Chapter 8
LYRAE
“Gods, I thought that would never end. At least it’s a little warmer down here,” a pale-faced Varian muttered to himself, the minute we slid off the dragon’s back and our boots hit the frozen ground.
The first words he’d said so far and totally the wrong thing to say at the beginning of a dangerous, potentially deadly mission. Poor baby, sorry you were cold, would you like a cup of hot chocolate and a fuzzy blanket?
In a memory I would replay over and over for the rest of my life, they both looked like they were shitting themselves when Zephryn took off from the Citadel four hours ago, racing for the sky with mighty wing beats, the wind nearly peeling the skin off our faces.
And yes, the cold up in the clouds had been brutal, but you didn’t whine about being uncomfortable.
Not when things were about to get so much worse.
So much worse, now that I was seeing the Shadowlands’ protective ward up close, a fifty-foot-high, boiling black wall of magic that did, in fact, look…impenetrable. And here I’d thought Ryland was a lying son of a bitch, when—surprise—he’d actually been telling the truth.
Fine.
Even a broken clock is right twice a day.
Ryland snorted before I did. “That cold was worth the shorter trip,” he tossed his well-worn pack on the ground and adjusted the straps. “Though it’s not much warmer here. This winter has been the worst I can remember.” He gave me the side eye. “Maybe the queen can do something about that?”
“Anaria has better things to do than making sure you two assholes are toasty warm. She has a kingdom to run, millions of Fae to keep safe.” I adjusted my own pack, nodded my thanks to Zephryn, then started jogging toward a stand of trees.
“If you don’t want to get flattened, I’d suggest putting some distance between you and him. ”
They took one look at the breadth of Zephryn’s black, leathery wings and hoofed it across the clearing, their frantic haste lifting my mood.
Because even though I was here with two of the worst people in the world, even though I had no idea of what we were facing…I was finally free of grinding duty and schedules and walls. Finally, I could do something nobody else could.
Kill a prince.
Save a kingdom.
Get the revenge I’d been craving for a hundred years.
Zeph reared back, his black-scaled chest bunching as he raised his enormous wings, then slammed them down, a vortex of snow and ice and dirt exploding around him. He rose slowly, majestically, the spectacular sight taking my mind off what we were facing for a few awe-filled seconds.
The dragon was so big he blocked out the sky, the heavy thump of his wingbeats echoing in my chest like a second heartbeat as he climbed, all brawn and black scales and bellowing fire, until he was swallowed up by the dark fume drifting off the top of the ward.
Tristan already circled overhead, his lithe, sinuous form threading through the clouds, little more than shadow.
The moment Zephryn joined him, they disappeared to the north, and Ryland whirled, dropping his pack, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I see that fucking look on your face. Just so you know, Lyrae, your queen gave her word you wouldn’t kill either of us. We have guarantees.”
I lowered my eyes to his pathetic little knife, my smile very clearly saying, are you sure about that?
“Relax. What do I get out of murdering either of you right now? I need you, remember, since you’re both expert trackers and all.” I jerked my head to the billowing ward that filled the whole of my vision. “So get to it, then. Track.”
Ryland didn’t budge. “Normally, a queen’s oath would be good enough, but in this case…” His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip and fuck me if a carnal shiver didn’t kiss its way up my spine.
To make matters worse, I stood downwind, and every fresh breeze hit me full in the face with his scent—the smell of leather and woodsmoke, memories rising unchecked, every cell in my being crackling with rage and unwanted lust.
“In this case, I’ll need to hear it from you. Since your queen’s word is law, swear you will honor Queen Anaria’s sacred decree, as a loyal member of her court. Say the words, Lyrae, or we go no further.”
Clever, clever bastard, using ancient, binding words to hobble me.
“Done. You’re safe as newborns with me.” I waved my hand in the air. “Now can we…”
“Fucking say them,” he ground out. “Or I swear by the Old Gods, slay us both here and spare us the agony of waiting to feel your knife slide between our ribs. Because I know that’s your plan. I know when we least expect it, you’ll strike, and my guess is, we’ll never see you coming.”
I should tell him the Old Gods are well and truly dead, but…Ryland wouldn’t believe me, and this little game we were currently playing was suddenly so much more delicious.
This bastard really thought I’d give him my fucking word?
Like I owed him a single, fucking thing?
Once, he and Varian—and my sister—were the only people I’d trusted in the entire world.
But those days were over, and we weren’t in the Citadelle anymore, nor under the watchful eye of the queen and her seer. No, I was in charge now. I made the rules, I decided who lived or died, I was the law of this place, just like Ryland used to be.
The King of Southwell, they’d called him, once.
Leader of our gang of petty thieves and criminals, but those days were long over, too.
“Is that an invitation, Ryland?” I smiled before I could stop myself, and whatever they saw in my face sent Varian backing out of the way, Ryland’s sword hissing out of its scabbard.
“You sanctimonious bastards,” I purred, hatred running through my veins, stronger than adrenaline.
“You want my word before you’ll keep your oath to the queen?
Mine? How dare you ask me for anything? You abandoned me.
Walked away and left me as a distraction for the Shadow King’s soldiers to find.
For them to break, while you made a clean escape. ”
For a moment, I couldn’t think past the rage churning in my gut.
“And you, Varian Kronos. Selling my sister to the Fae King.” Despite my best efforts, my voice dropped, nothing but a husk of sound. “Ariel was your friend, once, and you delivered her into a monster’s hands and the gallows and for what? A pocketful of gold?”
He took another step back, face paler than the snow-covered hills around us.
“No, Lyrae, that’s not what…”
“I don’t owe either of you a fucking thing, least of all a promise not to kill you. Now get me through that, and maybe, just maybe, at the end of all this, you’ll both be alive to collect your reward.” I grinned, my face so frozen I wondered if it might crack.
“But I wouldn’t fucking count on it.”
My gloved finger pointed straight at the nightmare we still had to breach.
A towering wall of shadow and fume, black as coal smoke and equally thick, stinking of dark magic and sulphur, the ward was the inside of a thunderstorm come alive, seething with some foul energy, flashes of lightning and fire, the rotten stench that grew stronger whenever the wind changed.
“The longer we stand here, the sooner someone is bound to spot us and this little adventure is over before it begins.” I shifted my shoulders until the heavy pack lay comfortably along my back.
“If either of you knew what you were doing, we’d be moving, instead of flapping your lips, asking for assurances. ”
“She’s right.” Ryland jammed his sword back into the sheath.
“We’re heading there.” He nodded toward a shallow grassy dip in the earth between two jagged stone pillars.
“The land drops about thirty feet, and there’s a path cut through the rock, a narrow opening where the old ward was naturally thin. But now…”
He tipped his head back, his narrowed gaze drifting up and up and up, that muscle in his stubble-covered jaw clenching in such a familiar way, he might as well have said the words aloud.
He couldn’t do it.
He’d either outright lied about his abilities…or this ward situation was worse than he’d expected. Either way, my expectations were definitely being met so far by the great Ryland Storme.
“Now let’s hope we reach the end before the magic suffocates us.” He reached inside his coat and pulled out a strip of cloth, wound the fabric around his mouth and nose, Varian following suit.
“For the smell,” he explained, his voice muffled. “Once we get inside that, the stench will choke you. It’ll be almost impossible to breathe.”
Well, damn. All I’d brought was one clean shirt. I ripped the fabric down the center and wound it tightly around my lower face, doubling the layers over my mouth, and the smell lessened. A little. “Lead on. I’ll take up the rear.”
“And have you at our backs?” Ryland shook his head, his eyes mere slits above the mouth covering. “I don’t think so. I’m first, then you, Var will take the last position.” He pulled a knife from his boot and handed it to Varian, not a shred of humor in his eyes. “Just to be safe.”
Then he turned on his heel and headed for the dip in the ground, cape flapping behind him.
“Fine.” I called, shoulders already aching beneath the weight of my pack. “Have it your way.” I went to follow when something closed around my wrist and I yanked away.
“Let’s get something straight,” Varian murmured; his voice as smooth as silk as he pulled me close. “All those accusations…none of that happened. Your sister and I were fucking friends, and it wasn’t me who turned her in. As a matter of fact…”
I yanked out of his hold. “If you think I’d believe one lying word that crossed your lips, you are wrong. A very important someone saw you two go into the Citadelle together. You walked free a few hours later. Without Ariel.”
“Ry, tell her.” He turned to his friend, already twenty feet ahead of us.
“He’s not lying,” Ryland glared over his shoulder, hair whipping around his face. “Varian didn’t turn her in, they both got scooped up by the Fae King’s guards. Whatever conspiracy theory you’ve cooked up in your head is just that…a theory.”
“You seriously want me to believe the Fae King let this asshole walk free while he kept Ari?”
Varian shrugged. “Believe me or not, that’s exactly what happened. Ariel and I went to…we were there, sure. But she’s the one who convinced me to pinch some magic sword, supposedly worth a fortune.” His eyes flickered away, a sure sign he was hiding something and I snorted.
“I’m telling the truth,” he protested as we slogged through the tall grass.
“Ari came to me with the job, and we got all the way to the king’s royal chamber when his personal guard swept out of nowhere.
They dragged Ariel in one direction and the rest of us in the other.
A few hours later, they dropped me and everyone else outside the front gates with our hands tied behind our backs.
I tried to go back and find her, but you know how the Citadelle was. A fucking fortress.”
“Nice story. Too bad none of it’s true.” I hissed past clenched teeth.
But my head was spinning.
The Oracle had used my sister’s capture to control me, to use me, to mark me.
Ariel’s death was the fulcrum my entire life balanced upon, the seismic event that hurtled me straight into a world of shadows where I spent fifty years pinched between monsters and kings and Old Gods, like a rat in a trap.
But…could my sister’s capture have been a setup, from the beginning?
I’d watched that evil spider twist two powerful kings around her little finger with whispered lies. Why not me? And using my own sister as bait…that fit her malicious nature to a tee.
I rubbed the raised scar on my arm, the one that stretched all the way to the circular patch over my heart. My constant reminder that freedom was a precious, ephemeral thing. “Nice story. Of course, if Ariel was alive, I’d ask her myself, but she’s not.”
Varian blinked, even Ryland stopping in his tracks.
“Your sister…isn’t dead.”
“You are a fucking liar. She was hung in the Tempeste gallows. I received a lock of her hair and this ring she always wore, so spare me your lies. They won’t save your ass, not this time.”
That very ring glowed on my finger, a band of silver set with a moonstone, the heart glowing a cold blue, the exact color as our eyes.
Varian shook his head, then muttered.
“Ariel’s not dead, Lyrae. She was never executed, at least, not in Tempeste.”