Chapter Twenty-Eight #2
Because as they whisper and stare at me, Cash leans toward Oona, close enough for his hands to brush the heavy folds of her skirts. He whispers something in her ear that makes her eyes dart to me, and her dark red lips curve.
“Deal,” she purrs back to him.
He lingers for just a moment too long, staying close, when propriety would say he should pull back. And I hear the whispers start from the nobles at my other side.
Cash’s eyes are storm clouds when he pulls back.
The set of his jaw is tight, and his hand slides back into his own pocket in a blink as he nods to Oona and tugs me back through the crowd.
I fight to keep my hands steady, to avoid reaching for the soothing outline of the knives hidden beneath my skirts.
“Did you do it?” The hitch of my voice betrays the hammering fear coursing through me, and Cash’s eyes darken on mine. His gaze flickers to the doors, just as I hear it.
Boots.
Boots, and the clang of metal.
Cash’s eyes dart back to mine.
Something is wrong.
What did he do?
“No,” he grits out, and something haunting stalks across his stare. “I’m sorry, Maeve.”
“Sorry?” Panic is acid in my mouth. I whirl on him, eyes flying for Talon as the shadows of the gardai sharpen across the doors swinging open into the hall. “Sorry for what?”
His hand finds the curve of my back. Regret tugs at his face, and Cash’s eyes snap to the dais, where the High Queen stands, the Lady of Shadows whispering in her ear.
Terror floods the marrow of my bones as she stands and orders—
“Seize them.”
I was wrong.
So terribly, terribly wrong.
The gardai rush through the crowd, shoving and spilling cups of wine all over the floor in splashes as dark as pools of blood. Talon grabs for me with one arm, their other hand moving in a bright flash for the hilt of the short sword at their side, about to draw it out.
“Don’t.” I grip their arms as tight as I can.
If Talon fights back, their cover as a spy is blown.
The terror is star-bright and blinding. I can see the war in their eyes.
Their mouth opens, words gathering—
A gardai slams the hilt of a dagger at the side of my head.
Pain explodes from my temple; hot, sticky heat pours down my face.
I don’t feel the ground beneath my feet as two gardai blur at my sides and throw me down on the floor in front of the dais.
Rough hands seize Oona by the shoulders.
Another pair grabs Aisling by the throat, and Eavan by the waist when she tries to duck and slip back into the crowd.
Saraid slams into the hard tile under the brutal grip of one of the gardai as the crowd scatters, pulling back to leave the five of us exposed and panting in the center of the floor.
Directly in front of the thrones—where Cash now stands beside his stepmother.
The High Queen listens again as the Lady of Shadows leans toward her ear, the royal spymaster’s features shrouded by the heavy drape of the dark cloak.
Does she ever let the court see her face?
“There is a traitor in our midst,” the High Queen shouts, eyes snapping to the gardai, then at us. “Search them.”
Pressure turns cold at the small of my back.
Cash brushed a hand there, just before…
My hands fly to my pockets, searching as the gardai surge toward the five of us in a horrendous blur of black and crimson.
Did he plant it on me?
Desperation flares wild and hot, thick enough for me to taste. My hands sear with pain, and I taste salt and iron where blood courses down the side of my face.
But my hands find nothing.
No vial tucked into my pocket, no liquid magic slithering over my fingers.
And just as the gardai reach for me, Cash’s voice barks out.
“Stop.”
The gardai freeze.
Every eye in the room leaps to him, both hands gripping the back of his father’s throne.
The throne that will be his.
The High Queen levels a lethal glare at her stepson. “Sit down,” she hisses.
“No,” Cash booms, loud enough for the entire court to hear him defy her.
“I am the one who will be king next. And a king must know how to identify traitors, don’t you agree?
” His tone is pure hate, the implication in the words subtle—but pointed enough that even the noble daughters glance among themselves, as if doubting what they just heard.
Cash steps down from the dais, boots sharp on the marble tile. Flickering candlelight turns the rubies in his crown to glowing blood, and he bends to help up Eavan from where she lies crumpled on the floor, one hand at her waist as the other brushes at her skirts—steadying her, anyone would think.
I know better. The breath slams out of me, horror quivering in my throat, but I don’t dare let my gaze lock on his hand in case it draws anyone’s attention. Every one of our lives—mine, his, Wolf’s, and Talon’s, even Finn’s and Keeva’s—all depend on this moment.
And if he just did what I think, Eavan’s about to become what I swore I wouldn’t accept. A necessary sacrifice.
Cash steps back from Eavan and looks over all the rest of us who already stand on our own.
He stalks in front of us, eyeing each of us in turn.
He comes to stand in front of me first, running both hands over the velvet flowing down from my waist. Over the empty pockets, down each of my legs. Over the insides of my wrists. Anywhere that a person could hide something.
Cold navy eyes flash up to mine. “She’s clean.”
Relief is a wildfire, surging through every part of me.
He searches Saraid next. She’s moved to stand beside me, chin high as she meets his cold gaze straight on, golden hair half torn from the braided twist at the crown of her head. Her eyes narrow.
“Clean,” Cash repeats, a shiver of something dangerous streaking across his eyes as they linger on hers.
Saraid sinks into a deep curtsy, and he moves to Aisling, also clean, and then Oona.
My ribs tighten. Violent hope sinks its fangs into my marrow. Could he have managed it after all?
Oona’s dark lips press tight, all the color draining from her cheeks as Cash’s hands brush over her hips. Her waist. Down the curves of her legs beneath her skirts. “No pockets,” Oona says, arching a brow as he checks for them anyway.
And he steps back once more, eyes like ice. “Clean!” he cries.
Fuck. No wonder he couldn’t plant the vial—she didn’t have pockets.
Eavan is the last one in the line. Her tall shoulders are bent but she keeps her sharp chin held high as his hands sweep over her wrists, her waist, her pockets…
Cash jerks back, the shock he paints across his features terrifyingly convincing as he glances down at his own hand, then lifts it up high, the vial shimmering in his grasp.
Gasps and screams slice the air from the crowd behind us.
Eavan’s eyes go wide, terror draining every ounce of the flush from her cheeks.
“It’s not mine,” she shrieks. “It’s not mine, I swear!”
Guilt tastes sour, sliding between my teeth.
This wasn’t the plan. It was supposed to be Oona—one targeted, strategic blow to cleave the nobles.
Eavan isn’t the High Queen’s favored competitor.
Her family can barely feed their own people—that’s why she was making a deal with Oona outside the baths all those weeks ago.
I grit my jaw, shoving the surging guilt back hard enough that my teeth ache. If I let it grasp hold of me and take over, nothing will ever change on this isle.
At least her death will be quick.
Probably—I don’t know how they execute noble traitors.
The Lady of Shadows says nothing, but the way she commands the gardai is clear as she lifts one robed arm and points directly at Eavan. They rip through the crowd, swords drawn, seizing her arms and pinning her in place as Cash makes his way back to stand behind his father’s throne.
The dais creaks.
Every eye from the court flies up to the High Queen.
For a long moment, she is silent, eyes narrowing.
Thinking.
With a blatant glance at the Lady of Shadows, Cash leans forward over the back of the High King’s throne. He keeps his voice low but lets the entire court see him try to convince his stepmother of something. I catch wisps of words like exile and justice.
The court hears them too, approving, nodding. As if no one here has the taste for blood, if it comes from one of their own. I can’t help but wonder whether anyone spoke up for Wolf’s family, five years ago. Or is that bloodshed why so many seem wary now?
A small pool spreads out around Eavan’s feet, her sobs shaking the air.
The High Queen’s crystal eyes sharpen on Cash as she sneers at him. “Fool.”
My muscles tense.
Cash stiffens, glaring back at her. All the court sees it.
I’m sure it’s no accident that he lets his stepmother be the one to step up to the edge of the dais as the Lady of Shadows slinks back.
As the nobles fall silent, every breath taut, the High Queen calls out to the gardai restraining Eavan of Antrim—
“Take her to the Black Quay.”