working his way down, his fingers brushing against the silk nightdress I no longer need to be wearing.
Chapter Seventeen
Elms Day brings with it the sound of bells.
They ring through the streets below the castle as Thiago stares down at the note that appeared on Eris’s pillow this morning. He sniffs the Sorrow rose. “The Prince of Shadows sends word. He’s found the conspirators behind this little plot and he has them in chains.” Thiago looks up at me. “Something about a triple fee for producing them alive.”
“Double,” I tell him. “It was double. Who are they?”
Thiago flips the note over. “I don’t know. He doesn’t say. He says he has them contained in holding cells in the Bone Church, and will expect payment upon delivery.”
This is what I get for using an assassin.
Untrusting soul.
“You are not going into the city,” Eris says flatly. “Not today.”
Thiago runs the letter over his lips. “They’re going to attack my city. And we don’t know if any of them work in the castle. They could be among the guards, the servants, or even the kitchen staff. What makes you think we’re safer up here?”
“What makes you think the Prince of Shadows isn’t involved?”
“Just a… feeling,” he muses.
“Finn,” she says, turning her attention to the handsome rogue.
Finn leans back in his chair. “I’m just here for my good looks and charm. Besides, I know better than to argue with him when he’s in this mood. Look at him.”
We all look at Thiago.
His eyes narrow. “What?”
“He has his brooding face on,” Finn continues. “That face says ‘someone threatened my wife and now they’re going to die.’ That face says ‘Adaia turned one of my closest friends into a bane.’ It says ‘I really, really want to punch someone.’”
I sip my tea. “It also says, ‘For fucks sake, Finn. Shut up or I’ll hang you out the window by your heels.’”
Thiago holds his hands out. “She’s not entirely wrong.”
Eris snatches the letter from Thiago’s hand and scrunches it into a ball with a passion that makes both men wince. “Fine. Let’s walk into a potential trap. Let’s march into an assassin’s quarters and offer our heads for the chopping block. We’ll take Baylor. He can unleash a little of his pent-up aggression on people who want to kill us. It will be fun.”
“This is what I like about you, Eris,” Finn says, rubbing her shoulders. “You’re always so optimistic.”
“There’s no storm,” I point out as we march into the Old Quarter, because Theron said there would be a storm. “Not even a cloud in the sky. Maybe he misread the situation?”
“Does anyone else wonder if we can trust Theron?” Finn asks. “I’m not saying I agree with Eris, but I am merely pointing out that he is head of the Assassin’s Guild, and he happened to walk into a bookstore where our princess was listening to what appears to be a conspiracy to overthrow our precious prince. Who’s to say he wasn’t there for that meeting and didn’t panic when he saw Vi?”
“Trust me,” I drawl. “I don’t think Theron knows what panic means.”
“You didn’t think of this earlier?” Eris asks, her hard gaze darting into every alley we pass. She hasn’t taken her hand off the hilt of her sword. “When I was trying to convince everyone this was a bad idea?”
“This is a good idea,” Baylor says, cracking his knuckles.
Everyone looks at him.
Even Thiago.
“Alive,” Thiago reminds him, as we cross the bridge into the Old Quarter. “We need information and—"
There’s a tremor deep underground.
I freeze, looking down. “Can you feel that?”
Thiago takes a step toward me, and the sharpness of his features assures me he knows exactly what I’m talking about. Every inch of him becomes alert. “Eris?”
“Fan out,” Eris snaps, and she takes the point as Finn and Baylor both draw their swords.
“What is that?” Finn mutters.
There’s no immediate threat. No sign of impending doom.
But I can feel it spiraling out beneath me as though magic is being breathed to life in the world nearby. An immense, dangerous sort of magic.
Somewhere nearby, the earth is screaming.
A frown furrows between Thiago’s brows. “Baylor, take Vi back to the castle. I need to—”
“Not without you.” Our eyes meet, and then he gives a curt nod as if he recognizes I’m not merely going to tuck tail and run.
“Then take these.” He flips a pair of daggers into his fingers and offers me the hilts.
“Why do you get the sword?” I joke, trying to swallow my sudden nerves. My skin itches.
“Didn’t you know? Size matters to all males.”
“Yes, but as all females know, you can still feel a little prick.”
An incredulous laugh escapes him, before he starts to scan the skies. “Later. You’ll pay for that later.”
“I’m trying to concentrate here,” Finn says, making a gagging sound.
A horrible rumbling sound ruptures the world, but there’s a distance to it that makes me uncertain. So deep I can’t quite pinpoint where it’s coming from. It feels like a leviathan is crawling up from the world’s magma core, and slowly, slowly bring the force of its propulsion with it.
Up. It’s coming from— “The dam,” I whisper.
Pebbles rain down the cliff face.
/> Fae stagger out of their shops, all of them looking about.
“What in Maia’s name?” My whisper dies as the beast finally emerges.
An explosion of stone detonates far above us.
I scream as rock bursts into shards, flinging my arms over my head. And then Thiago is there, sweeping me under the overhang of a shop as enormous chunks of stone slam into the streets.
Seconds later a ward forms above us, quietening some of the noise.
“Vi!”
“I’m all right! I’m fine!”
“Where are the others?”
I catch a glimpse of Eris and Finn ducking under an overhang across the street. Baylor simply stands in the middle of the street and slowly looks up.
There’s a rushing noise, like the sound of—
“Water,” I breath.
It was never a storm.
Thiago scans the cliff as that rushing noise begins to grow louder. And then his face suddenly whitens as a sluice of water pours toward us, trickling through a crack in the dam walls. “The dam. They’ve set charges on the dam.”
BOOM.
Another one.
Fae scream.
Thiago takes a step in that direction and as if his illusions are a veil, I catch a hint of wings spreading. “Go with Baylor. He’ll keep you safe.”
Safe?
Grabbing his arm, I haul him toward me. “You’re not going up there?”
A third explosion echoes, this time weaker than the others and further along. Bells begin ringing throughout the Old Quarter—the same bells that had rung for Elms Day—though these ones sing the song of alarm. Panic echoes through the quarter, and the bells are the symphony.
“The dam walls haven’t broken yet—they’re solid stone. If I can stop those charges….”
The world will see what he is.
They will know the truth.
I can’t fly, but he can.
I see it in his eyes, and then he gives me a crisp nod. If those dam walls break, this part of the city will be washed away. Thousands will die. And if he can stop it from happening, then it’s worth the cost of his unseelie secret.
“Let me go.” An implacable sort of violence crosses Thiago’s face as he turns to face the threat. “Finn! You’re with me. Eris, get to the Bone Church and find out what Theron knows.” He takes two steps, then turns back to her. “Don’t kill him.”
She makes an innocent gesture to her chest as if to say, would I do that?
“Baylor and I will help these people to evacuate,” I tell him. “They’ll die if they stay here.”
“And so will you.”
“Not if you stop the dam from breaking.”
“Vi!"
“You want me to be your queen?” I push away from him, staring up at the water gushing down the cliff. “Then you need to let me be your queen. If I survived my mother’s court, then this should be a laugh. Panic will only inspire death. Someone needs to take control.”
Thiago’s jaw clenches. “Promise me you’ll get out before it’s too late.”
“I don’t intend to die here.” I dart toward him and kiss his startled mouth. “I have an appointment with my mother, and she’s not going to escape my vengeance this time. Now get up there and stop those explosions.”
He grabs my face in both hands, kisses me hard and furious, and then steps away. “I’ll veil as best I can.”
Ripples of invisible force stir through the air as he spreads his wings wide, and then he launches himself into the sky, vanishing in an instant. Finn curses under his breath, sheathes his sword, and then hauls himself up the side of a shop and onto the roof. He takes a running jump and leaps onto the side of the cliff face, finding handholds where none appear to exist.
A veil is all good and well, but I catch glimpses of Thiago as he flies. Even the best veil is prone to wind shifts and body movements. “They’ll see his wings,” I tell Baylor.
“He knows what he’s doing. Come on.”
Time to follow through on my own promises.
I consider the topography of the city. The old quarter has excellent views of the harbour below it, but if that dam breaks then it will be under water.
The highest point of the city is where the castle looms. I’d like to think it was mere happenstance that saw it built in a defensible position, but my familiarity with queens makes me suspect some long-ago royal liked looking down on her subjects.
“To the castle!” I yell.
My voice is lost within the cacophony of screams and fae scrambling for cover.
Curse it. I need to be heard.
There’s a spell my mother uses when she’s speaking before the court. Few know what she’s doing, but she can modify her tone so it either cuts like a sibilant whisper, or is loud enough to send her border lords to their knees.
It’s not something I’ve practiced.
My childhood taught me to amplify voices so I could hear what was being said several rooms over, but not how to amplify my own voice.
Maybe I can twist that spell somehow?
I scramble up on top of a shoe shop and quieten all my senses. Instead of reaching out, I reach within and feel my magic brewing.
“Evacuate to the castle!”
The words tear from my throat and vibrate through the air. Bells shatter. Birds squawk. Baylor winces, clapping his hands over his ears. The spell shreds my throat and nearly sends me to my knees, but I know everyone in the Old Quarter heard me. Possibly everyone in the city. Coughing blood, I try to croak something else, but my voice is gone.
Curse it. That will have to do.
Fae flee in all directions, but I see heads turning, looking for the castle.
“Go!” I mouth silently.
Above me, a shuddering groan of rock indicates another fracture of the dam walls. A black shape forms, elegant wings flaring wide. Fae stop and point and my heart is in my throat as I watch Thiago strain to contain another explosion.
Fire blooms, but he vanishes it in a whirl of darkened shadow.
It’s like what he did with the library. The explosion is somehow contained, its damage swallowed by those clouds of darkness.
“The prince!” someone points.
“He has wings,” another cries.
Thorns erupt through the cobblestones of the street like some sort of monstrous bramble-creature that’s clawing its way up from the underground.
One of them lashes out and snatches up a butcher. He vanishes with a scream, swallowed whole by the chasm. And suddenly fae are moving again, fleeing in terror.
What sort of attack is this?
Baylor meets the next blow, but a thorn lashes out and wraps around his waist. It hauls him inside the crevice.
“Baylor!” I whisper hoarsely, leaping into the street with my daggers in hand. The brambles whip and writhe, snatching an older female off her feet and dragging her toward the gaping chasm.
Lunging forward I drive both daggers through the thicker, fleshier part of the bramble and a hissing screech echoes.
“Take—” my hands. My voice dies in a croak, but the female clutches at me and I haul her to her feet. A shove in the back sends her limping into the flurry.
And then a fae warrior is thrown up through the crevice, as though the bramble-creature tossed him.
He lands lightly on his feet in the middle of the street, and before his red cape has even finished swirling, his sword clears its sheath and slices a man’s head from his shoulders.
Gold-plated armor. Red cloak. The crown of thorns emblem on the pommel of his sword.
An Asturian warrior.
Mother.
And not just one of her guards, but one of her elite, hand-picked Deathguard, judging by the blank gold mask that covers his features.
A two-pronged attack—one group no doubt sent after the walls of the dam, and the second sent into the city to create as much havoc as possible.
Second strike.
My mind flashes back to that encounter in
the bookshop. This ‘Gray Guild’ that wants to overthrow my husband is working with my mother.
With her? Or for her?
Do they even know what they’ve begun?
“Baylor?” I try to yell, but the sound is a muted whisper.
He’ll have to take care of himself. I have my hands full.
The warrior whirls, cutting down an enormous merchant who charges at him. He moves like lightning, barely pausing to shove the man off his blade before he spins and guts a woman who tries to brain him with a meat cleaver.
Another Asturian warrior is launched through the crevice. A female, this time.
Then a third. And a fourth.
There will be five in this pack; they always hunt in groups of five.
But the fifth is no warrior clad in gold.
Instead it’s a bane, wearing a thick golden collar the size of my forearm.
It lands on all four legs, its slavering jowls quivering as it roars, and then it bounds after a pair of women that scream and flee toward a restaurant.
I have to get these people out of here.
Or create a target they might focus on, to give the merchants time to escape.
Summoning a bow of raw aether, I forge an arrow out of flame and nock it swiftly. Heat sizzles near my cheek. It was a trick Thiago taught me; he can’t wield Fire, but he knew it would teach me to control every inch of flame. I lock on the bane and sent the shaft blazing through the air.
The bane screams as my arrow strikes between its shoulder blades. Its fur catches fire instantly, until it’s a howling inferno of rage and pain.
I don’t have time to focus on it. My fingers are blistered—I’m still perfecting my fire arrows—and now I have the attention of the remaining four Deathguard.
And no voice.
My bow vanishes into nothing.
“What’s wrong, little girl?” The warrior sneers, wiping his fingers along the edge of his blade and flicking blood onto the cobbles. “Scared?”
Voiceless. Impotent rage simmers within me, but there’s more than one way to communicate.
