Misrule, page 32
“For what purpose?”
That brilliant Grace smile hitches. “For…our reward. I hate to seem impatient, but with the battle coming, we’re all anxious to—”
“Reward? Is the destruction of these creatures not enough to satisfy you?”
“It is, of course.” Rose brushes a stray pink curl out of her eyes. “But you did promise…”
The orb of Oryn’s staff pulses. “What did I promise?”
“You said we would be full Fae. That you would turn us.”
Ships’ bells clang in the distance.
“I assure you, Grace.” The word is flung like an insult. “I made no such agreement. For if I did, I would be bound to honor it.”
Every muscle in Rose’s body coils. “You said—”
“I said…” He advances on her, spurs singing. His companions angle themselves closer. “That you would have the life of a Fae. That is what we agreed.”
“The life of a Fae, precisely…”
“And you will be permitted to live within my court, an honor no Grace before you has ever attained. You already know that if you do not spend your gift, you will enjoy a long existence. It is sufficient. It is what we agreed.”
“But…” Bright honey splotches erupt on Rose’s chest and neck.
Understanding dawns in my mind. Like the Briar King during the first war, Rose was clumsy with her words. She assumed she was bargaining for power. A staff, probably. A title and prestige among the Fae. But Oryn would never grant her any of that. Would never deign to consider her an equal. Should she ever live in Etheria, the only status Rose would claim would be the same as mine used to be in Briar—of a half-breed. An outcast. I’d laugh if the situation weren’t so tragic.
“If you dislike our arrangement, you may release me from my vow.” His leafy eyebrows rise in challenge.
I can almost glimpse the storm brewing beneath Rose’s skin, like the Demons before they change into their shadow forms.
“I do not release you,” Rose grinds out. “And I demand that you—”
A deafening blow roars around us. I’m knocked to my knees. The tower sways, listing to one side. The High King scrambles for his staff. Stone crunches and pops.
A sharp whistle pierces the ringing in my ears and reels my attention to the right. Regan and another Vila are straddled on our flying steeds, pouches of blight elixir held in each hand.
“Come on!” she yells. How did she know I was here? “Now, Nimara!”
My steps are drunken as the tower pitches, but I make it to the edge of the roof. Regan is waving wildly, urging me on.
But Aurora.
Leave her!
I turn around and search for her amid the Fae. They’re crowding protectively around the High King. I don’t see her—
A high whinny cuts through the chaos, coupled with wingbeats. Another Fae steed soars over the tower and loops back. But it’s not an armored Fae rider perched on the saddle—it’s Derek. Damn that mortal. Where has he been hiding? He shouts Aurora’s name, and she emerges from behind a guard. The prince swoops around the tower.
“Jump!” He banks the steed as close to the wall as he dares.
Aurora throws a last look over her shoulder. Our eyes meet, the seconds slowing and thudding against my eardrums. And then she vaults over the side of the tower and into Derek’s waiting arms. The steed pivots and bounds toward the ships on the horizon.
Oryn staggers to his feet, staff in hand. Before he has the chance to attack, I leap over the edge of the tower, Shifting as I fall. A pair of wings peels from my spine and I’m carried away. Behind me, Regan and the other Vila toss the last pouches of explosives at the tower, then send two arrows after them.
There’s a final blast. And then the black tower, and everyone in it, is buried in a mountain of ash and rock.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Regan and the other Vila pull even with me a short distance away from the smoldering wreckage. My heart is still slamming against my ribs. Derek and Aurora are nothing but a speck speeding toward the human ships.
“How did you know I was here?”
A familiar warble answers. Callow. She lands on my shoulder and knocks her head against mine.
The other Vila smirks. “Damn bird was haunting the courtyard. Wouldn’t give us any peace until we followed her. I think you have to eat a raw mouse to thank her.”
I owe my kestrel much more.
“And there was the boy,” she adds.
“Derek?” I ask, startled.
The Vila dips her chin in confirmation. “He showed up in the night to tell us Oryn had set up his camp at the tower. Between his information and Callow, we could guess where you had gone.”
Derek is…helping us? The Fae guard said he’d stolen a steed, but I would never have guessed he’d go to the palace. His human fleet is still waiting with the Fae army, poised to attack. What could the boy be…
“And suppose you went to the tower to confront the High King? Alone?” Regan looks at me like I’m an Imp she discovered in her wardrobe.
Like a rogue wave, the argument from before smashes between us. Callow, sensing the change in my energy, screeches.
“I don’t have to explain myself,” I say to the Vila leader, ignoring the confusion scrawled on her companion’s face. “I received intelligence from Neve and acted on it.”
“Neve? You trusted her after everything that happened?”
A spiteful retort builds behind my teeth. But it won’t do any good to spar with Regan now. Briefly, and more to the other Vila, I explain the last hours—why Oryn was able to muster at the tower, his wanting the Briar crown, and how Rose snuck back into the palace and released the other Graces.
“The High King has planted something, then.” Regan angles her steed toward the Grace District, where smoke streams into the low clouds and creeps through the graveyard of buildings.
“He must have,” I say. “If it’s magic, I might be able to undo it.”
“We’d best hope so.”
The Fae beast snorts.
“But why would Oryn have wanted the Briar crown at all?” the other Vila asks.
“Who knows?” I gesture at the fallen tower. “In any case, he doesn’t have it now.”
“Yes, because the princess does.” Regan spits Aurora’s title in what I know is a deliberate attempt to goad me. But I don’t possess the will or energy to respond. Oryn’s army is beginning to stir, word undoubtedly spreading about what transpired at the tower.
“I’m going back,” I say.
Regan clicks her tongue and wheels her mount toward the cliffs. “I’ll see what can be done about the human fleet.”
The first punches of cannon fire reverberate from the ships. Regan’s steed whinnies, its wings beating harder. A cloud of ash still hovers over the black tower. And the severity of the looming danger at last registers. It pulls me up short. We have no idea what the next hours will bring.
“Regan, wait,” I call.
She motions for the other Vila to fly ahead. Her brow furrows. “What is it?”
I fly nearer. “Whatever else has happened—thank you. If you hadn’t come…”
The fire in her emerald gaze dulls. Her shoulders soften. “I told you before. I would cross the sea a hundred times over to be by your side.”
Emotion tightens my throat. I’m still angry with her. Still wounded by her betrayal. But I reach for her anyway, my green-veined skin juxtaposed with her rich brown bone spikes. A Vila. Just like me.
“Don’t die,” I say, my voice rough. “We aren’t finished fighting.”
She barks a laugh, kicks at the sides of the Fae steed, and hurtles toward the Crimson Cliffs.
A battle has begun in earnest by the time I make it back to the palace. And I’m relatively certain Oryn is still alive. Were he dead, his power would have transferred immediately to his heir, which—given the depth of the High King’s magic—is an event I doubt we could have overlooked. The Fae certainly behave as though nothing has changed. They flood our skies on their steeds, laying siege for the first time in a hundred years. Demons swirl over the realm in their shadow forms, boasting the nightmarish shapes of deadly wolves and spear-toothed monsters. Imps and Goblins take cover in the skeletal buildings of the districts, loosing arrows and firing crossbows. Golden scythes of power lash the skies. Fae bodies clad in woven-branch armor look like falling stars as they’re toppled from their mounts.
Valmar is upon me as soon as I land. “Nimara! The palace is aflame.”
Callow flaps to the ground but stays close. Goblins and Imps stampede through the courtyard, some of them hauling sloshing buckets of water and others brandishing weapons. An Imp hurries up to me with a breastplate made of bones. I motion her away. The weight of it would be too cumbersome.
“How bad is the fire?”
Valmar scrubs the back of his neck. “It’s chewing through the palace like no fire ought. Mine are working as fast as they can, but nothing touches it.”
“Valmar!” An Imp scurries up, pudgy vermilion cheeks darkened with soot. “We found more of ’em.”
“Where?” he demands.
“Most of ’em in the back corridors. Glowing, they was.”
“More of what?”
The Imp’s long ears twitch. “Drawings, Mistress. Strange like. Found ’em painted in hidden corners and such. Don’t know who put ’em there or why they all lit up.”
“Drawings.” I kneel to the Imp’s level. “What do they look like?”
“Like the symbol of the piss-eyed king.” He cups his fingers together in an imitation of the laurel leaves curving around an orb. “All of ’em gold.”
Those have to be the runes Rose told Oryn she and the other Graces drew. How they were able to skulk through the palace undetected, I’ll never know. Oryn must have given them some charm or the like for concealment. And he’ll probably be completing his enchantment as soon as he digs himself out of the rubble of the tower. Which means we need to work quickly.
I’m about to instruct the Imp to show me what he found, when the clamor of wingbeats gusts around us. Callow screeches a warning and several beasts sail overhead, but they’re not Fae. These are more akin to a griffin I saw illustrated in a storybook, with huge taloned feet and scales instead of feathers. One swoops into the courtyard and—my breath catches.
“Torin!” I’m crushing her in an embrace before her feet have fully reached the ground. “You survived. We looked for you, but couldn’t—”
“We had help,” she assures me, and pats the griffin creature’s flank. “Meet one of Neve’s Starlings. Merkin here, and his compatriots, warned us of the Fae warriors lying in wait at the border. We turned back before the protections were even broken. The Demons hid us until it was safe to start for home.”
Mortania hums with disquiet. The Shifters are not to be trusted.
My initial instinct is to agree, and I feel myself take a reflexive step backward. But I stop. Neve obviously hadn’t been lying when she said she had her Starlings waiting. She’d made sure everyone got home safely. No matter what Mortania says, I’ve treated the Shifters like enemies for too long. Shame climbs up my neck.
“Thank you,” I say to the Starling.
Merkin paws at the flagstones and chuffs.
“I take it the plan to steal the High King’s staff failed,” Torin guesses, eyeing the battle.
I almost laugh. “There was never any plan to do that, at least not as Aurora presented it.”
“So I’ve been told.” Torin nods in Merkin’s direction. The grooves traversing her limbs fade from amber to pale yellow. “Honestly, I have no idea what Neve was thinking, keeping a scheme like that from me. She was in completely over her head.”
There’s something in Torin’s tone. A possessiveness regarding the Shifter leader that I intimately understand. And I scold myself again for the hundred details I missed over the years. “Her motivation is clear enough.”
“What could possibly have—”
I grant the Demon leader a wry smile. “Neve wanted us in and out of the High Court as quickly as possible. She didn’t want our forces involved at all—forces you were leading.”
Shock blooms in the Demon leader’s amber gaze. The fissures on her skin flare a bright red, such that I have never seen her wear before. “Oh. She…told you.”
“She did. And I owe you an apology,” I say, the shame from my earlier exchange with Neve hitting me all over again. “I shouldn’t have caused you to feel like you had to keep something like that a secret.” I turn my attention to Merkin. “Or caused Neve—or any of the Shifters—to feel like outsiders in their own home.”
Merkin bows his head. And Torin tugs at her onyx pendant. “Where is Neve now?”
“I don’t know.” Smoke pours steadily from the open windows of the palace and chugs through the main door. “When we got back, I…sort of blamed her for what happened at the High Court. She’s keeping a low profile for now.”
Torin sighs. “We’ll sort it out.”
“And Renard?” Valmar asks. I’d almost forgotten he was there.
“He flew ahead to corral his Goblins. I’ll do the same with my Demons.” Torin accepts a ladleful of water from an Imp. “By the way, how did you manage to persuade the humans to fight for us? I know it wasn’t Regan’s doing.”
I stare at her.
“Humans fighting for us?” Valmar grunts. “Did you drink the ambrosia wine in the High Court?”
The ladle splashes into the bucket. Torin wipes her mouth. “We flew past the fleet on our way here. You don’t know?”
“I know Derek came to warn Regan and the others about the High King. But last I saw, the mortals’ cannons were firing at our shores.”
Torin swings onto Merkin’s back and hauls Valmar up behind her. “See for yourself.”
I’m back in the air in an instant, Callow beside me. The Ryna ships are minuscule next to the Crimson Cliffs. I sharpen my eyesight until I can see the white puffs of the cannon shots. Guns that are no longer aimed at Briar or at the Vila darting about on their steeds but at the light Fae warriors.
“I assumed you made some sort of pact,” Torin calls.
I deny this emphatically. A harpoon is launched from the deck of a ship and impales a Fae steed. Both mount and rider spiral into the sea.
Torin says something else, but I’m distracted by a deadly crunch of wood. One of the Ryna ships rocks back and forth in a dangerous rhythm, and then the bow and stern begin rising simultaneously. Dragon’s teeth. The hull is splitting in half like a cracked egg. A cheer goes up, one that sounds unmistakably like the Vila war cry.
Regan.
If the humans have switched to our side, why is she still attacking them? And then another, far more terrifying thought takes root:
Aurora is on one of those ships. Maybe even that one.
Valmar is still shouting my name as I tear toward the wreck.
* * *
—
The smoke from the palace fires rolls in a gritty tide across the Grace District. It burns in my lungs and blurs my vision as I cut through it, Callow beside me, dodging arcs of golden Fae power and armored riders. Goblins appear in the windows of decrepit manors and Grace houses, hurling bone-tipped spears soaked in Vila blood. Demons prowl above them, hardly discernible from the noxious smoke. I spot one in the shape of a gargantuan sea creature, its eyes like orange embers. It swallows a mount and rider whole. The Fae steed screams in terror as the darkness engulfs him, and then goes eerily silent. Sinister laughter echoes as the Fae warrior cartwheels like a ragdoll to the ground below, her staff extinguished.
I’m almost to the main gates when a rider intercepts me. I veer out of his way and a heartbeat later hear his cry of anguish as a Goblin’s raven-feathered arrow impales him in the throat. He slumps in the saddle, gilded helmet lolling as his steed gallops away on the wind. I urge my wings faster.
The Ryna ship is already underwater when I land at the edge of the Crimson Cliffs. Regan’s steed spots Callow and nickers.
“What are you doing away from the palace?” Drying Fae blood splatters her leathers and the bone spikes along her forehead.
I gulp down air and point. “Why did you sink that ship?”
“I told you I would keep the humans back.”
“But they’re helping us! They’re firing at the Fae. I saw them harpoon one of the steeds.”
“And?” Her mount begins to dance and she reins it in. “They’re still our enemies, Nimara. Maybe their plan is to eliminate both us and the Fae, then claim these lands for themselves.”
The wails of the drowning sailors float up from below.
“They have less than a dozen ships, and not nearly enough force to conquer two armies.”
She shrugs. “Greedy and stupid, then.”
“Regan—”
“Enough. I know why you’re here. For her. You think she’s on one of those ships. If she is, it’s her choice. She didn’t choose you, and she never has. Not once.”
Listen well, pet.
The wind whips around us, ruffling the Fae beast’s gold-dusted feathers. Callow’s talons dig into my shoulder. Ships rock and pitch on the choppy current.
“This isn’t about her. We have to keep Oryn from casting his enchantment, and if the humans can help us do that—”
“Then stop Oryn,” she replies. “Use your power for the Dark Court instead of distracting yourself with people who don’t matter.”
Yes, pet. Use me.
“It’s not that simple.”
“And why not? The humans have absolutely nothing to do with us.” Regan jerks her chin at the turmoil below. “She’s drawn a line. You cannot be on both sides of it. And I’m tired of giving myself to someone who would throw away everything we’ve built for some mortal princess. I came here for you. I love you.” Her eyes shine.
That brilliant Grace smile hitches. “For…our reward. I hate to seem impatient, but with the battle coming, we’re all anxious to—”
“Reward? Is the destruction of these creatures not enough to satisfy you?”
“It is, of course.” Rose brushes a stray pink curl out of her eyes. “But you did promise…”
The orb of Oryn’s staff pulses. “What did I promise?”
“You said we would be full Fae. That you would turn us.”
Ships’ bells clang in the distance.
“I assure you, Grace.” The word is flung like an insult. “I made no such agreement. For if I did, I would be bound to honor it.”
Every muscle in Rose’s body coils. “You said—”
“I said…” He advances on her, spurs singing. His companions angle themselves closer. “That you would have the life of a Fae. That is what we agreed.”
“The life of a Fae, precisely…”
“And you will be permitted to live within my court, an honor no Grace before you has ever attained. You already know that if you do not spend your gift, you will enjoy a long existence. It is sufficient. It is what we agreed.”
“But…” Bright honey splotches erupt on Rose’s chest and neck.
Understanding dawns in my mind. Like the Briar King during the first war, Rose was clumsy with her words. She assumed she was bargaining for power. A staff, probably. A title and prestige among the Fae. But Oryn would never grant her any of that. Would never deign to consider her an equal. Should she ever live in Etheria, the only status Rose would claim would be the same as mine used to be in Briar—of a half-breed. An outcast. I’d laugh if the situation weren’t so tragic.
“If you dislike our arrangement, you may release me from my vow.” His leafy eyebrows rise in challenge.
I can almost glimpse the storm brewing beneath Rose’s skin, like the Demons before they change into their shadow forms.
“I do not release you,” Rose grinds out. “And I demand that you—”
A deafening blow roars around us. I’m knocked to my knees. The tower sways, listing to one side. The High King scrambles for his staff. Stone crunches and pops.
A sharp whistle pierces the ringing in my ears and reels my attention to the right. Regan and another Vila are straddled on our flying steeds, pouches of blight elixir held in each hand.
“Come on!” she yells. How did she know I was here? “Now, Nimara!”
My steps are drunken as the tower pitches, but I make it to the edge of the roof. Regan is waving wildly, urging me on.
But Aurora.
Leave her!
I turn around and search for her amid the Fae. They’re crowding protectively around the High King. I don’t see her—
A high whinny cuts through the chaos, coupled with wingbeats. Another Fae steed soars over the tower and loops back. But it’s not an armored Fae rider perched on the saddle—it’s Derek. Damn that mortal. Where has he been hiding? He shouts Aurora’s name, and she emerges from behind a guard. The prince swoops around the tower.
“Jump!” He banks the steed as close to the wall as he dares.
Aurora throws a last look over her shoulder. Our eyes meet, the seconds slowing and thudding against my eardrums. And then she vaults over the side of the tower and into Derek’s waiting arms. The steed pivots and bounds toward the ships on the horizon.
Oryn staggers to his feet, staff in hand. Before he has the chance to attack, I leap over the edge of the tower, Shifting as I fall. A pair of wings peels from my spine and I’m carried away. Behind me, Regan and the other Vila toss the last pouches of explosives at the tower, then send two arrows after them.
There’s a final blast. And then the black tower, and everyone in it, is buried in a mountain of ash and rock.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Regan and the other Vila pull even with me a short distance away from the smoldering wreckage. My heart is still slamming against my ribs. Derek and Aurora are nothing but a speck speeding toward the human ships.
“How did you know I was here?”
A familiar warble answers. Callow. She lands on my shoulder and knocks her head against mine.
The other Vila smirks. “Damn bird was haunting the courtyard. Wouldn’t give us any peace until we followed her. I think you have to eat a raw mouse to thank her.”
I owe my kestrel much more.
“And there was the boy,” she adds.
“Derek?” I ask, startled.
The Vila dips her chin in confirmation. “He showed up in the night to tell us Oryn had set up his camp at the tower. Between his information and Callow, we could guess where you had gone.”
Derek is…helping us? The Fae guard said he’d stolen a steed, but I would never have guessed he’d go to the palace. His human fleet is still waiting with the Fae army, poised to attack. What could the boy be…
“And suppose you went to the tower to confront the High King? Alone?” Regan looks at me like I’m an Imp she discovered in her wardrobe.
Like a rogue wave, the argument from before smashes between us. Callow, sensing the change in my energy, screeches.
“I don’t have to explain myself,” I say to the Vila leader, ignoring the confusion scrawled on her companion’s face. “I received intelligence from Neve and acted on it.”
“Neve? You trusted her after everything that happened?”
A spiteful retort builds behind my teeth. But it won’t do any good to spar with Regan now. Briefly, and more to the other Vila, I explain the last hours—why Oryn was able to muster at the tower, his wanting the Briar crown, and how Rose snuck back into the palace and released the other Graces.
“The High King has planted something, then.” Regan angles her steed toward the Grace District, where smoke streams into the low clouds and creeps through the graveyard of buildings.
“He must have,” I say. “If it’s magic, I might be able to undo it.”
“We’d best hope so.”
The Fae beast snorts.
“But why would Oryn have wanted the Briar crown at all?” the other Vila asks.
“Who knows?” I gesture at the fallen tower. “In any case, he doesn’t have it now.”
“Yes, because the princess does.” Regan spits Aurora’s title in what I know is a deliberate attempt to goad me. But I don’t possess the will or energy to respond. Oryn’s army is beginning to stir, word undoubtedly spreading about what transpired at the tower.
“I’m going back,” I say.
Regan clicks her tongue and wheels her mount toward the cliffs. “I’ll see what can be done about the human fleet.”
The first punches of cannon fire reverberate from the ships. Regan’s steed whinnies, its wings beating harder. A cloud of ash still hovers over the black tower. And the severity of the looming danger at last registers. It pulls me up short. We have no idea what the next hours will bring.
“Regan, wait,” I call.
She motions for the other Vila to fly ahead. Her brow furrows. “What is it?”
I fly nearer. “Whatever else has happened—thank you. If you hadn’t come…”
The fire in her emerald gaze dulls. Her shoulders soften. “I told you before. I would cross the sea a hundred times over to be by your side.”
Emotion tightens my throat. I’m still angry with her. Still wounded by her betrayal. But I reach for her anyway, my green-veined skin juxtaposed with her rich brown bone spikes. A Vila. Just like me.
“Don’t die,” I say, my voice rough. “We aren’t finished fighting.”
She barks a laugh, kicks at the sides of the Fae steed, and hurtles toward the Crimson Cliffs.
A battle has begun in earnest by the time I make it back to the palace. And I’m relatively certain Oryn is still alive. Were he dead, his power would have transferred immediately to his heir, which—given the depth of the High King’s magic—is an event I doubt we could have overlooked. The Fae certainly behave as though nothing has changed. They flood our skies on their steeds, laying siege for the first time in a hundred years. Demons swirl over the realm in their shadow forms, boasting the nightmarish shapes of deadly wolves and spear-toothed monsters. Imps and Goblins take cover in the skeletal buildings of the districts, loosing arrows and firing crossbows. Golden scythes of power lash the skies. Fae bodies clad in woven-branch armor look like falling stars as they’re toppled from their mounts.
Valmar is upon me as soon as I land. “Nimara! The palace is aflame.”
Callow flaps to the ground but stays close. Goblins and Imps stampede through the courtyard, some of them hauling sloshing buckets of water and others brandishing weapons. An Imp hurries up to me with a breastplate made of bones. I motion her away. The weight of it would be too cumbersome.
“How bad is the fire?”
Valmar scrubs the back of his neck. “It’s chewing through the palace like no fire ought. Mine are working as fast as they can, but nothing touches it.”
“Valmar!” An Imp scurries up, pudgy vermilion cheeks darkened with soot. “We found more of ’em.”
“Where?” he demands.
“Most of ’em in the back corridors. Glowing, they was.”
“More of what?”
The Imp’s long ears twitch. “Drawings, Mistress. Strange like. Found ’em painted in hidden corners and such. Don’t know who put ’em there or why they all lit up.”
“Drawings.” I kneel to the Imp’s level. “What do they look like?”
“Like the symbol of the piss-eyed king.” He cups his fingers together in an imitation of the laurel leaves curving around an orb. “All of ’em gold.”
Those have to be the runes Rose told Oryn she and the other Graces drew. How they were able to skulk through the palace undetected, I’ll never know. Oryn must have given them some charm or the like for concealment. And he’ll probably be completing his enchantment as soon as he digs himself out of the rubble of the tower. Which means we need to work quickly.
I’m about to instruct the Imp to show me what he found, when the clamor of wingbeats gusts around us. Callow screeches a warning and several beasts sail overhead, but they’re not Fae. These are more akin to a griffin I saw illustrated in a storybook, with huge taloned feet and scales instead of feathers. One swoops into the courtyard and—my breath catches.
“Torin!” I’m crushing her in an embrace before her feet have fully reached the ground. “You survived. We looked for you, but couldn’t—”
“We had help,” she assures me, and pats the griffin creature’s flank. “Meet one of Neve’s Starlings. Merkin here, and his compatriots, warned us of the Fae warriors lying in wait at the border. We turned back before the protections were even broken. The Demons hid us until it was safe to start for home.”
Mortania hums with disquiet. The Shifters are not to be trusted.
My initial instinct is to agree, and I feel myself take a reflexive step backward. But I stop. Neve obviously hadn’t been lying when she said she had her Starlings waiting. She’d made sure everyone got home safely. No matter what Mortania says, I’ve treated the Shifters like enemies for too long. Shame climbs up my neck.
“Thank you,” I say to the Starling.
Merkin paws at the flagstones and chuffs.
“I take it the plan to steal the High King’s staff failed,” Torin guesses, eyeing the battle.
I almost laugh. “There was never any plan to do that, at least not as Aurora presented it.”
“So I’ve been told.” Torin nods in Merkin’s direction. The grooves traversing her limbs fade from amber to pale yellow. “Honestly, I have no idea what Neve was thinking, keeping a scheme like that from me. She was in completely over her head.”
There’s something in Torin’s tone. A possessiveness regarding the Shifter leader that I intimately understand. And I scold myself again for the hundred details I missed over the years. “Her motivation is clear enough.”
“What could possibly have—”
I grant the Demon leader a wry smile. “Neve wanted us in and out of the High Court as quickly as possible. She didn’t want our forces involved at all—forces you were leading.”
Shock blooms in the Demon leader’s amber gaze. The fissures on her skin flare a bright red, such that I have never seen her wear before. “Oh. She…told you.”
“She did. And I owe you an apology,” I say, the shame from my earlier exchange with Neve hitting me all over again. “I shouldn’t have caused you to feel like you had to keep something like that a secret.” I turn my attention to Merkin. “Or caused Neve—or any of the Shifters—to feel like outsiders in their own home.”
Merkin bows his head. And Torin tugs at her onyx pendant. “Where is Neve now?”
“I don’t know.” Smoke pours steadily from the open windows of the palace and chugs through the main door. “When we got back, I…sort of blamed her for what happened at the High Court. She’s keeping a low profile for now.”
Torin sighs. “We’ll sort it out.”
“And Renard?” Valmar asks. I’d almost forgotten he was there.
“He flew ahead to corral his Goblins. I’ll do the same with my Demons.” Torin accepts a ladleful of water from an Imp. “By the way, how did you manage to persuade the humans to fight for us? I know it wasn’t Regan’s doing.”
I stare at her.
“Humans fighting for us?” Valmar grunts. “Did you drink the ambrosia wine in the High Court?”
The ladle splashes into the bucket. Torin wipes her mouth. “We flew past the fleet on our way here. You don’t know?”
“I know Derek came to warn Regan and the others about the High King. But last I saw, the mortals’ cannons were firing at our shores.”
Torin swings onto Merkin’s back and hauls Valmar up behind her. “See for yourself.”
I’m back in the air in an instant, Callow beside me. The Ryna ships are minuscule next to the Crimson Cliffs. I sharpen my eyesight until I can see the white puffs of the cannon shots. Guns that are no longer aimed at Briar or at the Vila darting about on their steeds but at the light Fae warriors.
“I assumed you made some sort of pact,” Torin calls.
I deny this emphatically. A harpoon is launched from the deck of a ship and impales a Fae steed. Both mount and rider spiral into the sea.
Torin says something else, but I’m distracted by a deadly crunch of wood. One of the Ryna ships rocks back and forth in a dangerous rhythm, and then the bow and stern begin rising simultaneously. Dragon’s teeth. The hull is splitting in half like a cracked egg. A cheer goes up, one that sounds unmistakably like the Vila war cry.
Regan.
If the humans have switched to our side, why is she still attacking them? And then another, far more terrifying thought takes root:
Aurora is on one of those ships. Maybe even that one.
Valmar is still shouting my name as I tear toward the wreck.
* * *
—
The smoke from the palace fires rolls in a gritty tide across the Grace District. It burns in my lungs and blurs my vision as I cut through it, Callow beside me, dodging arcs of golden Fae power and armored riders. Goblins appear in the windows of decrepit manors and Grace houses, hurling bone-tipped spears soaked in Vila blood. Demons prowl above them, hardly discernible from the noxious smoke. I spot one in the shape of a gargantuan sea creature, its eyes like orange embers. It swallows a mount and rider whole. The Fae steed screams in terror as the darkness engulfs him, and then goes eerily silent. Sinister laughter echoes as the Fae warrior cartwheels like a ragdoll to the ground below, her staff extinguished.
I’m almost to the main gates when a rider intercepts me. I veer out of his way and a heartbeat later hear his cry of anguish as a Goblin’s raven-feathered arrow impales him in the throat. He slumps in the saddle, gilded helmet lolling as his steed gallops away on the wind. I urge my wings faster.
The Ryna ship is already underwater when I land at the edge of the Crimson Cliffs. Regan’s steed spots Callow and nickers.
“What are you doing away from the palace?” Drying Fae blood splatters her leathers and the bone spikes along her forehead.
I gulp down air and point. “Why did you sink that ship?”
“I told you I would keep the humans back.”
“But they’re helping us! They’re firing at the Fae. I saw them harpoon one of the steeds.”
“And?” Her mount begins to dance and she reins it in. “They’re still our enemies, Nimara. Maybe their plan is to eliminate both us and the Fae, then claim these lands for themselves.”
The wails of the drowning sailors float up from below.
“They have less than a dozen ships, and not nearly enough force to conquer two armies.”
She shrugs. “Greedy and stupid, then.”
“Regan—”
“Enough. I know why you’re here. For her. You think she’s on one of those ships. If she is, it’s her choice. She didn’t choose you, and she never has. Not once.”
Listen well, pet.
The wind whips around us, ruffling the Fae beast’s gold-dusted feathers. Callow’s talons dig into my shoulder. Ships rock and pitch on the choppy current.
“This isn’t about her. We have to keep Oryn from casting his enchantment, and if the humans can help us do that—”
“Then stop Oryn,” she replies. “Use your power for the Dark Court instead of distracting yourself with people who don’t matter.”
Yes, pet. Use me.
“It’s not that simple.”
“And why not? The humans have absolutely nothing to do with us.” Regan jerks her chin at the turmoil below. “She’s drawn a line. You cannot be on both sides of it. And I’m tired of giving myself to someone who would throw away everything we’ve built for some mortal princess. I came here for you. I love you.” Her eyes shine.
