Chapter Fourteen
Dante
We stay in the tomb for half an hour or more. The room is too big for the graves—because I suppose that’s what they are—that it contains, and the shadows in the corner look large enough to swallow me up.
It doesn’t really matter. Lark is silent while we stand there, but he never lets go of my hand, and I can tell he wants me close.
I don’t know what to do. Even in my mind, I’m a broken record because I want to be angry with him—I am angry with him—but I know I’m thawing quickly.
Every second in this place tells me why he kept the truth to himself, and it feels like a betrayal to leave him behind, even if I know I don’t belong here.
I thought about that when I was getting dressed earlier. What if I stayed? What if Ophelia and Grant left and I stayed with him? The fae can’t be expecting his soulbond to wear a crown if they believe Ophelia’s the one. At least we could—
Be together. Except I don’t know what that would look like either. And not going back… It’s not an option. Sam will storm this place and drag me back if he has to.
Would I ever see them again? I let out a faint sigh, head still resting on Lark’s shoulder.
It’s more than that. I don’t like how I feel here.
I don’t know how this could ever be my home the way the pack is, the way London is.
I’d get used to it in time, maybe, but how long would that take and how long would I have?
“Come,” Lark murmurs. He tightens his grip on my hand. “We have been here long enough.”
“Don’t you have anything you want to say to them? Tell them?”
“They are long since gone. And I—Now is not an appropriate time for what I wish to say.”
I look at him. Really look at him, which is what I’ve been trying to do over the last day; see him past the rosy haze of attraction that I’ve been living in the past few years. His jaw is set. He avoids my gaze.
“Oh. You’re angry at them.”
He sucks in a surprised breath, then nods, just once.
“Why?”
“We would not be in this situation if…” Lark shakes his head, as if trying to shake the thought loose. “It is irrational. There is nothing they can do. Ronan’s death destroyed my father. And then my mother faded, as soulbonds are wont to do. It was not unexpected, and yet I am angered by it.”
“Soulbonds… fade?”
“Yes.”
“So when I die, you’ll—” I snap my mouth shut, unable to bring myself to finish the thought.
Lark’s grip on my hand is so tight it hurts. “You—When that happens, I will not fade,” he says faintly. “We do not have the same rituals as wolves, but our soulbonds still require some… intentional stability. If we do not do that, then I will—I will know, but it will not cause me to fade.”
“Well. That’s good.”
Lark lets out a little growl and shakes his head when I look at him.
He doesn’t want to talk about it, clearly, because he drags me from the room and back out the way we came.
Neither of us looks for Grant on the way back to Lark’s rooms. Part of me really does trust that he can keep himself out of trouble, having seen how quick he’s been today.
When we get back to Lark’s rooms, it’s clear that other fae have been in to tidy up.
The plates from this morning are gone, and the bed is made far more neatly than I left it, despite my best efforts.
The only room that hasn’t been entered is the greenhouse—that door remains shut, and I wonder if the fae even look in its direction.
I sit gingerly on the edge of the sofa and watch as Lark paces. I don’t think he realises he’s doing it. He turns on his heel, hair falling around his face, and I watch him walk back and forth until I feel dizzy.
“What made you build the greenhouse?” I ask, and he comes to such a quick stop, there’s a moment where I think he’s going to fall over.
“I-I like plants.”
I frown at him. The words come out too quickly, and his voice is lowered, like it’s a fact that should stay between us.
“Don’t all fae like plants?”
“Some more than others,” Lark says, but when he studies my face, he sighs. “We are all in tune with the natural world. Flora and fauna. But it is not… becoming for an Unseelie prince to show so much aptitude for the flora. My parents did not like it.”
“And Ronan and Iagan?” I can’t quite work out the relationship he has—or had—with his brothers, but I desperately want to try. I’ve got no siblings of my own, though Ophelia and Felix might count as close enough. Still, I don’t know what it’s like to grow up with another person like that.
“Ronan hated it,” Lark says. The words are stark and unemotional except for the same tightness in his jaw I saw earlier.
“He is the reason I warded it at all. He believed it was a waste of my time and my talents and that, if anyone in the court were to find out I spent so much time with plants, it would weaken our parents’ position wearing the crowns. ”
“Could it have?”
He snorts and finally gives up on standing, coming over to sit on the sofa next to me.
“Of course not. They had been king and queen for centuries by then, and as we are discovering, it is difficult to find powerful enough high fae to keep our realm alive. No. He simply did not like it. He was charming, my brother, but he could be cruel.”
“And Iagan?”
“Iagan…” Lark stares off into the distance for a moment, then lets out a faint laugh.
“I am not convinced he knew of the greenhouse at all, except he is so obsessed with knowledge that it is impossible for it to have slipped his awareness. I suppose he did not care. He values the opinions of other fae even less than I do.”
I’ve only seen Iagan once, when he came to the would-be challenge between Quinn and the vampire Augustine. A high fae attacked, and the Hunt subdued him, and Iagan came to take that fae away and to give Maurice, another member of the Hunt, his powers back.
Considering all the people who were in that room—the vampire crai and chieftains, plenty of wolf alphas, including Deacon himself—Iagan walked in like he owned it. He didn’t even hesitate.
Then another thought sours my mood. “You’ll have to care now, won’t you?”
“To an extent, I suppose.” Lark rests his elbows on his knees and leans forward. “Though they are desperate. The schemes we have seen in London… they will have been nothing on what has been happening here. I expect I will recognise only a fraction of the faces in attendance tonight.”
“What do you mean?”
“The fae of the Unseelie court will be there. If they are feeling generous, they will have invited some Seelie fae they consider respectable, and of course, there will be other Unseelie who are not members of the court, but who are respected or powerful in their own right. Many of these fae will likely have already fought to wear the crowns. The crowns will have drained some, and others will have been killed or exiled to keep them from that power.”
“Doesn’t sound like power,” I mutter, and Lark looks at me sharply.
“What do you mean?”
“It sounds… like a cage. The crowns don’t make you more powerful; they’re taking magic from you.”
Lark nods. “You are right,” he says, and the smile he offers me is humourless.
“But best not to let them know. Wearing the crowns has given those fae power because they are keeping this realm alive and that is to be respected. Now, I fear, some may have realised the same as you. Trapping a powerful fae here might be their next move.”
My stomach twists and I swallow hard. “Or trapping their soulbond, if they’re worried the fae they need will run back to the life they made in another realm.”
“That, too.”
I sigh. Lark reaches over slowly, like he thinks I might panic and run away. When his hand wraps around mine, my heart beats a little faster.
Why couldn’t we have had this all along? That’s what has me angry. Angry at myself as well as him, because I thought saying something would be foolish, that he was so far out of my league that it was laughable and now…
Well, I’m still pretty sure he’s out of my league. I don’t think fae princes usually wind up with guys like me.
“Why didn’t you want me to kiss you this afternoon?” Lark asks, and my mind shuts down.
“I, uh…”
“I wanted to,” he says. “I want to.”
We can’t. That’s my first instinct, the words almost leaping from my mouth of their own accord. Except, we could.
But then I’d want more. I’d know what it was like to kiss Lark, and I wouldn’t be able to leave him behind.
My throat tightens. I shake my head but don’t let go of his hand.
“I-I can’t.”
“Can’t.” Lark’s voice is flat.
“I don’t—It’s not—” A frustrated sound tears itself from my throat and I make myself meet his gaze. “I want to, too.”
It’s hard to read his eyes when he’s not wearing a glamour. They’re black from corner to corner, but he tilts his head just slightly, and it feels like his gaze becomes more intent. Goosebumps erupt over my skin. I want him. That’s hardly a surprise, but the intensity of it is.
“You believe it would be a bad idea.”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“You can think of a reason, I’m sure,” I say dryly. “You want me to go back when you take the throne. Would you let me go if we’d kissed?”
Lark’s lip curls, showing his sharp teeth. “No.”
“Then we can’t.”
He purses his lips in annoyance but eventually nods. “Very well.”
He still doesn’t let go of my hand, and after an awkward moment of silence, I turn the conversation towards what we should expect tonight. I’ve been to a few formal events—though not for years—but the fae idea of politeness is likely to be quite different to what I’m used to.
“It may seem as though they are overlooking you because they believe you to be my pet,” Lark says, “but that will not be the case at all. The court, especially, will assess you on their own merits. They will want to know if you are a weakness or not.”
“A weakness?”
“For me. If you could be used against me. It would not be the first time.”
“Your parents had pets?”