“Thanks.”
He nodded and headed out. I pulled out my phone and called Mo. She didn’t answer, and though I knew she was probably concentrating on driving rather than answering the phone, trepidation stirred. While she’d been confident Winter couldn’t take her down, it was rather odd he’d been on the move just as we’d arrived in London. We might not have any leaks within our small circle, but there were undoubtedly spies in the wider Ainslyn community. It was very possible that the minute we’d begun preparations for the city’s protection, Darkside and Max had been notified.
I sent her a text to let her know I was okay and to contact me when she could, then tucked my knives under the pillow and stretched out on the bed. I was asleep within seconds.
A soft knock at the door woke me hours later. I cracked open an eye and watched a thin woman in a blue uniform carry in a tray. She placed it on the nearby nightstand and, after a quick curtsey, hurried back out. An unseen person closed the door behind her; they were obviously very serious about me not wandering about.
I scrubbed a hand across bleary, aching eyes and then swung my feet off the bed and walked over to the nightstand. Removing the plate covers revealed chunky beef stew, mashed potatoes, a ton of vegetables, and a big pot of tea. I poured the latter and took a drink, instantly feeling a whole lot better. Which was undoubtedly an illusion, but one I was going to run with.
My phone rang just as I was scooping up the last bit of the stew. The ringtone told me it wasn’t Mo, Luc, or even Max, and the number wasn’t one I knew. I hesitated, then hit the answer button.
“Gwen De Montfort speaking—”
“I know who it is” came the sharp, angry reply. “And rest assured, you’re going to fucking pay for what you’ve done.”
I tried to ignore the pain slicing through my heart, but it was nigh on impossible. “I don’t know what you’re referring to, Max, but—”
“Don’t play the fucking innocent, Gwen, because I’m not buying it anymore.”
“If you’re talking about Elysian—”
“I’m talking about Winter. You didn’t have to go that far. It could have been just you and me. But now? Now I’m going to fucking destroy every goddamn person you care about. Say goodbye to Mo, dear sister.”
And with that, he hung up.
Chapter Thirteen
I swore and quickly hit Mo’s number, but once again it rang out. I thrust a trembling hand through my hair. If Winter was dead, that meant something had gone seriously wrong, but it didn’t necessarily follow that she was now in either Max’s or Darkside’s hands.
His threat could be nothing more than a means of forcing me into a misstep—making me act without proper planning or thought. I did have something of a history of that, after all, though I’d like to think I’d grown a little more sensible in recent weeks.
Although, if I was at all honest, acting irrationally was all I wanted to do right now.
I sucked in a breath and then hit Luc’s number. Even if Max was foxing about Mo, I had no doubt he was about to unleash big-time. Whether that was throwing all his—or rather, Darkside’s—resources at tracking down and killing Mo or hitting Ainslyn as hard as he could, Luc and the others needed to be prepared.
The phone rang for what seemed forever and then Luc’s deep tone said, “Sorry, Gwen, I was dealing with a couple of tourists who decided today was the perfect day to visit King Island. How are you? And don’t give me that ‘I’m fine’ crap.”
I half smiled, despite the tension that continued to rise in me. “I’m bone weary, I’ve damaged a wing, so I can’t fly, and I think I’ll need to sleep for a dozen years once this is all over. But I’m alive and upright, and that’s probably the best we could hope for at the moment.”
“Well, I could personally hope for a whole lot more than that, but maybe that’s just me. What’s happened?”
“I’m not sure. Max just rang to say Winter is dead and I’m going to pay. I can’t get hold of Mo, so something has obviously gone wrong.”
Luc swore vehemently. “I’ll get Barney to do a locator spell on her—”
“I doubt it’ll be successful, because if she is alive, she’ll have locked down any means of finding her. I’m off to our rendezvous point now, but I thought I’d better give you the heads-up first. It’s likely Max will hit Ainslyn hard sometime in the next few hours.”
“It won’t matter, because they are ready for whatever the bastard throws at them.”
“That sounds like you’re not intending to be there.”
“I won’t be.” He hesitated. “I’ve been ordered back to London.”
Ice sliced through my heart. “Even after what I just did?”
“Even after.” His voice was grim. Angry. “You may wield Elysian, but the Blackbirds’ loyalty remains with the crown and the throne. Or so I’m reminded.”
I closed my eyes. This was it. This was his moment of choosing. “And are you going to obey the order this time?”
He hesitated. “I swore an oath of allegiance to the crown, Gwen. This crown, not the one that belongs to a throne and a time that no longer exists.”
The Witch King’s throne did actually exist, even if it was nothing more than a historical curiosity these days.
The Witch King’s heir also existed, even if she would never sit on any throne, official or not.
“Three Blackbirds are dead,” he continued softly. “Two more are seriously injured. I might be able to walk away from duty, but I cannot walk away from them.”
I took a deep breath and released it slowly. There was nothing I could—or even should—say or do to change his mind. Vivienne had been plotting the course of our lives for a very long time now, and this decision—this choice—was his alone to make.
But it broke my heart to think that—if his words were to be believed—he was once again choosing duty over love.
“Fine.” I scrubbed a hand across my eyes. My fingers came away wet. “But please be careful. The situation here is still very precarious.”
“So Ricker has said.” He paused again, this time for longer. “What do you plan to do next?”
“Go to the rendezvous point as planned.” Despite my best effort to keep my voice even, an edge of anger ran through it. At him. At Max. At old goddesses and their stupid plans.
“Why? Even if Max has Mo, I’d put money on her never telling him the location.”
“And I would have put money on him never being able to capture her.” I tried my best to ignore the images of what he might be doing to her, even now, but the horror would not be restrained. I briefly closed my eyes and held on to the hope that she was a tough old bird who’d not only survived multiple centuries, but multiple attempts on her life. “Max will know I’ll hold to the arrangements made if I can’t contact her.”
“That old farmhouse is the perfect location for a trap.”
“Yes, it is.” Because it was in the middle of nowhere and surrounded by empty fields. And arriving in daylight—as we’d planned—wouldn’t make one bit of difference to Max if he did plan a trap there. At this late stage of the game, he had plenty of human and witch help to call on.