Chapter Nineteen
Lark
Grant reappears at the party not long after Oisin and I have made the announcement that he will take the second throne.
Very few of the fae appear surprised, though I have noted, as best I can, those who seem displeased.
I believe that Zomo has too; her eyes are quick, and she nods at me as the party resumes, as though this is what I expect of her.
I do not doubt her ambition, but as I care little for actually ruling, it does not matter. She cannot wear one of the crowns, so she may be my best ally here.
Better than Oisin, even. Once Dante and Ophelia have left, there is nothing keeping him in line. I have no doubt he has allies of his own among the court.
Aodhan makes a hasty retreat once the announcement is done, too. That is when Grant reappears.
“Your uncle?” he asks.
“Yes.” I frown. “Where were you?”
“Library. I wanted to check some things out.”
My temper rises. “You left Dante alone.”
“You were here.” Grant’s expression is quizzical, not understanding in the slightest, and I swallow a growl.
Of course he does not understand. From what I can tell, Vladimir has been by his side since the night he was turned. The meagre time they have spent apart has been based on necessity, and he knows that Vladimir will never let him down.
I want to growl at myself. Dante does not know that about me, if only because I have let him down.
I told him earlier that fae do not deal in regrets, and we do not.
I do not truly regret not telling him about our soulbond before now.
If I had, we would likely have ended up in this precise situation—or, worse, he would have been taken instead.
And yet… It hurts a little to think of all the time we missed out on.
“Is he okay?” Grant asks. “Where is he?”
“He returned to my rooms. He did not wish to…”
I trail off and Grant nods in understanding. Ophelia approaches, holding what I presume is the same full glass of wine she picked up earlier.
“I’m guessing we can’t just get out of here now that that’s done with?” she asks through a smile that does not reach her eyes.
“We should stay for a little while,” I reply. “An hour or so.”
The smile does not drop, but she is not pleased. She was less pleased when I returned without Dante and told her that he was going to the castle. I do not believe she truly knows what happened in the maze, but she has an inkling.
“May I have this dance?” Oisin asks her, holding out one hand.
“No,” Ophelia says, pressing her full glass into it. Oisin takes it with a bewildered blink and Ophelia holds her hand out for me. “Come on, Lark. Let’s keep up appearances.”
It is an hour and a half before we can extract ourselves from the festivities, though I send Grant ahead of us some time before that.
The hesitant edge the fae have had around me so far is thawing; they are too excited that the realm will stabilise.
The full moon is tomorrow. We can hold the coronation then.
While I am still unhappy that I must remain here and take the throne, it is not as if I do not understand the gravity of it.
The realm is dying. Now that I have been here for a day, I can feel it.
Decay is sneaking into the edges of the magic that sustains us, and if I had not returned, this place would have had months, perhaps a year, before it collapsed completely.
When we reach my rooms—Oisin in tow, for whatever reason—Dante is sitting on the sofa, reading a book. Grant sits next to him, reaching over to point something out. Dante shoves his hand away.
“Let me get there.”
“It’s interesting, right?”
They both jerk their heads up at the same time when they realise we’re there.
Dante looks at me from head to toe and my skin prickles with awareness.
He has changed out of the outfit he was wearing for the party, into a pair of the soft, loose trousers and matching tunic the tailor made for him.
It is an outfit designed exactly for this—for sitting in my rooms and relaxing.
I swallow. Of course, if the others were not here, if we were in some other universe where Dante was truly mine, then I could have him here wearing nothing at all.
“When can we leave?” Ophelia asks, and Dante’s gaze jerks from me, his cheeks burning.
Disappointment roils in my gut. I take one of the armchairs and let out a sigh. Ophelia sits next to Dante, who closes the book, which I note is a collection of tales I read when I was young, and Oisin takes one of the other chairs, eyeing Grant warily.
“Tonight,” I say.
“We need to scry Cassian first,” Dante says. “I want to do it here so he’s got some warning. It’ll be easier than out in the dark, too.”
He reaches forward and plucks a small, round mirror from the table. Ah. That is what Cassian handed him back at the house then.
I look at Dante again. There is a smudge of dirt on his wrist and when he sees me looking, he brushes it away.
“I’ve got this, too,” he says, handing Ophelia a small, green stone. She rolls it in her palm.
“We’re both going to have to do it, huh?”
“Can I help?” Grant asks eagerly.
Ophelia and Dante exchange glances. Ophelia smiles. “Usually, I’d say yes, but let us have a go first? I’m not sure how your magic is going to react to ours, and it’s a long distance to be scrying as it is…”
Grant deflates. “Yeah, okay. Can I watch?”
Dante snorts. “Yeah. We’re not going anywhere.”
He sets the mirror down on the table so all it reflects is the ceiling. He and Ophelia kneel at either end of it, and their magic flickers when they reach and take each other’s hands.
I have seen so much magic performed before in my life. We use it like breathing because, really, it is the same kind of thing to a fae. To wear my glamour, to wake a sleeping plant, to reach out into the blanket of magic that surrounds us… It does not take a thought.
But this—I watch, rapt, as Dante closes his eyes and the magic deep inside him, that flicker linked to me, sparks and stretches out. There really is not much of it, but it does not matter as he pushes it into the mirror and it spreads across the smooth glass surface.
Ophelia murmurs under her breath. The words do not matter, I think, except that they keep her focused, and after a moment, her magic reaches out just like Dante’s, tendrils wrapping together until they have formed a magical net over the mirror.
Dante squeezes Ophelia’s left hand. “For focus,” he says, and she nods without opening her eyes.
It doesn’t matter that he can’t see her, I realise.
He didn’t need to say that about the stone at all.
That is for Grant, for us, because Ophelia’s power is already seeping into the stone, down her arm, up Dante’s…
They have been using magic together for much of their lives.
That is clear. Deep inside my chest, I feel a dull ache.
Dante’s magic will never be like mine, never an unquenchable depth, but I will also never wield it with him like this.
I will never have the chance to be as close with him as all the other people in his life.
Their magic surges and lifts, and all at once it floods the mirror, leaving it pulsing with power. Dante opens his eyes and scoops the mirror up. “Cassian? Are you—”
“I’m here,” a faint voice says. “And impressed. That’s a lot of power.”
“Yeah, it wasn’t just me.”
Dante turns the mirror so Cassian can see Ophelia, and another voice echoes around the room.
“Ophelia!” Sam. I cannot quite see the entire mirror surface from here, but I hear the way he jostles Cassian aside. “Fuck, are you okay?”
“Fine. Seriously. But we’re ready to come back.”
Silence. Dante frowns, turning the mirror back to face himself. “Guys? What’s going on?”
“A bit of a hiccup,” Cassian says. I hear a short scuffle, and then Sam’s voice comes a little louder.
“Another one of his boyfriends fucked off for the night, so there’s only two of them here.”
“Sam—”
“What? You weren’t going to say it.”
“I don’t get it,” Dante says, “how many of you do you need to open the gateway?”
Cassian sighs. “Two of us could do it, but not for long. And it’s easier when Isi and Soren are both here, but Soren went to help deal with some high fae, and Einar is still gone, and Clem is out feeding…”
“What does that mean?” Ophelia snaps.
“They should be back in the morning,” Sam says. “Can you wait until then? Like, daybreak. Is it safe?”
Dante looks at me helplessly. Ophelia’s own disappointment is palpable.
“They will be safe,” I say. “They will be at the position we arrived in just after the suns rise.”
Sam lets out a relieved sigh. “Guys? You’re sure?”
“Yeah,” Ophelia says.
“We’ll be there,” Dante adds. “And yeah, we’ll be safe here.”
“There’s really no other way?” Grant pipes up from the sofa. He’s watching Ophelia, his brow pinched with concern. “How did you get out of here, you know, when you…”
His eyes dart to me, then away. I do not comment. Oisin looks more concerned than I feel.
“I, uh…” Cassian huffs a laugh, but it does not sound amused. “I tore my way through. Nearly burnt myself out doing it, and you’re the only one with enough power, but I don’t think you’d be able to hold it long enough to get all three of you through.”
Grant’s shoulders slump and he pouts. “Fine. We’ll wait.”
At least Ophelia looks a little better now, apparently charmed by Grant’s eagerness to get her what she wants, and Sam offers more encouragement before they break the spell and the mirror returns to its usual reflective state.
“It’s only a few more hours, I guess,” she says, and Dante nods.
“We can rest up before we go. It’s a bit of a trek.”
Oisin gets to his feet. “Will you require any assistance in having them leave?” he asks me, and Ophelia glares at him.
“No.”
“Then I will retire.” He looks expectantly at Ophelia, who raises her eyebrows in question. “We are returning to our rooms. You need some rest.”
“I need you to break the spell you put on me and I’m going to stay right here, thanks.”
Oisin frowns in confusion. Dante and Grant exchange glances, Grant’s expression vaguely amused.