Chapter 7
LYRAE
Thanks to my life going down the shitter, me and the ramparts were becoming fast friends.
I blew into my frozen hands, a plume of mist wrapping around my head as I stared out over a frozen Tempeste, lights winking out as the city went to sleep. This city truly was beautiful, a far cry from where I grew up, a cesspool of tenement houses and rotting garbage and rats.
So many rats.
Kept Ariel and me from starving to death, though.
I could not fucking believe Torin cheated me out of killing Ryland and Varian.
I was Commander of the Dreadwatch, the most ruthless, brutal bunch of miscreants in our realm and now my hands were tied by a stupid promise I didn’t even make to a bastard who didn’t deserve mercy.
Not only could I not assassinate this Dark Prince character—and with a name like that, he totally deserved to die—now I couldn’t even put my meticulously planned murder/revenge plot into action.
Oh no, I had to keep my hands off them and try not to accidentally stab one of them to death.
What was shaping up to be a promising vengeance mission was turning into a totally no fun slog down memory lane, a place I certainly did not want to visit again.
Once was enough. I’d worked hard to put the past behind me, and I was pissed ancient history had swaggered back into my life with perfect hair and a gleaming smile.
With fucking Varian Kronos in tow.
Just the thought of him sent jagged spikes into my heart, my breath catching in my throat.
Maybe I’d let Ryland Storme keep his head, but Varian Kronos was mine.
Varian signed his death warrant the day he’d sold out my sister and put a noose around her neck.
I’d dreamed long and hard about how I’d kill that two-faced bastard, and I wasn’t about to allow this chance—or him—to slip through my hands.
I’d behave. Let them guide me across the border and through those supposedly unbreachable wards, then, once we found the three artifacts and made our way back onto Valarian soil…
I’d let Varian think he was safe. Let him bask in his glory and his gold, and when he and Ryland left Tempeste for whatever hellhole they’d issued from, Varian was a dead Fae.
I’d waited a hundred years for revenge, I could wait another week.
“Lyrae. There you are. I looked everywhere for you.” Zephryn’s dark eyes narrowed on my wind-chapped face, my snow-encrusted hair. “We’re making the final arrangements, but I wanted a private word with you before tomorrow.”
“There’s nothing to arrange. You drop us off, then we find out if these two are full of shit. I’ll give you fifty-fifty odds we actually make it through that ward in one piece.” I drew a frosted breath of razor-sharp air. “Don’t worry, I got Torin’s message loud and clear. No stabbing.”
Zeph cocked an eyebrow. “Ah. She told you? About the artifacts?”
For a second, I paused, debating whether to play along with the charade, like I had with Torin.
But Zeph was different.
He’d spent centuries as the Oracle’s prisoner, had his humanity stripped away, been forced to claw his way out of a literal black hole, just like I had. I’d always felt a certain kinship toward the big dragon shifter, who, also like me, didn’t tolerate bullshit.
“Those artifacts are nothing but a myth, and I don’t put my faith in Fae fairytales.
” He didn’t respond, but that fire in his eyes simmered, like flowing embers in a fireplace.
“On the other hand, I do believe in justice. And eye for an eye, or in this case, a head for a head. The prince declared war. I’m declaring it right back. ”
“Torin believes what she saw in that vision,” he said neutrally, the wind whipping black hair around his rugged, scarred face.
“Torin believes a lot of things, Zeph.” I pressed my gloved hands to my stinging cheeks.
“Look, I’ve had a long fucking day and you’re the last person I want to argue with, but there is not one credible shred of proof the Triune is real.
Do you know what is real? This Dark Prince.
After I kill him, once the actual threat is removed, I’ll search for these relics and if I happen to find them, I’ll make sure they’re brought back to Tempeste, where Torin can melt them down into a pretty necklace, for all I care. ”
“Torin doesn’t like necklaces.” He slid me a cautious smile. “And I highly doubt there’s a forge in existence hot enough to melt those relics down.”
“Well, display the damn things on your mantle, I don’t really care, as long as the threat from the south is gone and we all live happily ever after.”
“Those relics are the real threat,” he said softly. “Without them, this prince is just some Fae tyrant with a god complex. The Triune is your only mission. The prince, whoever he is…”
“Don’t tell me what my mission is, Zeph. I’m godsdamned well aware of how to do my job.”
Zeph opened his mouth, something like pity stirring in those fathomless eyes. “I know you’ve been lost lately, Lyrae. Fuck, we all have. After years at war, all this endless peace…grates on you, in a way war doesn’t.”
“Lost…yes…lost is one way to put it.” More like time stretched out too long. Meetings and supply chain issues and decorating questions felt a long way away from patching up one of your friends while they screamed in the mud.
Listening to fall harvest reports and road expansion plans instead of beheading innocents during royal audiences…well, that was an improvement, but the days did seem to blur together.
“But this…vision…” he frowned, “Tor used to have them all the time, you know. And every time she did, I swear the world itself would stop spinning for a second, like time got hung up on whatever she was seeing.”
“One of Torin’s visions changed the entire course of the war once,” I murmured, brushing snow off the balustrade.
“I was a no-name grunt, down in the mud, but one word from her had us running for our lives.” Back then, Torin had worked for my enemy, Zephryn was a prisoner and fucking Ryland Storme was still considered dead.
By me, anyway.
“If Tor saw blood, then there will be blood,” he went on, his expression serious, like he was schooling me.
“If she saw three of something…there will be three…of something. I know this isn’t helpful, but stay on your toes, and don’t overlook anything, no matter how insignificant, because every detail could be important. ”
“So if I see three big, bloody Howlers heading my way, then I should worry?”
His lips quirked in a half-smile. “If you see three of those, run for your fucking life.”
Zeph stepped beside me, big hands curling around the snow-covered edge of the wall, his expression serious again.
“I don’t like this Storme character. And Kronos is no tracker.
I don’t trust them.” He jerked his head toward the door leading out here, a sliver of golden light slicing through the frozen dark.
“You shouldn’t. I sure don’t.” I rolled my neck, feeling the shift as my vertebrae popped back into place. “But Storme’s telling the truth about one thing. He’s been to the Shadowlands. Many times. He can get me inside, and that’s all I need him for.”
“Raziel’s offered to go along.” Zeph said casually. “That way, if things go sideways, you’d have someone you trust as backup.”
He’s good with a knife and not afraid of spilling blood, was the unspoken message behind his pointed look.
“I can handle Storme and Kronos.”
In truth, Raziel would cramp my style. Not that he balked at a little murder, but this…this was mine. After waiting so fucking long, I couldn’t risk anyone getting in my way, not even a friend.
“Wait, Lyrae, that’s all I ask.” My brow crinkled and he gave me a knowing smile before heading in the direction of the open door.
“I don’t know what these bastards did to you, but I saw the looks on their faces when they spotted you in the throne room.
And I saw yours. Now come out of the cold before you petrify. ”
I followed him in, waiting for Zephryn’s inevitable argument about leaving our allies alive, about being a good soldier, about the mission coming first. Too many pent-up emotions were swirling for me to formulate a coherent argument he’d believe.
“They hurt you. I don’t need details, and I’m not stupid enough to tell you what to do.
If you give them what they deserve, who am I to judge?
But I will ask one favor. Wait until you don’t need them anymore, before you dump them in a ravine.
Use them to get through the wards, to find your target.
” He thumped down the stairs, torches flickering in our wake.
“You’ve waited this long for vengeance; you can wait a little longer. Once they’ve served their purpose, I don’t give a good godsdamn what happens to them.”
He paused before we entered the War Room, big hand braced on the thick door. “We need this threat eliminated. We need that prince dead and if the artifacts do exist, Torin wants them under lock and key, where they’ll be safe. If they ever fell into the wrong hands…”
If something that powerful came into play, we would be at war again, and as much as I hated my boring nine o’clock meetings and picking out drapes with my queen…I secretly loved this life, too.
I loved this world we’d built from the ashes, and the way children walked by themselves to the market without fear. I loved how flowers spilled from flowerboxes and shopkeepers called my name when I passed.
I especially loved the nights I stood on my balcony, looking out over Tempeste with a sort of awed wonder, where music floated softly through the streets and every small, golden light was precious.
This was the life I’d never had.
The life I’d been cheated of, and would do anything to protect it.
“I understand what’s at stake, Zeph,” I said softly. “I’ll make sure we never have to worry about the Shadowlands again. Maybe, when this is over, Anaria can magic-touch the whole desiccated region and turn them into another fancy vacation spot for the aristocrats.”
When he pushed the door open, my gaze snagged on Storme and I hated myself. Hated that he now consumed my every waking moment, after years of not thinking of him at all.
Well, hardly at all.
But his bulk overflowed the chair, sweat-stained shirt straining against muscles sculpted from years in the saddle and wielding a sword, burnished brown hair curling at his shoulders.
That regal nose was still straight, despite the new, wicked scar marring the ridge, forest green eyes dancing in the firelight.
I wanted to scratch those good looks off his face and reveal him for the monster he was, my fingers curling inside my heavy gloves, and his head cocked slowly to the side, nostrils flaring, as if he smelled my hate.
Varian was equally handsome, equally tall, but leaner, sinuous like a big cat, watching me with feline wariness as I stepped between them, stripped off my gloves and tossed them on the table.
“Gentlemen.” Zeph’s clipped tone had them stiffening in their chairs and I turned to hide my smile. Chances were, they’d figured a newly crowned queen would be an easy mark, her kingdom ripe with gold and her court young and untried.
They’d found the opposite.
We’d all been hewn from the same cold, hard steel, forged in the fires of the Pit itself, and would die for our queen.
Kill for our cause.
Or rather, kill anyone who threatened our cause.
“Commander Antares is in charge of this mission. You answer to her, and only to her. If she tells you to jump, your only question is how fucking high. She tells you to duck, you are on the ground on your bellies. No questions, no fucking arguments. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly.” Ryland bit off the word with an angry snap, Varian eyeing me with apprehension that bordered on panic. Obviously, Ryland had delivered my message. Good.
I turned my back on them both and stared into the fire, letting the heat chase away the chill as Zephryn outlined the plan. This would, quite likely, be the last warmth I’d feel for a week, because this winter had been a bitch and fuck knew what we’d find once we set foot on enemy soil.
Getting there was straightforward enough.
Zeph and Tristan—in their dragon and wyvern forms—would fly us south at dawn, drop us at the Shadowlands border. From there, we’d hike on foot to Ryland’s access point and he’d lead me into the Shadowlands.
After that…
I spun the simple silver ring on my finger, the blue stone glowing in the firelight, a thrill of anticipation sweeping through me as I listened to the plans being made.
After that, I supposed anything could fucking happen.