by Keri Arthur
And until that gateway was open, there could be no major attack, thanks to the fact the others were too small to allow a mass incursion. It gave us time. Gave us hope, however minute.
“Even if he is unaware that his sword might not be the real one,” she continued. “He has to feel the difference in its energy output. It wouldn’t fit the descriptions given in the great ballads.”
I raised my eyebrows. “What great ballads?”
She waved a hand airily. “The ones written after Uhtric’s victory, of course.”
“I think that part of my education is missing.”
My voice was dry, and she shook her head, her woebegone expression spoiled by the amused glitter in her eyes. “I find it very sad that the current generation knows so little about their history.”
“Hey, if you wanted me to know, you should have said so.” I pointed my beef-filled fork at her. “Especially given you were around at the time and could have provided a firsthand account of both the event and the scribes who wrote the damn things.”
“There are many things I currently regret not doing.” The laughter faded from her expression. “Not teaching you more about your history and even your powers are certainly two of them.”
“I haven’t got any powers.” Or, at least, I hadn’t. It was hardly her fault I was a very late bloomer. “And none of this addresses why you want me to ring Max.”
“If we don’t ring,” she said, around a mouthful of beef. “He may suspect we suspect.”
My smile was a little bitter. “I think merely suspecting him went out the window a few days ago.”
“Maybe, but given we can’t be absolutely certain of anything right now, we need to play the game.”
I sighed. “Fine. I’ll ring him after I finish this.”
I motioned toward my plate and she nodded. “Just don’t forget to play up how badly I was injured, and mention we’ll have to lie low for a few days. It might give us some breathing space.”
I snorted. “He’ll probably just ask what hospital you’re in and then send in the troops.”
Once again, there was a bitter edge in my voice, and Mo tsked. “You know he’s not that stupid.”
“I thought I knew him. I can’t help but wonder if that was ever really true.”
She reached across and squeezed my free hand. “No matter what else he does, no matter how badly darkness has stained him, he is your twin, and I do not for one second believe he can or will cast that aside lightly. Not without great cause, at any rate.”
“You raised him. That should have held some weight, too.”
“You shared a womb. I did not.”
I laughed, as she no doubt intended. “The way things are panning out, that possibility wouldn’t actually have surprised me.”
“Only Mryddin has the reverse life gene; even then, he only regresses to a certain point before his life clock ticks forward again.”
I studied her for a second, uncertain as to whether she was being serious or not. The mischievousness in her expression suggested not, but she did have a long habit of hiding truths in outlandish statements.
“Really?”
She nodded and airily waved her fork. “It’s his incubus heritage; it does weird things to the genes. It’s also what allows him to hibernate for centuries on end.”
“Huh.” I picked up a dumpling and munched on it. “Are you going to start aging backward anytime soon?”
She chuckled. “Definitely not. I’m stuck with this face and body until death eventually claims me.”
Given she could only die of unnatural causes, I was praying death kept her grimy claws away until well after she’d claimed me—which hopefully wouldn’t be anytime soon.
Or, at least, not until I got some Blackbird action.
I finished my meal, then tossed the paper plate into the bin. I half thought about grabbing a shower to delay calling Max a little bit longer but decided against it. I might just need to wash the anger and sense of betrayal away afterward.
“It’ll be all right,” Mo said softly.
It would never be all right, and we both knew it. I sucked in a breath and then made the call.
“Gwen,” he said, voice warm and a touch surprised. “This is an unexpected pleasure—or has something gone wrong yet again?”
Yes, it has, asshole, and you know it. I sucked in another breath and said, “Thought you’d like to know that Mo and I were attacked this afternoon. We both ended up in hospital.”
He swore vehemently. Angrily. It sounded so real, so unpracticed and genuine that for a moment, uncertainty stirred. But only for a moment. He’d been lying to us for a long time now and was no doubt well practiced in producing the necessary emotions on cue.
“Are you okay?” he asked eventually.
You. Not Mo. You. I wanted to scream and rant at him, but I somehow held it back.
“Yes,” I said, somehow managing to sound normal. “Concussed and a little bruised, but otherwise, okay. We were damn lucky, though.”
“You want me to come home? At the very least, I can keep you both supplied with tea and chocolate until you’re both better.”
Once again, he sounded so genuine—so concerned—that tears stung my eyes. Damn it, Max, I wanted to scream, I know. I just need to know why. But I didn’t. Play the game. Find the hydra’s minor heads first …
“We won’t be home for a day or so,” I said. “Mo’s been ordered to rest up, so we’re going to hide out and take it easy.”
“All the more reason for me to be with you.”
This time the concern in his voice was edged with deep anger, but I had a suspicion it wasn’t aimed at us. It might have been caused by his troops missing their kill shot, but instinct suggested that wasn’t the case. Did that mean Mo’s guess was right? Had this action been taken without his knowledge or consent?
“As much as I’d like nothing more than to finally have you play errand boy, it’s too much of a risk.” But not for the reasons he’d undoubtedly think.
“And one I’m willing to take. Damn it, Gwen, you’ve spent plenty of time looking out for me after my various misadventures—”
“Misadventures? That’s putting it a little mildly, isn’t it?”
“Depends on your definition,” he said, laughter in his voice.
“We had thugs pounding on our door at midnight because you’d done a sleight-of-hand car deal—”
“Which was nothing more than a misunderstanding.”
“What about the irate woman who threatened to cut your nuts off because you sold her a strip of land that you didn’t actually own?”
“A simple delay in the paperwork and easily solved.”
“And the idiot who took potshots at you?”
“Stopped as soon as the situation was explained to him. I dare say these attacks will stop, too.”
“Something I thought would happen after you’d claimed—”
I stopped, my eyes widening as horror flooded me. But he either didn’t hear what I’d almost said or he hadn’t yet processed it.
“Damn it, Gwen, you’re my sister! I’m not going to sit back and do nothing.”
Then call off your people, I wanted to yell, tell them to goddamn stop. I sucked in a deep breath and pushed the anger back down again. While it was unlikely he’d missed my near slip, his anger might have overridden the comment enough that he wouldn’t dwell too much on it. But I couldn’t risk a repeat.
“If Mo doesn’t look to be recovering too well, I’ll call you. But I really think she just needs some rest. It’s been a busy few days.”
He made a low, frustrated sound. “Have you heard anything from the preternatural boys or even Luc about Tris’s murder?”
Rage stirred anew. Prodding me for information, no less … “Why would I?”
“You were there when it happened, weren’t you?”
“Yes.” But I hadn’t told him that; either he’d been there himself or he’d been informed of the fact afterward. �
��But that doesn’t mean they’ll keep me updated. They’re all playing their cards very close to their chests.”
“Even Luc? I mean, the attraction between you two is pretty obvious.”
“Attraction doesn’t equate to sharing a bed or bedtime secrets. I’m not you or Tris.”
It was out before I could stop it. I winced and glanced at Mo. She wiggled her hand—a movement that suggested as comments went, it wasn’t the worst thing I could have said.
“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” There was anger in his voice, not suspicion, and for that I was grateful.
“Oh, come on, you’re the one who boasted about sleeping with a certain merchant to get some insider information a few years ago.”
He grunted. “That’s true, but let’s face it, it was a very profitable experience.”
“There’s no profit in me sexing secrets out of Luc. If I need to know something, I’ll damn well ask the man.”
“And he’ll totally answer, because Blackbirds are not known for keeping secrets at all.”
“With good reason, Max.”
He snorted. “And yet they couldn’t stop the sword being claimed. Hell, they couldn’t even stop their own building from being attacked.”
“Because no one expected Darkside to attack damn foundations.”
He was silent for perhaps a second too long. “How do you know they did that?”
How did he? He shouldn’t have, if he was as innocent as he was claiming. “Because I was there. I felt the magic.”
“Damn it, Gwen, you need to stay away from both Luc and the Blackbirds. Please.”
“I can’t. It was my duty to protect the king’s sword, Max, and I failed in that duty.”
“Hardly, given it was claimed by the heir.”
“An heir who’s working with Darkside.” My heart was thumping so loudly as I said that, it was a wonder he couldn’t hear it. “I feel duty bound to rectify the situation.”
“That’s stupid. De Montfort women aren’t warriors—”
“We were once.”
“That was a long time ago, and you’re no warrior, Gwen. You haven’t even been able to access Nex and Vita’s full capabilities.”
My gaze rose to Mo’s. How did he know their full capabilities when she’d only recently told me about the true extent of their powers? Or was it merely a small snippet of information gleaned from everything else he’d gathered over the many years this plot had been in the planning?
“That’s not the point—”
“That is the point,” he cut in. “Darkside’s out to destroy the Blackbirds—”
“Or maybe they’re simply out to grab the Witch King’s artifacts they hold.”
“That’s merely a side benefit.” He paused. “Please, Gwen, do as I ask. I don’t want you dead.”
And if I kept going, that would be my fate. He might not have said it out loud, but that nevertheless was the implication.
“Hey,” I said with forced lightness. “I don’t want me dead either.”
“Then stay away from the Blackbirds. It’s not like they’ve been successful in stopping anything, anyway. They’re past their prime and their time.”
“Darkside would be stupid to underestimate them, Max, and so would you.”
“I don’t underestimate anyone. I never have.”
You underestimate me. You underestimate Mo. I swallowed heavily. “Anyway, none of this is important. Mo’s calling out for a cup of tea, so I’d better go. Keep safe, and keep in contact.”
“You too.”
He hung up. I sucked in a deep breath, then put my phone down. “He didn’t deny claiming the sword. He heard me almost say it, and he didn’t deny it.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“Fuck.” I scraped a hand through my hair. “I really had been hoping that we were wrong, that it wasn’t true, that I wouldn’t have to—”
Confront him. Maybe even kill him.
But the truth was out now, and there really was no going back from it.
Mo took my hands and held them tightly. Tears prickled my eyes again, and this time, I didn’t fight them. I simply grieved for the brother I’d already lost in both heart and soul, even if not yet physically.
Mo didn’t say anything. She simply waited, silently offering me comfort and strength. Eventually, I sucked in a deep, shuddering breath and said, “Well, at least I got that out of the way.”
“Never be afraid to cry, Gwen. I have, plenty of times over the centuries. It might not free the soul of anguish, but it certainly prepares you for what is to come.”
“I don’t know if I can—”
“In the end, your job isn’t to kill your brother but to restrain Darkside. Remember that.” She squeezed my hands, then released me and stood up. “I think a good cup of tea and a huge slab of banoffee pie is in order.”
Whiskey would have been better, but I’d unwisely forgotten to pick that up. “What happens if your presumption that I’m the true heir rather than Max isn’t actually correct?”
She flicked the kettle on and then stooped to pull the pie out of the small fridge. “I’m never wrong, darling girl. Misdirected sometimes, but never wrong.”
I laughed—it was a wan sound, but it was better than resorting to tears again. “Do you want me to ring Ginny and let her know we won’t be back tonight?”
She shook her head. “I have to ring Barney for an update on their progress, so I’ll tell him then.”
I accepted the slab of pie with a nod of thanks. “The other thing he confirmed was them going after the artifacts during the destruction of the Blackbirds headquarters.”
She nodded. “I suggest you ring Luc and find out if they succeeded. If they didn’t, we’ll need to secure that ring.”
“With Vivienne, I take it.”
“Yes, although in truth, even then it won’t be totally safe.”
“I doubt even Darkside would be stupid enough to attack an old goddess.”
“They won’t need to. If you are the heir—and if they do work that out—then they can simply force you to get it for them.”
I opened my mouth to deny the possibility, then snapped it closed again. In reality, all they’d have to do was to capture and threaten Mo, and I’d be putty in their hands—and Max was well aware of that.
Of course, the key to that particular scenario was to actually capture her.
“Then let’s make damn sure they don’t work it out.” I munched on my pie for a bit; the thick layers of caramel, banana, and cream might not do much for my waistline, but it certainly made me feel happier. “Although it’s not as if Vivienne will answer my call.”
“She will if you’re the heir.”
I glanced at her sharply. “Has she answered the summoning of Witch Kings before?”
“Once or twice.” She shrugged. “It depends on what mood she’s in.”
“Then here’s hoping she’s in a good mood tomorrow.”
“As I said, she does love her mornings. I’ll call her, though. It’s better to leave the possibility of you being the true heir mired in uncertainty until we get all our ducks in a row.”
“Our ducks being the real sword and the coronation ring, I’m gathering?”
“Yes.”
“And are we going to tell Luc of your suspicions?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
She raised an eyebrow. “I adore the man, and I’ll love him like my own son when you two marry—”
I snorted. “I like this fantasy world you’re living in.”
She gave me the look. The one that said don’t be daft. “But can you honestly see him—or indeed any of them—accepting the fact that the Witch King’s heir might well be a woman?”
“No.”
“So why say anything until it happens?”
“To warn them.”
“Why waste time and energy? There’re too many other things we need to be doing right now. What’s the time?”
I glanced at my phone. “Just after seven.”
“I’d better ring Barney, otherwise he’ll get worried.” She held out her hand. “I’ll need your phone. Mine’s still in the car, along with my purse.”
“Hopefully the cops will return it once they fish it out of the water.”
“Hopefully.” She made a give-me motion with her hand.
While she made the call, I finished my pie and then headed in for a shower. I stood under the hot water for what seemed an eternity, but it didn’t do much to erase the inner chill. The ties that bound Max and me were very deep; he was my twin, and he would always be a part of me. But to survive what was coming—to survive what I might yet have to do—I had to totally lock my feelings and emotions down. If I didn’t, I might hesitate at the worst possible moment, and that could have dire consequences. Not just for Mo or me, but also for the world. The inner chill was the beginning of that lockdown. It was a barrier of ice forming around my emotions and memories—a shield that would hopefully protect me when I needed it the most.
And I would need it.
I closed my eyes and raised my face to wash away the reemergence of tears. But there would be plenty more before all this was over, of that I was sure.
By the time I got out of the shower, Mo was making another cup of tea. I grabbed the phone from the side table, then slipped under the duvet and called Luc.
“Hey,” he said, his voice warm but weary. “How’s the transcribing going?”
“Good, I presume. Ginny and Mia are working on it with Barney.”
“Then where are you and Mo?”
I gave him a brief rundown of events, and he swore vehemently. “Maybe you should both back off—”
“And do what? Watch the world burn around us?”
“No, but that’s two close calls now. You might not be so lucky the third time—”
“If you want to be technical,” I said lightly, “it’s actually three close calls—I also survived the roof collapse, remember.”
“Damn it, Gwen, I’m being serious here.”
“So am I. We De Montforts lost the sword, Luc. It’s our duty to get it back.”
“I think that horse has well and truly bolted.”
“That depends entirely on whether the sword in the stone was the true king’s sword or not, doesn’t it?”
