by Karen Chance
“You don’t know them here.”
“And you do?” I asked harshly. “You seem so sure what I want—what about you? This doesn’t scare you? All of this?”
I flung out a hand, because I didn’t have words for all the ways my life had changed recently. And was probably going to change further. Into what, I didn’t know and couldn’t even guess.
“Yes. It scares me.” She looked up at the moon, floating overhead. “I don’t know how to live this way, either.”
I waited, but she didn’t say anything else.
“That’s it? You don’t know?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not very helpful!”
“You’re asking for an ending, the answers all spelled out. We aren’t at the end, but the beginning.”
“That’s . . . profound.” It was also pretty damned useless.
“You want answers,” she told me. “I don’t have them. I don’t even know all the questions yet.”
“Yet you sound excited.”
She turned to look at me. “Aren’t you? Five hundred years, with everything the same. Suddenly, nothing is. It’s frightening, yes, but isn’t it a little exciting, too?”
I didn’t answer, but not because she was wrong. But because—
“What’s going on?” I asked, because something was. Something that looked a lot like Olfun, booking it out of the house and down the street, with something in his arms. Only no. Not something, someone. Aiden.
And I suddenly remembered what he’d told me. About how a lot of people who’d opposed Efridis’ plans for her son were suddenly coming on board, now that they knew Æsubrand no longer wanted the gods back. I just hadn’t realized that Olfun was one of them!
“You won’t be fast enough,” Dorina told me, standing up. “Not with our leg as it is.”
“And you’ll never defeat that bitch!” I was standing, too, feeling pain course through my body and cursing my weakness.
“Perhaps she isn’t here—”
“She is!” I pointed to the top of the little hill, just down the road, where a couple streets crossed. Efridis was still in white, the pure color gleaming under the moonlight, lighting her up like a beacon.
“I have to try,” Dorina said, pulling away from me and spiraling up into the sky.
And then just stayed there, because no, she didn’t.
There were fey streaming out of the house, and chasing after Olfun. But his legs were longer and he had a head start. They’d never catch him in time.
But someone else would.
There was a sudden, terrifying screech from overhead, like a thousand nails on a thousand chalkboards. And a strange, crystalline sound, and a rush of wind so sudden and so severe, that it knocked me to my knees. But I was still up high and there was a gap in the trees, and through it I saw—
Something that would forever be etched in my memory, no matter how long I lived. A huge dragon, black winged and purple tinged, with frightening sunburst eyes, sailing overhead, its body blocking out the moon. As well as the light reflecting off the tiny-looking woman on the ground, who barely had a chance to realize what was happening before the dragon dove—silent, awe-inspiring, death incarnate.
And then Claire ate Efridis.
Epilogue
Burbles was looking grim.
I almost didn’t recognize him, with his normally jolly face dour and his arms crossed over his chest in what should have looked like a protective gesture, but mostly looked like he was trying to keep from strangling someone. I smiled and waved.
He did not smile back.
Mircea sidled up behind me. “What have you done to poor Vincent?”
“Saddled him with sixteen in-need-of-a-home vampires.”
“Saddled him?”
“I told them they could stay in my consular suite, until they figured out their housing situation.” I looked over my shoulder at his amusement. “Well, it’s not like I’m going to be living here.”
We were at the consul’s, waiting for the ceremony to finally confirm us newbies, which was following a bunch of other ceremonies. Because that’s apparently all vamps ever do: get dressed up and parade around, trying to impress people. Which might explain Burbles’ current attitude: Ray’s guys weren’t looking so impressive.
“And where will you be living?” Mircea murmured, leaning on the balcony beside me.
I turned my head to look at him.
“Why?”
“I saw Louis-Cesare a few moments ago. He was looking . . . absurdly pleased with himself.”
“Are you about to get all paternal and complain that I didn’t invite you to the ceremony?”
“Do you know,” Mircea told me thoughtfully, “we have ceremonies for almost everything, except that? The bite is considered an intimate act. It is customary to take care of it in private.”
Yeah, I could see that. We hadn’t been up to much that night, both of us being exhausted and very much under the weather, but Louis-Cesare had enthusiastically made it up to me several times since. Most recently in an alcove downstairs before he had to go away to get his own family ready. Although, it was really all the same thing now, wasn’t it?
I realized I was grinning stupidly and stopped it.
“So what’s the problem?” I asked.
“No problem. I merely wished to ask if—”
But I didn’t find out what Mircea merely wished to ask, because an elegantly dressed Olga was headed our way.
I had on a bias-cut, sapphire blue silk thing that Louis-Cesare’s tailor had whipped up, and I thought I looked pretty good. But Olga was jaw-dropping in some fey ensemble that consisted of a lot of bling, a lot of gilt leather, and a lot of feathers, which she nonetheless managed to make appear regal. It helped that she had an entourage of her own, a mixed group of trolls of all sizes and descriptions, including one familiar towering blue mountain.
“Hang on,” I told Mircea, and walked over.
Blue was one of the few who had not gone all out. He was wearing what looked like the same leather loincloth he’d been in every time I saw him, and the hoary feet were unshod. But he managed the same gravitas Olga projected anyway, and frankly, he didn’t need any bling. The guy was impressive enough all on his own.
The tiny, velvet-clad woman at his side, on the other hand, was styling. I almost didn’t recognize her, because the gun-toting granny had had a makeover. Even the cigarettes were gone.
She flashed me some thigh, when I asked about them.
“Still got ’em, although I’m trying to quit. Faerie, you know.”
“What about Faerie?”
“They don’t got ’em there, and even if they did, Magdar and I are off to the hill tribes, so we’ll be camping out a lot. I wouldn’t be able to get any anyway.”
“Hill tribes?”
She nodded. “That’s where he’s from. We’re gonna try to find his people. And maybe some of mine.”
“Some of yours?”
“Oh, I know,” she told me, “I look ancient to you. But I was young once, and met this guy and—well. You know. He left after a while, which woulda been fine, ’cause I don’t need no man to take care of me! But then he came back for the babe.”
“You lost your child?”
She nodded, and the old eyes went soft. “He had dark hair, like his daddy. One of the river folk, Magdar said. He came back for my boy, and that’s the last I ever saw of him. So Magdar and me, we both got people to find, you know?”
I nodded.
Blue hadn’t said anything, and I hadn’t really expected him to. Trolls don’t waste a lot of words. But then he surprised me.
“Always thought I die in fights,” he said suddenly. “Or in battle with slavers. Now . . .”
“Now you need a different plan.”
I knew how that
felt.
“Good luck,” I told them. “To both of you.”
They nodded gravely, and passed on, and I rejoined Mircea.
“You have interesting friends,” he told me. He glanced over the railing. “And family.”
“At least somebody got them into tuxes,” I noticed. “More or less.”
Ray’s guys were all lined up below, ready to follow me into the ceremony, because apparently you were supposed to bring your family to these things. And I guess one’s family wasn’t supposed to pick their noses or scratch their asses. Because Burbles, looking frighteningly like a drill sergeant suddenly, smacked the offenders’ heads together.
Weirdly enough, they almost looked pleased about it, straightening up and throwing their shoulders back proudly.
Vamps, I thought, and shook my head.
“How is Raymond?” Mircea asked, watching the farce.
“Recovering. He’s upset he’s going to miss this. I promised to take lots of pictures.” I gestured at the one little camera ball we’d managed to save, which was snapping away happily. And the next moment, it had something worth the effort.
“What is that?” I asked, leaning over the railing for a better look.
The great concourse of the consul’s ballroom fell silent as four different delegations came in from four different directions. One was headed by Caedmon, with a great glowing cohort of velvet-clad, blue-robed fey. I saw Soini in the lineup, who saw me, too, and looked like he wanted to wave, but that wouldn’t be dignified. He flashed me a grin instead.
The second group was headed by Olga and her trolls, which she’d picked up even more of along the way. “The local Dark Fey community has elected her as spokesperson,” Mircea murmured. “After the recent demise of two of their more prominent leaders.”
“She’s good at that,” I murmured back.
The third group was led by the consul, with a glittering stream of vampires—dressed to the nines, of course. As usual, she’d arranged to outshine everyone else. Caedmon’s attractive but understated robes paled in comparison, and even the trolls’ more exotic attire faded into the background. But she’d forgotten one little thing.
There was a fourth group at this party, and they didn’t use the doors.
“What the hell?” I said, as some of what I assumed were Claire’s relatives flew in and circled around the room, before coming to rest in front of a table. And changing, as they stepped down to earth, with perfect fluidity from one form to another.
The fluttering cloths they’d worn around their scaly necks transforming into robes that swirled around their human bodies before settling into place, as effortlessly as everything else they did. It kind of left everyone else’s attempts in the dust.
“They are here to sign a treaty,” Mircea told me. “For a long time, the animosity between Dark and Light Fey has made it difficult to negotiate any kind of an alliance for the war. The Dark Fey are tired of being cannon fodder in Light Fey conflicts, and they didn’t trust Caedmon—”
“I noticed.”
“—who has become so secretive over the years, that I doubt he trusts anyone,” Mircea added, without a shred of irony.
For once, I didn’t call him on it.
“So what changed?”
“You did.”
I looked up. “What?”
“Your status as vargr is revered among the Dark Fey; you’ve proven yourself to Olga, someone they respect, many times; your roommate, Claire, has vouched for you to her father; and now you have fought and bled for them—and for the souls of their people. They’ve decided that your side is the right side. And the bones showed them that they couldn’t sit on the sidelines in this conflict. This is a struggle for the soul of Faerie; they have to be in it, too.”
“But . . . I don’t want to be the reason someone goes to war.”
“You’re not. You’re just the reason they’re doing it now, as part of a unified force, while we have our best chance to win. It’s also why you’re our new liaison to the fey.”
Caedmon looked up at me suddenly, almost as if he’d heard. I narrowed my eyes at him. Why did I have the feeling he’d had a hand in that? Probably because he’d threatened to do it before.
He was up to something; I knew it. But right then, I didn’t care. And I cared even less a moment later, when Louis-Cesare appeared below, in his glittering best, and our families lined up together as one.
I started to go down to join them for the big procession, but Mircea caught my arm. And, very strangely for him, he looked almost uncertain. Off-balance. Like everything that had happened lately had thrown him a little, too.
“I wanted to ask . . . if you are all right?”
I started to make one of my usual flippant remarks, but the intensity on his face stopped me. “Yes. Shouldn’t I be?”
“After everything?” He shook his head. “I don’t know. So much has changed, in such a short time. Louis-Cesare, the Senate, Dorina . . .”
He stopped, like he wanted me to tell him that I could handle it, that I was okay. Maybe that both parts of me were. And, for once, I thought I could oblige.
“It’s frightening, yes, but isn’t it a little exciting, too?” I said, repeating Dorina’s words. And felt like the two of us answered him, for once speaking together.
Mircea just stared at me.
I kissed his cheek, laughed at his expression, and went downstairs.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Karen Chance is the New York Times bestselling author of the Cassie Palmer novels, including Ride the Storm, Reap the Wind, and Hunt the Moon, and the Midnight's Daughter series, including Fury's Kiss, Death's Mistress, and Midnight's Daughter. She has lived in France, the United Kingdom, and Hong Kong, but always comes back to America.
What’s next on
your reading list?
Discover your next
great read!
* * *
Get personalized book picks and up-to-date news about this author.
Sign up now.
