“Not quite yet.” Maeve laughed at Rania’s obvious surprise. “You didn’t kill Hadrian MacEwan. I did. As a result, his death doesn’t count as your victory.”
“I gave him the kiss of death,” Rania insisted.
“But it didn’t kill him. I did.” Maeve’s gaze hardened. “You lose. Choose another victim.”
Rania feared that she should have expected this. She should have believed Hadrian and anticipated that the Dark Queen would wriggle out of keeping her end of the bargain on a technicality.
She felt foolish for trusting Maeve to keep the spirit of their deal.
And even more foolish for not taking Hadrian’s warning. He’d been right, not just about Maeve but about Rania learning the truth when she didn’t have a dragon shifter to defend her anymore.
It was interesting that she was so certain Hadrian would have defended her.
“That isn’t our agreement,” Rania said, keeping her tone polite but firm. “I’ve made thirteen assassinations for you. You should free me and my brothers...”
“You’ve made twelve assassinations,” the Dark Queen corrected, then drained her chalice of mead. “Choose another victim, and make it quick. This has already gone on too long.”
“You acknowledge twelve kills,” Rania said, trying to negotiate. “You could free my brothers now, as a gesture of goodwill.”
Maeve laughed again. “I don’t have to do anything for goodwill,” she snarled. “You’re in my thrall until you fulfill our bargain.”
“I can’t give another kiss of death. I only had the ability to give thirteen.”
“Oops.” Maeve widened her eyes in mock alarm. “Then you’ll have to make your kills the old-fashioned way.” She was clearly unsympathetic to Rania’s plight. Rania had the definite sense that the Dark Queen had planned their bargain to end this way.
She’d said ‘kills’, plural. The next assassination wasn’t going to end it either. Rania was trapped forever.
She should have listened to Hadrian!
“Choose your next victim,” Maeve commanded.
“And you’ll beat me to the kill, once again,” Rania accused, forgetting herself in her anger. “You’ll prolong this deal forever!”
Maeve smiled and held out her chalice so a minion could refill it. “What if I do? It’s useful to have a pet assassin.”
Rania folded her arms across her chest. “But there’s no point. If you’re never going to release me, there’s nothing to be gained by serving you.”
Maeve gave her a smile that chilled her to her marrow. “Isn’t there?” she murmured as she leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “I suggest you get to work or we’ll start dining on swan every night.”
There was a clatter of chains and a familiar cry filled the court. Rania spun to see a golden cage on a cart being rolled to the middle of the court. Three swans were locked inside it, most of them flapping and calling. Rania’s heart sank with the conviction that they were her brothers. Were her other nine brothers free or already dead? The Fae laughed and poked at the birds as the cage passed, more than one pulling a feather as a souvenir.
“You have no right!” Rania cried, turning on Maeve. “They should be free! I kept my promise!”
“Not quite yet,” the Dark Queen insisted and sipped her mead. She lounged on her throne, smug in her triumph. “Which of the Pyr will you eliminate next?”
Rania was trapped. She knew it, but she didn’t like it. If there was a way out, she didn’t know what it was—and she couldn’t risk the survival of her brothers while she plotted against Maeve. Could she even find her remaining brothers before the Dark Queen did.
Her heart sank with the realization that she probably would have to kill a Pyr to complete her wager with Maeve.
Alasdair had volunteered.
She couldn’t name him, though. Not only did she need to keep Maeve from cheating her of the kill, she had to talk to Alasdair again and make an agreement. Maybe then she could make sure that Maeve didn’t cheat her.
Maybe not.
“I have to assess which dragon shifter offers the best opportunity,” she said, dropping her gaze as if in deference. The truth was that she didn’t want Maeve to notice her defiance.
“There’s another blacksmith,” the Dark Queen noted. “I know you dislike them.”
“He might expect me,” Rania said, doubting that was true. “I have to do my research.”
“Don’t dally too long,” Maeve said. “Tomorrow night, we dine on swan.” The court cheered and a number of Fae poked at the swans trapped in the cage. Rania knew her brothers were agitated and she didn’t blame them. She’d worked all these centuries to secure their freedom, and Maeve had changed the deal.
It was exactly as Hadrian had warned her.
And he was dead, unable to witness that his prediction had come true.
She looked at her brothers, remembering Hadrian’s questions about them, and wondered why she hadn’t ever sought them out. Why hadn’t she talked to them or made a connection? She’d always been alone, but she’d also repeatedly chosen to be alone.
What if this was her chance to choose differently?
What the world needed was more of Hadrian and his lineage. Rania suddenly had a ghost of an idea about the kiss of death but she couldn’t think about it while she stood before the Dark Queen. Her actions had to come as a surprise.
“As you command, my queen,” she said, bowing before Maeve’s throne as rebellion burned hotter in her heart.
Then she wished to be with Hadrian and vanished from the Fae court.
It was darker than dark.
Hadrian couldn’t see anything in any direction. He couldn’t feel anything around him or sense the presence of any other being. It was strange. Even in his human form, he was always aware of the pulse of another creature at a distance or the faint sound of movement. Now there was nothing. He couldn’t tell whether it was cold or hot either. He stood on something firm, but had no idea whether it was just a single spot or continued, like ground, underfoot. If he took a step, would he fall into a void?
He was in his human form and tried to shift, but couldn’t. There wasn’t even a shimmer of blue light, let alone the familiar sense of the tidal wave of transformation sweeping through him.
Was he dead? If he wasn’t Pyr anymore, Hadrian wasn’t sure he wanted to be alive.
Even the familiar tinge of cold that was always at the periphery of his awareness was gone. He could always feel that the ice and snow were there, just awaiting his summons. No longer.
Hadrian could move, at least. He brushed his right hand over his left wrist and was relieved that he couldn’t feel a string there. He’d take the good news where he could find it.
He wasn’t relieved that his fingers seemed to slide right through his arm, as if he’d become insubstantial.
Or a ghost.
He didn’t hear his heart beating or feel his lungs filling with air. He couldn’t exactly feel whatever was beneath his feet but when he stamped a foot, he heard a faint sound of impact.
He didn’t feel it, though.
Being dead was a definite possibility, given what he remembered of Maeve’s visit. He couldn’t smell smoke or iron, and knew he wasn’t in his lair or studio anymore. There was no light of the firestorm, so either Rania was gone or the firestorm had been extinguished, unsatisfied.