Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
I t’s not long before I get the chance to talk to Nivene. She shows up at my door, surrounded by her own retinue of guards.
Now, we sit before the warmth of the library fireplace, sipping tea and eating elderflower honey cakes a servant left with me. Outside, snow whips at the windows.
She stares at me over the rim of her cup. “You let me handle the situation with The Shadowed Thicket. I have more freedom than you do to move around.”
“Your own soldiers surround you. Do you really have freedom?”
The firelight ignites her red hair with warm hues. “More than you. No one’s watching every step of the princess’s sister. They’re watching you .”
I grip my teacup, feeling the warmth through the porcelain. “It won’t be long before Talan’s hunt for traitors bears fruit.”
“It’s not as bad as you think,” Nivene says. “There’s a schism in Perillos’s forces. Some are loyal to Auberon, some are loyal to Talan, and no one knows who to trust. They spend a lot of effort spying on each other, and it’s slowing them and sowing confusion.”
“So, what do we do with the time we have?”
Her expression darkens, her voice dropping to a whisper. “First of all, we’ve got to make sure Brados and Mariadec and the rest of them stay the fuck out of The Shadowed Thicket. It’s only a matter of time until Talan figures out the whole tavern name.”
I nod, thinking it over. “Right. And I can plant false leads among the Fey soldiers. Throw off Talan’s search and get anyone I can to spread fake information until he has no idea which leads to follow.”
“Perfect. We’ll tighten our network. We’ll burn anything we have in writing. We’ve already sent agents to Lauron, but we’ll make sure they’re kept up to date about the new threat. They’ll operate under heightened alert. They’ll have to set up a lookout, posted at all times for Talan’s movements, and deal with any new threats. And if the worst happens…” She hesitates, staring at the flames. “We’ll carry hemlock. It’s better if we can end it all before the real questioning begins.”
The words hang heavy in the air between us, the fire crackling softly.
At last, I break the silence. “Okay. As soon as I can, I’ll plant some fake rumors.”
“And try to keep Talan enamored of you. Seduce him if you have to. As long as he likes you or lusts after you, he’ll be less likely to suspect you. Men think with their dicks, you know?”
My stomach swoops. “That might be a bit of a problem.”
“Why, exactly?”
I clear my throat. “I explicitly rejected him and reminded him this was all fake.”
She stares at me over her teacup, her expression hardening. “And why the fuck would you do that?”
“I thought he was going to kiss me.”
Her eyes sharpen. “And? You’re his wife. What’s the problem with that? You’re polite to everyone but him. Can you explain yourself, please? What is going so wrong in your head that you would alienate your target while we need you closer to him more than ever? Not to mention the fact that he’s not going to keep confiding in you if he fucking hates you. You’re a skilled spy. So, explain it to me like I’m five, Nia. Give me the real Nia for once. Why did you tell him you rejected him?”
I lean closer to her. “My job is to kill him. And I can’t do that if I get close to him, can I? If I get close to him, I won’t want to kill him. I’ll be compromised.”
“And you can’t fake closeness because…?”
“Because he gets in people’s heads.”
She frowns. “But not yours. You’ve managed to shield yourself.”
I sigh. “I don’t mean literally.”
“Well, it’s a shame you can’t just say what you’re thinking, but I’m pretty sure I know.” She arches an eyebrow. “You find him tempting. You can’t fake it because you want him, and you’re scared that if you want him too badly, you’ll wind up protecting him instead of killing him. That’s it, isn’t it?”
I tap my teacup. “It really doesn’t sound great. There’s a reason I didn’t want to say it out loud. I’m afraid I’ll like fucking the enemy so much, I’ll destroy the entire mission.”
She nods, staring into the fire. “I suppose men aren’t the only ones who think with their metaphorical dicks, but the first step is to admit you have a problem. Here’s what you need to do next. Don’t fuck him. Be his friend. Give him a day or two to let him think you’ve had time to change your mind. He’s lonely. Everyone is terrified of him but you, and I’m sure he’s more desperate for companionship than he is for yet another woman to shag. He has plenty of those. So, go out there in a few days, Nia, and get him on your good side again.”
With my cloak wrapped around me, I walk, feet crunching the snow.
The soldiers said I could find my husband by the eastern gates.
I follow his footprints in the snow. They follow me, taking long strides to keep up.
On the way here, I managed to plant some seeds into their malleable minds, absolute lies about the resistance and the anti-monarchy spies. As far as they know, Lumos is involved—the Marquis of Klarven himself. As the king’s nephew, Lumos wants the throne for himself, and he’s working with Arwenna’s father to make it happen, operating out of a castle called Val Sans Retour . He’s been working to undermine the crown’s military efforts. If anyone is to blame for the intelligence leak back in Scotland, it’s Lumos.
From the castle gates, I cross onto the snowy, cobbled roads of Corbinelle, where houses spread out under the icy trees like sugar-dusted pastries.
The moment I see Talan, my heart skips a beat. He stalks the path ahead, his black cape floating on the wind behind him. His sword is drawn, and crimson drops dapple the blade’s metal sheen. He must hear my footfalls because he turns and stops in his tracks. Seeing me, he wipes the bloody sword on the white snow, turning it pink, then sheaths it.
“Good morning,” I say with a bright smile.
His gaze skims over me like he’s assessing a threat—or perhaps some other kind of interest. “Braving the cold to find me. Are you that desperate for my company already?”
I step closer, lowering my voice. “Maybe I’ve reconsidered what I said a little. There’s no reason we can’t be friends, is there?”
“ Friend s. How thrilling. Do you imagine us playing cards later?”
“Maybe we do have a few things in common. Even if you’re unrelentingly arrogant and have a bad habit of compelling me to do whatever the fuck you want to suit your needs.”
He runs his tongue over his lip, studying me. “Most women don’t complain when I take control.” A dark smile. “Are you coming with me?” He pivots, and I follow along by his side. “It’s probably better if you’re seen with me occasionally. The more seriously people take this marriage, the safer you’ll be. But where we’re going right now, you must do exactly as I say so you don’t get hurt.”
My eyebrows rise. “Why would I get hurt?”
“I’m heading to the Lost Palace.”
“I’m afraid news of whatever that is didn’t make it out to Lauron. What is it?”
“The old castle, from the early years of Brocéliande. From the time this realm was first created.”
“And what, exactly, is dangerous about it?” I ask.
“Are you telling me you haven’t been creeping around Perillos, eavesdropping for gossip about me like everyone else? I’m almost offended by your lack of interest.” The wind toys with his dark hair. “But I think I will leave this one as a surprise. Just remember to do exactly as I tell you.”
“Yes, I understand. That’s generally your attitude.”
Talan flicks his fingers at the guards behind us without bothering to look back. “You’re dismissed.”
He leads me onto a winding forest path. Despite the blood-streaked sword, it’s wonderfully peaceful out here. With each snowy step, I feel like I’m walking into an ancient Fey past. I breathe in the scent of pine and silver birches. Mist billows through the mossy trunks, and ruby berries dapple the snow-dusted bushes. The frosty air kisses my skin as snowflakes drift down to melt on my cheeks.
I glance at Talan cautiously. “Whose blood is on your sword?”
“Someone made the mistake of testing my patience. You’d think people would have learned by now.”
Vague. Annoyingly so. “Another traitor?”
He cuts me a sharp look. “I won’t let anyone get in my way.”
A chill ripples up my spine as he stalks over the snow.
The air seems to grow heavier and otherworldly until the forest opens into a clearing, a path lined with ancient statues and pale purple hedges. On the far end of the path, the Lost Palace emerges from the wintry forest, a haunting edifice of twists and curves. Ice and snow glaze the stones, sparkling in the pale light. Fog billows around a frozen garden of heather and bare yews. Moths flutter around us—not metallic, but real ones that are bright blue. Corbinelle moths. Beautiful to look at, but they’re venomous. Like Talan, really.
Stone arches frame a door of carved oak, peaked in the center. As we walk closer, my gaze flicks up at the statues. I stop to stare at one of them, a towering, crowned queen with long hair that drapes over her robes. My gaze slides to the symbols on her wrists, and an ember of recognition sparks in my mind. The encircled triple spirals remind me of the ones I saw in Nimu?’s tower—and look exactly like the ones I’d seen on my wrists for a moment in the bathtub. As I stare at them, cold magic slides over my wrists.
Talan follows my stare. “That’s Nimu?. She built this palace long ago. She’s buried here, in fact. Did you know that before she was the Lady of the Lake, my grandmother had that role? Before she was queen.”
I stare at the triple spirals again. Three Ladies of the Lake. “Queen Morgan.”
Thank the ancient gods we don’t have the same grandmother in reality, given some of the filthy thoughts I’ve had about him.
I draw a shaky breath. “How did Nimu? die?”
He stalks toward the door. “I don’t know, but she died soon after the Pendragon war.” He glances back at me. “If I had to guess, my father killed her. They say Merlin and my father created Brocéliande, but I think Nimu? did it. My father tends to want powerful people out of the way.”
Of course he wanted her out of the way. She knew the truth. She knew that Auberon didn’t belong on the throne in the first place.
Mordred’s words ring in my mind: They tricked the Fey into believing Auberon was their true king, and now Auberon rules as a usurper in his own false kingdom. Nimu?, I imagine, wasn’t so easy to trick. Auberon had to get her out of the way.
Talan’s family drama is nearly impossible to untangle. “You told me Mordred was your mother’s lover, but they never had children. And Mordred is also…?”
“My grandfather. Yes, my father stole his own father’s lover after Mordred cursed her and died. And that’s where I come from. Quite messy, really, but technically free of incest. After ancient gossip, are you?”
I shrug. “I’ll take any gossip I can get. And what happened to Mordred? How did he die?”
“I only know rumors. For some reason, all references to him have been ripped out of our books, burned from records, but I assume he died in the war with Morgan.” As he opens the door, he glances back at me. “I really should find out what happened to my grandfather.”
My stomach swoops as I step into the palace, and the scent of old, mossy stone envelopes me. I can feel an ancient power here, charging my body. Vines climb the walls, and I glance up at a towering ceiling cloaked with mist. I step over a cracked mosaic floor. Light filters through blue and white windows, each one marked with those swirling patterns, some of them triple spirals.
“What is that design?” I point at the windows. “The one from Nimu?’s statue?”
“Life, death, rebirth. An eternal cycle that loops into itself, destruction and recreation.” His deep voice echoes off the stones.
“Like your symbol, the ouroboros.”
“Exactly.”
He leads me across the empty hall—what might have once been Morgan’s banquet hall, where towering columns stretch dozens of feet high. He strides to a door on the far side of the hall and pushes through it into a dark room that smells of sulfur and smoke.
“Tarasque,” Talan says, his deep voice echoing in the dark. “Let’s get a look at you.”
Something moves in the shadows, then shifts into the light, and my breath leaves my lungs. A dragon looms over us, eyes gleaming in the dark. Talan steps between me and the beast. Light filters in from the banquet hall, catching on the dragon’s red scales.
The fiery eyes land on me, and it hisses, the scent of sulfur coiling through the air.
“I can hear your heart beating fast,” Talan murmurs. “You must not run. Tarasque is well-trained, but she won’t be able to resist the allure of fleeing prey.”
“Why are we here?” I whisper.
He steps closer to Tarasque, and she lowers her head. My heart slams as he strokes her scaly face. To my surprise, she tilts her head, narrowing her eyes in enjoyment at his touch. She almost reminds me of a cat, and some of my fears start to melt away.
“She likes you,” I say.
“She knows me well. I trained her. I trained most of our dragons.”
“I had no idea.”
“It’s one of my official roles as prince—Master of the Dragons. My mother taught me to ride them when I was a little boy, before my father set her on fire.” He paused. “Do you know what? I sometimes think my family might be a bit dysfunctional.”
I’d seen him riding a dragon once before, but I’d managed to stop him before he slaughtered all my human allies.
He glances back at me. “I don’t know if you remember, but during the council meeting, we decided to send three dragons to attack one of the human bases.”
I shrug. “I remember talk of dragons, but I didn’t really catch the details.”
“Are you not hanging on my every word? Disappointing. In any case, someone warned the humans in advance, so they were able to ready their dragon-killing weapons. They killed Symacho and wounded Tarasque. Didn’t they?” he asks the dragon, like he was talking to a pet.
I keep my face impassive, desperately trying to hide my role in all of that. “Did you train Symacho as well?”
“Symacho was practically a part of me.” His voice dips, edged with pain. “He was my wings, my partner, my brother in arms on the battlefield. The last gift my mother gave me before she died. And now he’s gone—shot out of the sky by the humans.”
The tiniest of hairline fractures opens in my chest. “Did your mother ride him when she was alive?”
“Yes. He was hers once, all the way from Shalott, and it made me feel like I was with her again. I used to ride him every day. He was deadly in battle…but also playful. Sometimes, when it was just me and him, we would ride through the storms.”
“I’m sorry.”
As he rubs her neck, her eyes close, and she makes a sound almost like a purr.
“Dragons live even longer than Fey, but they’re not immortal.” He walks around to check her sides. “I shouldn’t keep her awake too long. Dragons heal through hibernation, and she needs sleep. But I just wanted to make sure she’s healing properly. She looks better than I’d hoped.”
He stalks closer to me and nods at the door. We cross back into the old banquet hall, his footfalls echoing off the ceiling. He’s such a striking figure—a tall silhouette in the mist, beautifully vampiric in his cape.
The last gift my mother gave me before she died.
Guilt twists in my chest. For just a moment, he seemed so vulnerable.
I force myself to remember who he is: the Butcher of Brittany. During the first Fey invasion, fifteen years ago, he left the streets scorched and running with blood, piled with human corpses. And he would have done the same thing in Scotland if I hadn’t stopped him. He’s hellbent on occupying all the UK and beyond.
He pushes open the door, and snow whirls in, stinging my cheeks.
As I walk behind Talan, I whisper a silent promise to myself.
I will not fall for him.
I will not mourn him.
And when the time comes, I will help kill him, even if it breaks me.