47. Legion
Chapter 47
Legion
T his ugly thing crawling in my belly is sickening. All I’ve ever wanted and needed is within my reach, yet still so far away. I hear myself tell my hive time and time again to wait, my tone patient. I was confident that events would turn out precisely as Varen had predicted, in our favor, happiness and peace.
With her at the epicenter.
But we never foresaw Titania’s theft of her magic or the following cascade of events. In all potential futures, I never imagined wanting her like this—like my skin aches from holding desire at bay, like my blood roars in my ears so loud it competes with the wind.
I arrive at the location Larkspur gave me and rap swiftly on the door.
Waiting. It was once my source of comfort, but now it is a torture device. Waiting gives me the scent of her rose-kissed skin. It lingers on my fingers, wraps itself around my heart, my mind, and my cock. I inhale. My lashes flutter as I command my blood to cool. It will get much worse than this.
The battle has only begun.
The door opens. He lets me in. I look around, using every preternatural sense I own to check for danger—not that I expect it. Styx has crept through this Radiant’s mind and scoured through the dark places. Larkspur is remarkably ignorant of everything endangering our safety.
“Knight Commander.” The Earl guides me to a comfortable settee in a drawing room facing the same cliffs our guest room overlooks. I scan around and recognize the same impotent walls. He has also chosen chambers far away from the resonance network.
“I prefer to stand,” I reply. This meeting needs to be over quickly.
I have places to be, an impertinent Shadow to . . . sleep beside. The Earl’s jaw twitches, but he sits.
“Very well. I appreciate your time. I know it is precious.”
“It is.”
“I’ll make this quick. Robin Goodfellow has?—”
I hold up my hand, cutting him off. “Spare me the sob story. I am well aware of the rules he breaks and continues to abuse. As I have mentioned, I do not intend for him to retain custody of your dragon.”
“Yet you voted him into the role.”
Finally, he confronts me directly about it. I was beginning to think of him as spineless.
“Come now,” I drawl. “Someone as intelligent as you can understand why I did this.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. “You also suspect the Hunt is feeding on him.”
“I’m surprised the Baleful Hunt hasn’t revealed this truth to Puck himself.”
“The Baleful Hunt is a particularly . . . willful dragon.”
“Aren’t they all?”
He winces. “But this one has a tendency to, how shall I put this delicately . . . he has a habitual obsession with breaking free.”
“But then the rightful custodians will swoop in and reclaim him.” I smile flatly. “I’m not sure what you want me to do.”
He bristles at my tone. “I am not asking you to do anything. That’s not what I was insinuating before you made your assumption. Our expedition was foiled. Tomorrow’s informal meeting with the Shining Host will no doubt end similarly.”
Assumption? An uncomfortable feeling tightens my chest. I loathe not being able to delve into his head myself. The torment of remembering the skills I am missing is unbearable. If I had access to his mind, I would have anticipated his train of thought. Instead, I am wrong.
It is irritating yet also refreshing.
Before this, before Willow, we lived in a numbing vacuum of the ordinary. Even though I am eager to reunite our hive and claim our queen, I cannot escape the niggling feeling of being alive again. And it has been a very long time since that happened. Any time my fingers brushed her velvety skin while I washed her, sparks skipped into me.
Blushing. For Nicenevin’s sake. Since when do I blush?
“What do you want of me, then?” I ask, fingers twitching to return to Willow.
“Information.” He sits back with intelligent eyes and drinks from his stone goblet. “When the Folk woke from our long slumber, we found this world remarkably changed. But it is starting to dawn on some of us that—” He takes another sip as if to check himself before continuing—to check me, rather. “Have you noticed that none of the original dragon-bonded are present? The ones who entered the slumber bonded?”
Titania crafted a version of reality that suited her. If the original Shining Host were alive, they would know their true purpose—and their dragons’ purpose—is not to guard the gates of Avorlorna against Nocturna but to guard them against us, Sluagh, and our Wild Hunt. We were Oberon’s greatest weapon before Titania bartered with the gods to create dragons strong enough to contain us. They couldn’t. Not without the help of the Keepers of the Cauldron and their enchantment binding us to slaver queens.
“Titania said they perished during slumber,” I reply.
“And you believe her?”
“Of course not.”
“And this war . . . Do you believe it is because Nocturna tries to steal our resources?”
“Again, no. But you already knew that.” What does he believe?
“Yes, I knew that,” he admits, gesturing to the Guardian teardrop beneath my eye. “Just as I know, your mark is not something neither the Folk nor the mortals have seen before. They have also never seen one like your Shadow—a mortal with fae ears and . . . interesting biology.” A void opens within me. Is he threatening our queen? “Which leads me to believe you and the Knights of the Queen’s Hive are the only members of our kind—apart from Titania—who know the truth about what happened to the original dragon-bonded.”
“That’s a leap. Are you accusing me of lying, or do you have a point?”
“I’m going to challenge Puck to a duel. The military must approve it in the queen’s absence.”
His proclamation is not a surprise, yet a relief all the same. The entire land knows about his intentions. And the Old Code states this request for approval is simply a formality. Very little can block a duel challenged under the gods.
If he is busy with this nonsense, I will have more work cleaning up the Nightmares escaping Nocturna. Oddly, they’ve suddenly cleared up, a fact I will investigate more thoroughly once I have the time. But at least Willow will be out of focus.
“And?” I prompt, knowing what he will say next, and tell myself to reveal the appropriate surprise.
“And I will ask that you be my second.”
“Me?” I place my hand on my chest. Raise my brows. Yes, I believe that was a convincing display of surprise. “Why not ask one of the Shining Host with whom a dragon actually takes direction?”
“Because the duel must be walked on two feet,” he explains. “A dragon hosted within a person is technically more than two feet. No other Radiant is brave enough to risk walking a duel without a dragon except for you knights.”
“You flatter us with lies.”
“Is it working?”
“No. However . . .” I shake my head. I can’t believe I am about to say this. “If you need me, I will be there—for the right price.”
“I’m listening.”
Puck will expire soon, anyway. What’s the rush? But perhaps I can use this to our advantage. “Obviously, if somewhat impatient, the duel is your elaborate plot to regain control of the Baleful Hunt.”
“I don’t think it’s impatient. It’s necessary.”
“You are aware the Knight Spymaster has been petrified.”
He stills. “Yes.”
I don’t address the unanswered question of why—he likely assumes it is for Sylvanar’s death, even if Puck has not publicized it. It matters not to him since he benefited from inheriting the Earldom.
“The House of Stone has hosted the Baleful Hunt since its origins,” I say. “You must have an antidote for accidental petrification. A spell. A charm?”
“There was a mirror once. But I regret to inform you that it’s long gone.”
His stare lingers on me, and my heart sinks before he responds. He has nothing of worth. Not many are aware of the transference spell Fox used with Styx. Unless we wish to sacrifice an innocent soul, we are unfortunately without options apart from the mirror Cait already searches for. She has proven her loyalty to Fox, but I am not convinced.
“But,” Larkspur continues. “When I regain the Hunt, I vow to use the Baleful Gaze and free Lord Fox from his stone prison.”
A promise based on a dream.
“This conversation has ceased to interest me.” I start toward the door, fingers twitching to be near rose-scented flesh again.
“Legion.”
I halt at the use of my name without the title. “Your familiarity borders on disrespect, Earl.”
“Do I have your support?”
My anger swiftly rises. I face him. “It is not the time for duels.”
“Quite the opposite. The Gentle Interlude is the most opportune time. And no one believes us about the Terrors or the thawing watergates. My reputation is being demolished.” A plea enters his eyes. “You and I both know someone is covering up the sightings, sweeping them under the rug. Only the dragon bonded, or Titania herself, have the?—”
“Choose your words carefully.” He includes us within this statement.
“I only meant to insinuate that this treachery comes from the Ivory Palace. And whoever is behind it has help from someone in power, too.”
If the duel eventuates, it’s unlikely Puck will last until the end. I have nothing to lose in accepting his request but everything to gain, like a valuable alliance with the House of Stone. More importantly, a debt.
With my hand on the doorknob, I tell him. “You can trust that I want the Baleful Hunt back in his territory, cleansing it of Nightmares. I will accept your offer if the time comes.”