Epilogue
JOLIE & FLYNN
Tatra
Tatra stood in the room with the three beings—one, the male, lying on his back having had his body stretched to the point all his joints had been dislocated and many of his tendons and muscles had snapped—the other, a female, hanging from the ceiling by her wrists, the tips of her toes dangling two feet above the floor.
The last was a male Tatra had found who should probably be occupying a prison somewhere due to his proclivities.
But she found those useful, as she had with many others along the way, and she’d put them to work.
That said, she was tiring of this.
It had become boring.
“End them,” she said.
The expression on the male’s face was disappointed.
The expression on the faces of the other two were relieved.
The male on his back even started weeping.
She left the room, climbed the stairs, walked down the hall and entered another room where her son was lounging, splayed on a couch with his feet thrown over the back, gnawing some chocolate-almond bunches.
At the sight of him, Tatra drew in a steady breath through her nose, seeking patience (because, really, why must she do all the work?), before she sat primly in an armchair across from him.
“We need a new witch,” she declared.
Arnaud lazily lifted his brows.
“And apothecary,” she added.
Arnaud seemed to be considering something.
With practice, since she’d learned long ago it took some time for her son to form an even mildly intelligent thought, she waited for him to achieve that mammoth task.
He then shifted to sitting on the sofa, set aside his bunches and said carefully, “Mother, these beings you send out, they keep failing.”
“It is of no consequence.”
Arnaud’s expression openly showed his surprise, and she had to draw in another steadying breath, because if she’d told him once, she’d told him a thousand times, he should hide his reactions.
Yes.
Even from his mother.
Especially from his mother, for he knew better than anyone she was someone from whom you should always keep your innermost thoughts.
“We went after the Makepeace chit, two males in an alley against a lone female, and she somehow survived,” Arnaud reminded her.
Even all those months ago, this was a concern.
One of those assassins had been deliberately disposed of (though, when he took the task, he didn’t know that).
The assassin she’d sent actually to perform that task had shared some human had thwarted this effort, using weapons he’d never seen before.
He’d vowed to best this challenge the next time she’d sent him.
He’d failed again, got caught, and she’d not only lost an assassin, albeit a poor one (obviously, though he’d come highly recommended), she’d also lost his compatriot, and an important mission went unaccomplished.
“And we used trolls, for fuck’s sake,” Arnaud went on. “Then they massacred the lot of them.”
With hindsight, she could see now she’d been too ambitious with that one.
And too impatient.
That said, she’d been waiting for well over three decades.
She’d wanted to take them all out in one fell swoop.
Of course they’d have their defenses up, something she’d factored in, so she knew the trolls wouldn’t survive. But she thought they’d take out at least one royal in the process (though, as noted, she’d wanted them all).
They got none.
They hadn’t even wounded any, for Lucifer’s sake.
In times like these with her son, Tatra knew her best recourse.
Deflection.
“I’d like to understand why you murdered that little girl,” Tatra stated.
Her son refused to meet her gaze.
“I told you, she was being annoying,” he mumbled. He lifted his eyes to hers. “She thought she was already queen and was acting like that.”
Considering she was twelve, and he’d asked her to marry him, Tatra was not surprised she’d gotten uppity.
“And she wasn’t a little girl,” he spat. “Our beings had taken younger when we were as we should be. Actual demons.”
“It exposed you. I needed you in play,” she snapped.
“The trolls exposed me, Mother,” he returned, achieving a rarity.
Being right.
“How you expected me to remain in play after you sent trolls to the Midnight Masque of all events for the gods’ sakes, I can’t imagine,” her son continued.
“You would have been fighting alongside the rest of them,” she retorted, though she had her doubts about that.
There was a good possibility he would not have fought, and instead, hidden to save himself.
“You could have told me,” Arnaud complained.
“You wouldn’t have been able to beat the truth serum if I did.”
“I had the potion to beat it,” he snipped.
“Which was fortunate, considering you also had to deny you murdered that child,” she fired back.
Arnaud seethed.
Tatra was seeing the errors of her ways in allowing this behavior from her son.
It was abhorrent, to be sure, but it kept him docile and eager.
She’d have to keep a much firmer hold on him in future.
She didn’t mention that because she never would, but also, regrettably, he wasn’t done speaking.
“And you went after the citadel for reasons I don’t get.”
That had just been for fun.
Destroying something (or attempting too, sadly, that had failed too) that Darynda had loved.
That Tanyn loved.
Desecrating her resting place.
She didn’t really mind that particular mission wasn’t accomplished.
Or she’d lost the beings she’d sent to accomplish it.
But she lamented the loss of the fighters that had been sent in.
It wasn’t easy getting your hands on battlecraft.
Arnaud wasn’t finished.
“Catla Truelock is a cossetted heiress, and somehow, she managed to survive a contingent of twelve of your assassins. Of course, we knew Tanyn,” he said his half-brother’s name like it tasted bad, “would survive. It was his mate we were after. And we didn’t get her.”
Considering he wasn’t letting this go (usually, her son had a very short attention span), also with practice, Tatra knew she just had to wait this out.
As she knew he would, Arnaud kept at her.
“And now the tapes and feeds are all clogged with news we’re murderers. I mean, I can’t believe you murdered my father.”
At this, he was pouting.
She probably should have brought him in on that.
They’d had no real relationship. Whatever affection Riland showed Arnaud was under Tatra’s control.
It was incredibly inconvenient that he kept developing a resistance to the drug.
Further, it had cost a fortune.
But Arnaud had genuinely liked the male.
“Son, we are murderers,” Tatra affirmed calmly.
His eyes blazed red. “I am a king. I am of the ancients. My blood is pure demon. My blood is royal. My blood is the blood of a king. I rule as I see fit. What I do is not murder. What I do is at the whim of a king.”
“And taking your father out of play made you king,” she pointed out. “You’ll get your crown again, my boy,” she assured. “And you will rule over much more than Sky’s Edge.”
“We need to escape to the Three Realms,” Arnaud demanded. “We’re not safe here. And we do not belong here.”
He sniffed his last.
He was referring to their current accommodation, and she understood his disdain.
The crumbling human stronghold that had been abandoned centuries ago, an edifice built into a mountain in the Center, a stronghold that she’d retrofitted to be one of their refuges should her plans go awry, was far from what they were used to.
There might be little luxury, but it was warm. It was comfortable. They had food.
And they were very far away from anyone, so no one could hear a being scream.
“We will not leave our land,” she retorted.
“They’re going to find us,” he whined.
She took in yet another steadying breath but fortunately was saved from having to respond when one of her males filled the doorway.
“Your Majesty,” he said.
“Yes?” Arnaud replied.
“He meant me,” Tatra gritted between her teeth.
Her son’s pout returned.
She shifted her attention to the male at the door. “Are they here?”
He dipped his chin. “They are, Your Majesty.”
She rose.
Arnaud rose.
She didn’t move further as she addressed the male. “Tell them I’ll be with them in a moment.”
Another chin dip from the male and he vanished from the doorframe.
Tatra now addressed her son. “You aren’t coming.”
His eyes widened. “You’re joking.”
“They think you a fool.”
“I’m not a fool,” he snapped.
In a flash, she was before him, her fingers wrapped around his neck tightly as she’d used them to drag him up from the sofa.
He gurgled and now his eyes were bugged out.
Yes.
Indeed.
It was time to get control of her boy.
“You are a fool,” she bit. “But you are my fool. I give you your head, Arnaud, do not make me tighten the leash.”
He gurgled some more.
But he did not fight her.
He could take her. His younger age. His superior strength as a male.
He did not fight her.
Weak.
Darynda birthed a warrior.
Darynda birthed a king.
The bitter taste of that never left Tatra’s mouth.
Darynda should never have done what she’d done.
Calisa should never have done what she’d done.
Felenia should never have done what she’d done.
Elspeth should never have done what she’d done.
Salyna should never have done what she’d done.
But they had.
And now there was this.
She would have it all.
She’d spent over thirty years planning it.
And she would not…
Would not…
Fail.
She released her son, hissed, “Stay,” and exited the room.
She had more males to put on her leash.
Arnaud did not follow.
The Isle of the Sacred
“This is my son and daughter you’re talking about,” Calisa hissed.
There was a stamping of feet and a snapping of fingers all around.
“We watch,” the Council of Three stated in unison.
“We do?” Felenia asked. “So can you explain Monique?”
“You ask a question you know the answer to. In this case, you know she is the Visitor,” Clover, one of the Council of Three, reminded Felenia with strained patience.
“And you know my nephew is also in the line of this fire,” Felenia did her own reminding.
“Prince Cormac is being watched,” Clover retorted.
“Watched!” Elspeth threw up her hands, exasperated, but she said no more.
“We were informed your son made contact,” Juliliel, another member of the Council of Three, noted.