Chapter 29 Landon #2
"Good," Arescaine says. Then his gaze fixes on me. "The healer will continue his work. He'll treat Rhianelle, monitor her recovery, do whatever is necessary to ensure she survives. We will all play our parts until a solution presents itself."
The meeting begins to disperse, people filing out slowly. Lady Deirdre rises and leaves without a word. The handmaidens follow, their whispers echoing down the stairwell. Rainer Wiolant lingers at the window, eyes fixed on the ocean.
I start to turn away, but Arescaine's voice cuts through the quiet, halting me in my tracks.
"Fae."
I turn back. The vampire has moved closer, close enough that I could strike him if I were suicidal enough to try.
"Remember, her life depends on this charade," he says quietly. "If you truly care about her healing, you'll keep this from her. You'll play the role of helpful healer and nothing more."
I nod, understanding the threat beneath his words.
"I came to repay a debt," I say softly. "Not to take what isn't mine."
"And yet here we are." Arescaine's eyes are hollow. "Fate has other plans."
"I didn't ask for this."
"Neither did I." He turns away, dismissing me. "Go. Do your work. Save her life, healer."
I leave the north tower before I say something I'll regret. Before the bond pulls me into doing something stupid.
The white walls of the healing house gleam in the night light. Healers move between rooms, tending to wounded from the recent battles. They give me wide berth, their eyes tracking me with suspicion and fear.
My feet carry me outside into the cold night. The street is nearly empty, most people having retreated indoors as the temperature drops. I don't blame them. I'm the enemy in their midst. A viper they've allowed into their sanctuary.
I find my wyvern resting on the hill overlooking the city. Dorcha's great red head turns toward me as I approach, her golden eyes immediately sensing my turmoil through our bond. We've been connected for over a century. She knows me better than anyone.
"She's my mate," I tell her, slumping against her warm scales. "The Elven Queen is my mate."
Dorcha rumbles deep in her chest. A sound somewhere between sympathy and amusement. She's seen too much in her long life to be surprised by anything.
I press my forehead against her scales, feeling the steady rhythm of her breathing.
The heat radiating from her body is comforting, familiar.
When the King's mistress turned on us, Dorcha was there.
The wyvern saw the fires and the slaughter of my legion.
She carried my broken body from the Western Marches while my warriors died screaming behind me, all the way to the cave-root springs where I rotted for three days.
I was half-dead as fever burned through me while poison ate at my insides.
"I don't want her," I tell Dorcha. But the words sound false even to my own ears.
The wyvern shifts, settling more comfortably. Her tail curls around me like a protective barrier.
"I've met her twice before," I tell Dorcha. "The first time she violated my home. Broke into my chambers and stole my painting."
The wyvern tilts her head, listening.
"Then I saw her again at Calanmai."
I'd been required to attend despite hating court politics.
I was standing around making pleasant conversation with nobles I despised when I noticed her.
A beautiful masked courtier in a cerulean dress.
We danced and I found myself actually enjoying her company, rare for me at court functions.
Then she said something about my red hair.
My red hair.
Before the betrayal, only Finnbheara had seen my face without the glamour. Only he knew what I truly looked like. When I revealed who she was, she froze like a deer caught by hunters. Her mask came off and I saw her face.
I felt it then, a pull I didn't understand. The first whisper of the bond between us.
But she bolted before I could stop her.
"She made a fool of me," I tell my wyvern.
Dorcha shifts her weight, nearly dislodging me. Her message is clear. You're being ridiculous.
A thought pushes into my mind through our bond. You searched for her. You liked her.
I go quiet. It's true.
"It doesn't matter what I felt. She's married. To a vampire." I shake my head slightly, shutting down any notion of pursuing her. "Once she's well enough that the bond isn't necessary for her survival, the vampire might very well kill me."
Wait—I should kill her first.
If I return to Eirik with proof that I've eliminated the Elven Queen and show him that I've put down the threat his court fears most, he might forgive the disaster at the Western Marches. The king might let me back in and restore my honor.
All I have to do is kill one elf.
The resolution hardens in my chest.
"I'll kill the Elven Queen," I say out loud, testing how the words sound. "I'll return to King Eirik with her head as proof of my loyalty."
Dorcha turns her head to look at me fully. Those golden eyes are ancient, wise in ways I'll never understand. She's seen centuries of war, of endless cycles of revenge and retaliation.
And she's tired of it. I can see that now.
"I know," I say quietly. "I know killing her won't bring them back. But what else do I have? What else is left? My warriors are being hunted in Avalon."
Dorcha lowers her massive head. Her golden eyes find mine and hold them. The wyvern doesn't blink. She simply watches, scales glinting like burnished metal in the dim light. There's judgment in that gaze.
"Don't look at me like that," I mutter. "I know what needs to be done. This bond means nothing. It's just a coincidence. She means nothing to me."
But even as I say it, the golden thread tugs at my chest. Pulling me back toward the healing house. Demanding proximity to my mate. It's telling me to go to her, protect her, care for her.
I grit my teeth against it. "I won't be ruled by fate. I make my own choices."
Dorcha snorts. Smoke curls from her nostrils.
"I mean it," I insist.
The wyvern shifts, turning her head away from me. Her gesture is clear. She wants no part of this plan.
"Don't be like that," I call after her. "This is survival. This is what we have to do."
I watched my warriors die. The people I'd commanded for decades, cut down by their own kind. Three hundred survivors are still out there, hunted by Eirik's forces. If I can prove my loyalty, he might let them come home.
Dorcha remains silent. Condemning me with her silence.
I stay there against her warmth beneath the stars. The bond continues to tug at me, growing more insistent. My mate is inside that building and I'm out here plotting her death.
Footsteps crunch on the path behind me.
I turn to find one of the healers approaching. A young elf with downcast eyes. She stops several feet away, afraid to get too close to the dangerous fae.
"Lord Landon?" she asks softly.
"Just Landon," I correct. I've never been comfortable with titles.
She wrings her hands, twisting her fingers together nervously. "The queen is asking for you."
My heart shifts behind my ribs.
Rhianelle is asking for me?
I shouldn't be feeling this fucking excited when I intend to kill her but damn it, I do.
"She's awake and she has questions. Questions we can't answer," the healer says, hesitation threading through her voice.
"What kind of questions?"
"About gaps in her recollection. About..."
The vampire.
"Please, she's getting agitated." The healer's voice lowers as she speaks, heavy with concern. "Her heartbeat is elevated and she won't see anyone else. We're worried the stress might undo the healing progress."
The bond flares with urgency. My mate is distressed.
But this is it. The opportunity I've been waiting for. She'll be alone and vulnerable. I could end this now. One quick strike and return to Eirik with proof of my loyalty. My warriors would be safe.
"I'll go," I say, standing and brushing dirt from my clothes.
The healer bows slightly and turns back toward the healing house. I follow silently behind her.
The vampire is somewhere in this building. I can feel the weight of his presence pressing against my awareness. He's watching, waiting for me to make one wrong move—ready to tear me apart if I step out of line or reveal the truth he's demanded I keep.
He doesn't know what I'm actually planning.
I'm going to kill his wife.
The bond tugs insistently now, pulling me forward like a leash.
The healer pauses outside an ornate door carved with runes of healing. "Be gentle with her. She's still fragile, even if she seems strong."
Fragile.
The word doesn't fit the elven queen who infiltrated the fae kingdom wearing an enchanted mask.
"She's inside," the healer says. "I'll leave you to it."
She hurries away before I can thank her. Probably doesn't want to be near the dangerous fae any longer than necessary.
I stand outside the door for a long moment. My hand hovers over the handle. On the other side is my mate, the one fate has chosen for me. The enemy I'm supposed to kill.
I push the door open and step inside.
The room has shrunk since I was last here. Candles burn in glass holders, their flames steady and calm. Someone has brought fresh linens, a pitcher of water, and a small arrangement of white flowers.
I see Rhianelle and my breath catches despite myself.
She's propped against the headboard, a simple nightgown loose at her shoulders. Her skin has regained some color since I first saw her.
Those lilac eyes turn to me as I enter. The bond sings between us immediately, a chord that resonates in my chest. She feels it too. I watch her eyes widen slightly, her hand moving to her chest as if she can touch the bond.
"Landon," she says. My name in her voice does something dangerous to my heart. "You came."
"You asked for me." I close the door behind me, suddenly very aware that we're alone. "How could I refuse?"
Her smile is soft. "You could have. I'm not your queen. I have no authority over you."