“Just because they aren’t thieves doesn’t mean they haven’t betrayed me.” Maeve turned to Bryant. “Find them!”
He couldn’t see a single thing as far as the horizon in any direction. Nothing moved. There was only the radiant glow from the Fae court under the closest mound and the endless heath. “Where should I start, my queen?” he asked, trying to keep his tone respectful.
“If they were attacked, there could be signs of battle,” Kade provided.
“I would know if anyone had attacked Fae,” Bryant said, his tone withering.
“If they died...”
“They did not die,” Bryant said with impatience. “Because we are all Fae except you. We don’t die. We don’t have bones. We don’t leave remains to disintegrate. We aren’t born and we don’t die, and You. Aren’t. Like. Us.”
He was about to say that Kade didn’t belong, but Maeve spun suddenly and looked back toward the Fae court, her eyes narrowed. “Did you see that?”
Bryant shook his head.
“I felt something,” Kade said, predictably. Whether he’d felt anything or not, he always agreed with Maeve.
Bryant glared at him.
“Such a sensitive boy,” she cooed, patting Kade’s shoulder. She was distracted though, her manner intense as she stared back at the court. “I saw a light,” she said. “You’ll have to go back immediately.” She took Kade’s arm and waved at Bryant. “We’ll stay here and find those cooks. I want a swan dinner and I want it soon.”
His mission was a ruse and Bryant knew it. There had been no light. Maeve just wanted to be alone with Kade.
“And if I don’t find a disturbance, my queen?”
“Then set the table for dinner. Tonight we feast!” she said, then laughed. Kade laughed with her, the two of them enjoying themselves enormously as they made their way toward the caged swans, their arms entwined and their heads bent together. “And do something about that blemish on your face, Bryant. It’s most unattractive.”
What blemish? Bryant pulled his sword and looked at his own reflection in the blade. There was a mark on his forehead, one that hadn’t been there before. It was purple, which he couldn’t explain.
Did Maeve find it unattractive? Was that the issue? If so, he had to find a way to get rid of it. He’d send someone else to check on the light, then try to get rid of the mark. There had to be an upside to having the right to delegate.
Bryant glanced at the entangled couple as his resentment built, then pivoted to return to the court.
The supposed glimpse of light was obviously a ploy. Still, he’d follow orders in the hope of an eventual return to favor. He had to get rid of that blemish. A dragon shifter couldn’t keep her satisfied forever.
Could he?
Hadrian kept his fires banked low with an effort. He was impatient to see their plan succeed and wanted to learn as much as possible to help Rania. He wanted to begin the slaughter of the Fae, triumph, and escape the Fae realm. Then their life together would really begin. Lying in the darkness, breathing as slowly as he could, didn’t feel like he was doing enough.
But it was the right choice. This was the part that only he could contribute. He could feel the hoarfrost forming on the Fae blades stored all around him. The armory was getting colder as he drew out the ice, reverting the silver blades to the ice his mother had spun. He dreamed of the past and he dreamed of the future, letting his thoughts drift as his pulse slowed even more.
He didn’t know how much time had passed when he heard the footstep outside the armory.
It was stealthy. Cautious.
Someone knew he was there.
Hadrian forced himself to continue breathing slowly and opened his eyes the barest slit. He heard the lock turn and saw the door to the armory open a tiny increment. The silver light of Fae illuminated the gap, then silhouetted the visitor as the door was opened wider.
His unexpected company slipped inside, closing the door behind himself. His presence was impossible to ignore and Hadrian reviewed the glimpse of his silhouette. He was tall but a bit leaner than the one who had been with Maeve at his studio. Had this warrior come to get a weapon? No, there was one in the scabbard on his belt, one that still glowed with its full power.
He possessed the key to the armory. That meant that either he was trusted by the Dark Queen, or he was a traitor.
Maybe the Dark Queen had sensed Hadrian’s presence and sent a trusted servant to discover the truth.
Maybe this warrior meant to betray Maeve for some reason and had stolen the key, intending to arm himself and whoever followed him.
Either way, this visitor could never leave the armory.
Hadrian opened his eyes the merest slit and watched. The armory had no light source except for the Fae blades that glowed faintly where they were stored around its perimeter. Their light had dimmed since Hadrian’s arrival and soon would be extinguished. He watched the warrior shiver, then move with purpose to claim a large sword with an elaborate hilt.
He whispered the blade’s name beneath his breath, like an invocation, then swore softly. Hadrian could see that the blade was covered with frost and that it was considerably shorter than it had been on his arrival. The warrior lifted it before himself to examine it more closely and its meager light illuminated his confused expression. He glanced toward Hadrian, apparently mystified, then turned around to replace the blade.
He might have chosen another, but Hadrian shifted shape and pulled Rania’s kesir from beneath his scales. He struck the Fae warrior down with a clean single stroke before the intruder could even put a hand on the hilt of his own sword.
He spun around, his mouth open in astonishment, then dissolved into a silver puddle that gleamed on the pounded dirt floor of the armory.
Hadrian waited, listening, but he didn’t hear any signs of pursuit. He lifted the sword from the rapidly-diminishing puddle and added it to the collection in the armory. He exhaled on the blade to encourage the frost to form, then wiped Rania’s blade and hid it again. He shifted back to his dragon form and coiled on the floor of the treasury, willing his pulse to slow as he watched the only door.
There might be others, but he’d be ready.
Fourteen
“You win, Fae bait,” Wynter said to Arach in the challenging tone he was getting used to hearing. “You get to slice the portal open.”
They were in Central Park on Thursday night, as scheduled. The Fae sword glowed with its sinister silver light in Arach’s grip. The firestorm burned golden between himself and Wynter but he’d known without asking that the chance of satisfying it before this attack on Fae had been non-existent.
It was hard to believe that the firestorm had chosen such an infuriating, contrary, defiant woman as his destined mate. Arach had decided that his firestorm had to be a spell.
The sooner they extinguished the Dark Queen’s power, the better. He couldn’t take much more of this persistent desire.
He’d chosen the North Woods in the hope that they’d be unobserved. That was a long shot, given that they were accompanied by twenty determined women who were widowed wolf mates—the rest of the group from Alaska were guarding the kids—Caleb and six other wolf shifters from New York, five dragon shifters, two pregnant but resolute mates, Murray, Mel, the medusa hostess from Bones whose name he could never remember and most of the remaining members of the Circus of Wonders.