Chapter 35
Things Get Damaged
MAX
The little tavern has settled into that strange hush unfamiliar places take on in the middle of the night, every floorboard creak and breeze suddenly too loud.
I’m acutely aware of my nakedness, of E’s warmth beside me, of how catastrophically exposed I’d be if that door opened and Nick found me tangled in my ghost’s arms.
The knock comes again, louder this time, erasing any hope that I’d imagined it.
My entire body goes rigid.
I slip out of bed as quietly as I can and hurry to the door, clutching the plain cotton sheet tighter around myself before checking that the lock is still bolted shut.
“Hello?” I call, pitching my voice into the rough, croaky register of someone abruptly stirred from sleep.
“Lady Morgan? Can I speak to you for a moment?”
I expected Nick. Maybe even Lysandra.
My blood turns to ice at the voice on the other side of the door.
Fuck.
What in the seven hells does Luther want with me at this hour?
“Of course. Just give me a second,” I answer instead.
Scrambling for my discarded clothes, I whisper to E, “Don’t overreact.”
I yank on my pants and throw on my shirt in haste, wrestling my thick, tangled mane free from the V-neck cotton shirt.
“Overreact?” he huffs quietly. “That cocky Fae prince is knocking on your door in the middle of the night.”
I plant a soothing hand to my dead lover’s chest. “The place is crawling with his soldiers. We can’t afford to get into trouble here. Be cool.”
I crack the door open and rub fake sleep from my eyes. “Good evening.”
Luther is waiting with his hands tucked behind his back, leaning in slightly as though he wants to downplay his height.
“Good night, more like. I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour. Only, I had a lot to do, and I needed a private audience with you before morning.” He gives me a small smile and gestures toward the stairs. “Come with me. Please.”
His lips pinch uncomfortably around the word.
“Has the Lord of the Tides arrived?” I ask.
The corners of his mouth tense even more. “The Lord of the Tides should join us momentarily, but before I introduce you, I have something to show you. In my tent.”
I walk past him and leave the bedroom door wide open behind me so E has a chance to follow.
“In your tent?” I blink a few times, playing dumb. “What is it?”
Either this Fae wants to show me his male anatomy, or he’s playing on words to get me out of here alone.
“Well,” he says with a light chuckle, “it’s more of a show-don’t-tell situation.”
Luther clearly expects me to head downstairs, but I pivot toward Lysandra’s room on the other side of the hall instead.
“I should wake my brother.”
Luther jerks his head toward the stairs.
“I need to see you alone. I insist.”
The calm facade of the young prince vanishes, replaced by a sharp, uncompromising scowl.
Goosebumps crawl up my spine, but I take a deep breath and obey.
Wherever he’s taking me, E will follow.
I walk carefully behind Luther, his silhouette melding with the shadows.
The moon is hidden behind thick clouds, and though the sky has begun to pale faintly in the distance, there’s not enough light for me to see clearly.
I bet Luther sees perfectly well in the dark.
Whether he doesn’t realize I can’t see the ground, or simply wants to intimidate me, I have no idea.
He moves with unnerving confidence, never once hesitating over roots or uneven ground.
Luther’s tent is surprisingly understated for a prince, but freakishly neat.
The cot in the corner is perfectly made, the blankets folded with military precision.
Maps and correspondence lie with their corners aligned on a desk in front of the bed, and his personal effects rest in immaculate order on a table beside a spotless washbasin. Nothing is out of place.
Once the tent flaps close behind us, he points to the low dining table set close to the ground, surrounded by floor cushions instead of chairs.
My stomach drops.
E’s lantern sits right there, its bronze bones and colored glass panels reflecting the flickering glow of the single oil lamp lighting the tent.
Luther circles me, his hands still tucked behind his back. “I’m not sure why you’re here, Maxine, but you reek of light magic. I found this hanging from your brother’s bag. Are you a spy?”
His voice drops, that unnerving calm now threaded with the promise of something far more sinister if I dare answer with a lie.
“Is that some kind of communication device meant to blow the whistle on our whereabouts? Are you waiting for the Lord of the Tides to arrive so you can alert your Queen and bring the Reds crashing down on us?”
My throat bobs. “I’m not a Red spy.”
The flat edge of a cold blade slides against my neck, and I freeze.
“Excuse me if I don’t take your word for it.” His mouth brushes my ear. “Janina and the King of Light are thick as thieves these days.”
I rush through my options.
Guards are everywhere, sleeping in tents, circling the perimeter, and posted in the trees.
Even if I screamed for help, everyone here besides E and Nick answers to this man.
Sure, I could try to burn him badly enough to break free, but that would only harden his belief that I’m a spy acting on the Red Queen’s orders.
And let’s be real, I’m nothing against a Fae prince.
Then the pressure at my throat vanishes as quickly as it came, the lantern crashing down on Luther’s head with a metallic crack.
“You get your filthy hands off her!” E roars.
The dark Fae jerks backward with a curse. I grab my throat, my palm coming away red, the raw sting there spelling out exactly how close I came to meeting my reaper.
The storm prince takes another brutal blow to the side of the face, and his temple splits open on impact. Blood slides down the sharp line of his cheek, drips from his jaw, and splashes onto the row of neat, organized letters.
Magic crackles through the tent, electricity snapping between his fingers and racing down the length of his arms before exploding outward in a perfect circle around him, a loud slap of thunder numbing my ears.
“Oof—”
E’s groan is followed by the sickening thud of his body hitting the ground.
Luther crouches to a defensive pose and squints at the dark. “Think about your next move carefully, invisible man.”
Frost races up the canvas walls, the temperature plummeting so fast a puff of white air forms in front of my face. Every hair on my body stands on end, my skin erupting in violent pinpricks.
I try to break into a run, but lose my balance and nearly fall, catching myself at the last second.
A thick, solid block of ice has entombed my boots, locking my feet to the frozen earth. Pain shoots up through my arches and ankles, the bite so vicious it feels like my bones might crack.
A thin coat of frost covers the ground, and E’s footsteps appear over the white, giving Luther just enough warning to dodge the next incoming attack.
“The plot thickens.” The dark Fae tilts his head toward the space my ghost currently occupies, and a cruel smile curls his mouth. “Two spies for the price of one.”
The jewels embedded in his skin flare to life, casting an eerie, glacial glow across his features. Then, a bolt of lightning arches from his hand and lands square in the middle of E’s chest.
The imprint of E’s hands and knees appears on the ground.
Luther’s jaw ticks. Blue-white light illuminates his face in savage flashes as he hits E again. And again.
“You sick fucker!” E grits through his teeth.
The acrid smell of burnt flesh turns my stomach.
“Who are you?” Luther barks, looking past me toward the invisible ghost as he paces the tent, a flicker of genuine emotion crumpling his face. “And how are you maintaining invisibility through that?”
“None of your fucking business,” E snarls.
Violet electricity snaps through the air and coils into Luther’s outstretched hand once more.
Steel takes shape inside the storm, metal condensing from darkness and static until a long, elegant blade rises from the ether.
Strange lines zigzag across the hilt, pulsing with an eerie glow as residual sparks lick his jeweled knuckles.
My flames rise to the surface, melting the ice, and I throw myself between them.
“Stop!” My gut churns, and I raise my open palms in surrender. “Please, let me explain.”
His brows knit together. “Who else could he be, aside from the King of Light? Though I can’t say I’ve heard him described as particularly chivalrous.”
“I’m not the king of anything,” E grunts. “She’s not a spy, and neither am I.”
My heart hammers at how broken and battered he sounds.
Just then, Nick bursts into the tent with both daggers drawn, Lysandra rushing in after him in a dark cloak, her face pinched with alarm.
“Lower your weapon! My sister hasn’t done anything wrong!”
“Nick, wait!” Lysandra’s hand hovers near the horn at her belt. “Should I sound the alarm, milord?”
Luther doesn’t take his eyes off me. “I thought Lady Maxine was a Red spy, but there’s a man here with her.”
“He’s no one. A ghost!” Nick says breathlessly. “I swear we are on your side. Let’s figure this out, alright?”
In the distance, a warning horn cuts through the camp before anyone can speak.
Nearby canvas flaps snap open, and boots pound over packed earth.
A guard comes sprinting in, breathless. “Milord! The Red Queen has breached the perimeter, along with battalions from the Red and Sun Courts.”
“Fucking hells.” Purple electricity races over Luther’s arms and along the edge of his sword. “Nobody moves, or I fry us all with a bolt of lightning that’ll melt the flesh right off your bones.”
Nick and I exchange a heavy glance. I have no doubt Luther can make good on that promise.
“I have to greet our unexpected guests. Maxine here is going to come with me, and if either of you tries anything, she will die,” he says flatly, his free hand closing around my lower arm as he pulls me out of his tent.
Wind whips through the trees, and branches thrash overhead. I jerk my gaze skyward. Moments ago, the heavens were clear, save for a few clouds obscuring the moon. Now black clouds roll above our heads at impossible speed, and thunder growls low and deep.
Ice creeps into my bones, locking my body from the inside out, while electricity snaps through my nerves in violent bursts that leave every muscle taut and trembling.
His shadows don’t merely surround me—they enter me, filling the hollow spaces between heartbeat and thought until I can no longer tell where my body ends and Luther’s magic begins.
By the Darkness and all its whispers…
Before, he was merely posing as a Fae prince, holding back the true extent of what he is. Now, he feels closer to a god.
Rain pitter-patters through the canopy and leaves a fresh kiss on my neck. From the corner of my eye, I see Nick following at a safe distance, but E’s whereabouts are a mystery. I hope he’s not too badly hurt.
I pray he doesn’t do anything rash.
Static electricity prickles my skin as Luther drags me past the outer ring of guards and deeper into the darkness, until the tavern lights dim behind us and the forest closes in.
The tip of his eerie sword presses between my shoulder blades as eight women emerge from the trees in a deliberate attack formation.
Their boots whisper over the leaf-littered ground without making a sound.
They move like trained killers, silent and coordinated, each one armed with a katana and dressed in layered, opulent shades of red.
“I knew you were a spy,” Luther whispers satisfyingly in my ear. “Now, let’s see if your queen cares for your life at all.”
The Reds all wear jeweled scarves across their brows.
All except one.
The woman leading the charge wears a crown instead.
A circlet rests atop her auburn hair, its frame woven from living ironwood roots taken from the Lorntre tree, twisted together with bands of dark metal. Crimson sap glimmers along the aged wood, echoing the deep red stones set at its center.
Lillivere stands before us.
The woman responsible for my mother’s death. The one who pretended to be her friend before hunting her down and killing her.
The Red Queen.
Lillivere Janina Cross.