Chapter 25
CHAPTER 25
I hardly recognize him. He’s bound to a chair, his face burned and bruised. Dried blood stains his clothes, his bare chest, and the floor all around him. My eyes mist, and my breath stutters. I swallow the rising horror.
I didn’t know Meriadec well, but I’d spent a few relaxed days with him while we were establishing my cover. He was a loyal, extremely clever man committed to overthrowing a tyrannical leader. He didn’t deserve this. No one deserved this.
I touch his hand. It’s cold but not freezing, his flesh still soft. He was alive not long ago. Death has only just claimed him.
Turning, I rush out the door before I vomit and breathe in the cold air. My legs shake, and I scramble to think clearly, to come up with a plan for what to do next.
My gaze trails over the hoofprints. Given how fresh they look, she must have left recently, and they seem to lead back toward Arwenna’s father’s castle.
I’m sure she’d want to share the news with him. Father, excellent news! I tortured a man to death and learned the secrets about Nia.
The image of his shattered body flashes in my mind, and my heart sinks. No one could survive what Arwenna did to him without talking, without giving up every bit of information she wanted. She hadn’t just hurt him—she’d taken her time, carving into his flesh like a sculptor working on a macabre masterpiece.
When Arwenna tortured Meriadec, she’d clearly relished the job.
My heart slams against my ribs, and fury courses through my blood.
I have to catch up with her before she tells anyone.
And I don’t have much time.
I flatten my body against Clover’s neck, urging her faster until the world around me blurs into white and shadow. Between my thighs, Clover’s muscles bunch and release, coiled springs exploding across the snow. Frosty wind whips at my face, and I’m not slowing. Every second lost takes me closer to absolute disaster.
Rage crackles through my nerves. The image of Meriadec’s body is burned into my brain, branded on my thoughts.
The rational side of me is desperate to catch up to Arwenna so I can stop her from spilling my secrets. But the emotional side of me wants to rip her head off in fury.
A low branch rakes across my face, scraping my cheek. I don’t care. All I care about is reaching Arwenna.
Clover’s hooves are a blur, and she seems to be caught in an excited frenzy of her own, going faster than I thought she could. Her breath fogs around her as she runs.
Down the trail, I catch a glimpse of movement: Arwenna. Her bright red cloak snaps behind her in the wind as she disappears around the bend. I grit my teeth, spurred on by the raw thrill of the hunt. Snow sprays under us as we turn the corner. She looks back and hunches low over her horse, urging it onward. She’s running from me.
I grip Clover’s reins, trying to close the distance. Arwenna kicks her horse into a faster gallop. She’s a good rider—better than me, I’m sure—but her horse can’t compare to Clover, my gift from Talan. Now, we’re closing the distance at a breathtaking speed, and if Arwenna has seen the look on my face, she knows death is coming for her.
Arwenna glances back, her face pale. As she pulls her horse to a stop, her expression twists into something wild, panicked. She leaps off, dashing into the line of trees.
Coward. Is she this scared of a farm girl?
I slow Clover to a halt and dismount, sprinting after Arwenna, but she’s familiar with these woods, and I’m not. She thinks she has the advantage.
She’s wrong.
My wrists tingle with cold magic, and I can feel the symbols sliding around my skin. Rage feeds my magic, sharpening my senses. The Lady of the Lake is coming alive in me.
I hear a heart beating, pounding like a war drum. I home in on the sound, and to the snapping twigs as Arwenna flees through the forest. With my sharpened senses, I can easily pinpoint her direction. I leap over thick roots and boulders, closing the distance like a wolf about to take down its prey.
I reach a clearing. Arwenna stands at the far edge of it, facing me. She is breathing hard. Her chest rises and falls, her face flushed with exertion. Slowly, she smiles and draws her sword, a long rapier, its polished blade glinting in the rosy sunlight.
“That was exhilarating.” Her eyes blaze as if this were a game rather than the last moments of her miserable life. “I guess this is where it ends for us.”
“Looks like it.” My fingers twitch as I take a step closer.
“Poor farm girl.” Her laughter is wild. “Too bad you’re unarmed. Doesn’t Talan love you enough to keep you safe?”
“Talan doesn’t need to keep me safe,” I spit. “You have wildly underestimated me.”
Her smile is feral. “I guess you have two options. You can run at me, and I’ll skewer you. Or you can go back, in which case I’ll tell the world the truth about you. Either way, you’re fucked.”
“That’s not how I see it.” Another step closer, my boots sinking into the snow.
“You should have left when we first met, Nia. I’m not someone you want as your nemesis.”
I draw a knife from my boot. Sleek, small, and infinitely deadlier in my hands than a rapier, thanks to Avalon Tower. My eyes narrow on her.
She lets out a short laugh. “Do you think you’ll kill me with that tiny thing? You won’t even get close. Try it, you fucking peasant. I’ve been training with a sword since I was five years old. My fencing teacher is Sir Gawain, and I’m his most skilled student.”
My knife flies, sparkling with light as it twirls through the air. It finds its mark, sinking into her stomach. Her eyes widen in shock, and with a groan, she falls to her knees. Blood spills into the snow, crimson on white, and the rapier tumbles from her hand.
I step closer to her. “You were never my nemesis, Arwenna,” I say, drawing a second knife from within my sleeve. “You weren’t even a proper enemy. You were an irritation, a pain in the ass who got in my way.”
Her mouth opens and shuts, and blood streaks from her lips into the snow, but she’s a Fey with considerable strength, and she’s still moving, trying to reach for her sword.
She turns, her fingers straining to reach her rapier. I kick it away and step on her wrist. “You’re only formidable when your opponent is strapped to a chair. I guess Sir Gawain never taught you to actually fight .” I kneel in the snow next to her. “He just taught you to fence. It’s not the same, though, is it? You stupid, spoiled twat.”
Her jaw drops open, disbelief etched on her face.
I crouch by her side, watching her carefully. Closely. Unlike her, I don’t underestimate my opponents. Even when beaten, some people can be dangerous.
“There’s one more thing I need from you,” I say, reaching for her face.
She grunts and grabs my wrist, which is fine. I just need to touch her.
I tug at my magic, summoning my telepathy to sink it into her thoughts.
No…no…no, I can’t die like this. I can’t be dying. Someone needs to help me.
I ignore the pain, ignore her panicked last thoughts, and dive deeper into her memories, skimming through them for what I seek. I’m looking for something about Meriadec, about the mole who fed her more information, but I’m lost in her past, centuries ago, when she was only fifteen.
I’m locked in a room, in the dark. The air smells of melted wax and trampled rushes. Fear rings so loudly in my skull, I can hardly think. My wrists ache where they dragged me here, the guards’ metal gauntlets biting into my skin. One of them had taken his off, and his bare hands grabbed me everywhere before he threw me into this cell. Of course he wanted to grope a countess. The peasants’ rebellion caused all this.
I’m waiting here to die.
Outside the castle walls, Prince Talan is ripping the kingdom apart, searching for traitors.
They came to my father for names. He gave them two. Not his own, of course. But he knew they demanded blood, and Mother and I would serve as his sacrifices.
I was a filthy little liar, my father said. My mother and I were out there fornicating with peasants in the woods, conspiring in their rebellion against the crown. Now, Prince Talan wants to torture us to death.
Mother is out there now. On the execution block.
And I’ll be next.
They don’t usually kill nobles in public, but Auberon wants a spectacle. He’s making it slow and painful. Peasant deaths for those who sided with peasants. That’s what they say. It doesn’t matter if it’s all a lie.
I’ve heard the stories. Gut the traitors alive. Pry open their ribs. Let them watch their own entrails spill onto the stones before they die in agony, while the crowd screams and cheers.
Agonized shrieks tear through the walls. My stomach lurches. Is that her? Is that Mother screaming?
I clutch my arms, pressing myself against the cold stone wall. I’m breathing too quickly, but it isn’t enough—I feel like I’m suffocating. Maybe I should end it before they drag me out there. Can I kill myself by slamming my head into the stone?
The door creaks open.
I blink in the sudden light, my heart pounding hard. A man stands in the doorway, a tall, powerful man. With his dark hair and eyes, he is the most beautiful person I have ever seen. Regal, assured. He looks like no one can touch him. At first, I can’t place who he is, but then I see his sigil—the serpent eating itself. But the bearing, the quiet, unshaken confidence…even without the sigil, you can spot a prince.
He’s a monster. He’s the one behind all of this right now. His dragons are outside, burning people alive, igniting the accused.
“Are you the daughter of the marquis?” he asks.
I nod.
“I’m getting you out of here. I’m getting out anyone that I can.” He gestures at the hall. “Let’s go.”
I stare at him with awe. Maybe, in times like this, only a monster can keep me safe.
I force my way past these memories until I’m deeper in her thoughts. She’s only a little girl now.
I’m standing in my favorite dress before my father, hoping he’ll tell me how pretty I look. But his face is pale with fury. I’ve done something to upset him.
“You’ve embarrassed me again!” he roars, and grips my arm so tightly, I’m afraid he’ll break it. “Acting like a common girl? A peasant? I’ve been told you were playing with a servant girl. Do you mean to ruin our entire family’s reputation?”
I’m shaking now, my thoughts whirling with confusion. It’s always so dark in his rooms. He hates the light. “I’m sorry, Father.”
His lips press into a thin line. “The girl has been killed because of you. Because of your stupidity. We will not speak of this again.”
Heartbreak cracks open my chest, and tears spring to my eyes, but I’m not done here. Inside, she’s so chest-achingly lonely, so desperate for love and safety…
She spends hours lying in bed, staring at the wall. Thinking of Talan obsessively. He’s all she thinks about. He fucked her only once long ago. She never washed the sheets. When she lies in bed, she thinks of him.
I need something useful before she dies. I can’t spend too long in here, lost in her dark memories.
I find it at last—the moment she caught Meriadec, tricking him into meeting her one-on-one. She used her mole. She was able to overtake him with the iron she’d bought, and she smashed it into his face, burning him. Weakening him. He’d become totally helpless.
I brush the memory away, searching from the other memories linked to it. Meriadec is tied to a chair now, and she’s carving at the tendons in his body. Sometimes, the Fey ability to survive is more of a curse than a blessing. He gave her all the information she wanted, but she keeps going, because for the first time in decades, she felt something new. A thrill. Was this what Auberon felt when he did the same to her mother? Alive?
I examine her mind, ensuring she hasn’t told anyone what she learned, but I don’t see anything. What I need now is the mole, and I search for him. There —Dagonet. He’s one of Meriadec’s friends. He was the one who originally sold her the iron. Arwenna flirted with him and hinted at sex, at an affair with a beautiful, wealthy woman. That’s all it took to turn him.
I pull away, inhaling deeply. Arwenna’s breath gurgles, and her eyes gape up at the snowy sky.
“I usually try to avoid killing people whose minds I touch.” My throat tightens “It’s hard to kill someone you truly know. But in your case, it feels like a mercy killing.”
I push up the sleeves of my cloak and shove my blade into her heart. The light fades from her eyes.
Shaking, I stand and look around the snowy forest. We’re in the middle of nowhere. No one will find her here.
I turn away, washing my hands in the snow, trying to remove every last drop of her blood. If I have any of her blood on me, the Fey will smell it on me when I get back to Perillos.
When I’ve scrubbed the blood off my arms with the hem of her dress, I make my way back to Clover.
It’s hard not to think of Mordred calling me ruthless. And like Mordred, I feel more isolated than ever—a monarch in a ruined kingdom of my own. Like father, like daughter.
I find Clover waiting for me, and my hands shake as I reach for the reins, trying to block out the ghosts of Arwenna’s memories. I don’t want to think of her standing before her father, wishing he loved her.
I want to bury Meriadec. Even Arwenna, for all she’s done, deserves a proper burial. But I’ve been out here too long, and I need to ride back to Perillos before dark, or they’ll send soldiers to look for me. After I return, I’ll ask another agent to come back here.
I swing into the saddle, Clover shifting beneath me, and her breath rises around her. Snow swirls in the wind as I gently urge her on, and she walks over the frozen landscape. My thighs ache, and exhaustion spreads through my muscles. I’m cold and drained, but I’m moving.
Once again, I did what I needed to do. I silenced the countess and stopped her from revealing the entire resistance network.
After twenty minutes of riding, my throat is parched, and I’m hungry. Sighing, I stop Clover at the edge of the forest. I hear a rushing river nearby and walk through the snow to reach it. I kneel at the water’s edge and remove my gloves. Cupping my hands, I drink the icy water. When I lift my eyes, I see a castle in the distance: Val Sans Retour, where Arwenna grew up, dark spires that loom above the snow, windows flickering with warmth. I lick my lips, letting myself for one moment imagine what they might be cooking in the kitchens there.
Arwenna’s memories surge through me, vivid and haunting—bare feet padding across cool stone, the scent of freshly baked bread as she wanders into the kitchen. My stomach rumbles.
I’m lost in her thoughts until a powerful hand grips me from behind, spinning me around.
Instinct takes over, and I draw my dagger, only to find my wrist caught in an unyielding grip. I drop the blade, my heart slamming against my ribs, and gaze into Talan’s gorgeous face. Warmth rolls off his powerful body, but his expression is pure ice.
He releases my wrist and grabs me by the waist, forcing me hard against the rough bark of a tree. My pulse pounds as his body presses against mine, caging me in.
“And what, exactly,” he murmurs, his voice a dark purr sliding over my skin, “is my wife doing lurking so near Val Sans Retour?”