by Donna Grant
It was the first time he’d ever had free rein within the tower, and he knew it would anger Erith if she knew he was roaming. He didn’t care. He’d rather her be pissed than dead.
Level after level, he searched until he reached the top. It was just one massive room. He halted at the doorway, shocked that there was something from each of the Reapers inside. From a weapon to the helmet Cael had worn in the Fae army. Every item had once belonged to a Reaper before they were betrayed and became Death’s warriors.
Cael was curious about the room, but he didn’t enter it. This was Erith’s domain, a private sanctuary that he didn’t want to invade. He took a step backwards and pivoted before leaving to return to her bedchamber.
The entire realm was nothing but an oasis of beauty for wildlife and plants. The only structure was Erith’s tower, so there was no point in searching anywhere else.
Cael checked on Erith. With every rise of her chest, he sighed in happiness, knowing she was still alive. He lifted the edge of her braid, feeling the soft locks before he made his way to the window. The picture below was stunning with the forest and lake and the mountains on the horizon. There were birds everywhere, their songs mixing together to create a beautiful melody that lulled him.
He leaned against the edge of the window, his gaze moving to the water beyond. Cael stilled when he saw a pack of wolves loping from the woods to drink. He’d had no idea there were such creatures there, but it didn’t surprise him.
Erith loved all animals. The ferocious to the timid. He wasn’t sure if she preferred the beasts or the plants more. In truth, each time he saw a blossom of some kind, he thought of her.
But even he was aware that there were many aspects of her life that he knew nothing about.
He pushed away from the window and turned when he spotted a book on the chair, half hidden beneath a pillow. Curious, he moved the throw cushion aside and lifted the hefty tome. The title, Tales of Death, left him cold.
His gaze jerked to Erith, but she remained asleep. Cael sank into the chair and opened the book to discover that it was a Light Fae’s account of what he’d witnessed from the Mistress of War.
Cael devoured each word, page after page. Before he knew it, he was halfway through the book. He’d sensed the power within the black sword, but reading about the things that Erith had done brought home just how formidable she was.
When he finally finished, he softly closed the book and set it on the floor, dazed and astounded by what Erith had accomplished. Whether she wanted to return to being Mistress of War or not, that was how she would win against Bran.
Erith’s reluctance to become that being of death and destruction now made sense. She was death in all its terrifying, daunting glory.
Not just powerful, but alarmingly so. If Cael had to guess, he’d say that Erith was a goddess of some kind. He’d always assumed that she was Fae, but only because she judged them, keeping them in line. But even she admitted that she wasn’t a Fae.
Cael turned his head to the bed to find Erith on her side, her eyes open, watching him. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking, and that set him on edge. But she didn’t look nearly as pale. “How long have you been awake?”
“Long enough to know what you were reading.”
He scooted to the edge of the chair and leaned his arms on his knees. “Was any of it true?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Good.”
She frowned and sat up slowly. “Good?”
“Just as I told you yesterday, you’re the key to winning this war.” He watched her carefully, looking for any hint of fatigue, but it seemed the sleep had helped her body repair some of what had been taken.
“You don’t understand—”
“I do,” he cut her off. “I read the book, remember?”
She shook her head and sat forward, pulling her legs toward her chest while holding tightly to the blanket. “It took a lot for me to let go of the sword the first time.”
“Did you ever think you weren’t meant to let it go?”
She snapped her head to him. Her expression was a mix of shock and outrage. “If you had seen me, you wouldn’t be so cavalier about it.”
“I did see you,” he stated, thinking back to when she’d come to him when he was dying.
She hesitated before looking away. “That wasn’t really a fight, and it wasn’t my sword.”
“I beg to differ. I know what I saw.”
“You never mentioned it before.”
He shrugged. “There wasn’t a need before. There is now.”
She moved to the edge of the bed and swung her legs over so that her back was to him. “I don’t fear dying. What tears me up inside is knowing what Bran will do to all of you.”
Cael got to his feet and walked around the bed until he faced her. “Stop this idiocy. You’re too fekking strong to be acting as if everything is decided. Take the damn sword in hand. Return to being Mistress of War. You get to control things, Erith. Not the other way around.”
Lavender eyes churned with anger.
But he didn’t care. “You wreaked havoc last time because you had nothing to anchor you. That’s what’s different. You have us now. The Reapers will remind you not to let the wrath take over.”
“You seem to have a lot of faith in what I can do.”
“That’s right. So, get up off your beautiful arse and get it done.”
A black brow quirked at his words. “Telling me what to do now?”
“You urged me to give you my thoughts. That’s what I’m doing.”
She got to her feet and tossed the blanket aside. Erith ran her hands over her head, and as her palms passed, her hair changed from one braid to small ones running from one side of her head to the other and ending at her crown where the midnight locks fell freely down her back.
He smiled when he saw the resolve in her eyes. This new Erith was a combination of Death and the Mistress of War. And he couldn’t wait to see what she did.
“I take it you approve?” Erith asked.
“Absolutely.”
Her lips softened slightly at the corners. “I never wanted to wait around and die. You need to understand that.”
“I do,” he said with a nod. “You feared becoming what you were before.”
She licked her lips and blew out a breath. “There’s a difference between the Fae’s fear of me now as Death and the one they knew when I was Mistress of War. I judge the Fae now. Back then, anyone was fair game.”
“You already told me.”
She shook her head, her black locks shifting with her. “I need you to understand just how risky this is. If I return to being the Mistress of War, I’ll be no better than Bran. If that happens, you have to stop me.”
“And how do you propose I do that?”
Her chest rose as she inhaled deeply. “You need to get Con.”
“The King of Dragon Kings?” Cael asked in confusion. “What does Constantine have to do with this?”
“I’ve been his friend for a long time. There is something I’ve given him that will help him defeat me or Bran.”
Cael crossed his arms over his chest. “When were you going to tell me about this?”
“When the time came. And it’s now.”
“Why Con? Why not someone else?”
She glanced away. “Because you wouldn’t use it on me.”
Damn right, he wouldn’t. Cael didn’t know what it was, but he could guess it was something that would kill her. No way would he allow that to happen, but he’d keep that part to himself.
“Why not just have Con destroy Bran now?”
Erith’s gaze met his. “This is our war. Let’s keep it that way. The Kings have enough to deal with at the moment.”
“It’s the same reason you wouldn’t let Rhi help us.”
She gave a nod.
Cael dropped his arms and ran a hand down his face. “We need allies, and you’re making sure that none can help us.”
“Is that so?” she a
sked testily. She gave him a steely glare. “In the vision you saw of the war, did you, at any time, see Rhi or the Dragon Kings?”
Damn, he hated when she was right. “No.”
“You saw the Reapers and two Fae—Xaneth and a Dark—who could decide to join us or Bran. Right?”
“You know you are,” he bit out.
“That’s who will be on the battlefield, Cael. And if I had my way, none of the Reapers would be there.”
Fury that he barely held in check ripped through him. “You would keep us away?”
“It’s too late for that now.”
“You’re so used to standing alone that it really bothers you having to take help, doesn’t it?”
She closed the distance between them, her lavender eyes blazing with more emotion than he’d ever seen. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t want any of you there because the moment one of you gets hurt or killed, it’s going to wound me more than anything Bran could ever do to me.” She paused but didn’t look away. “I can’t lose any of the Reapers. Especially you.”
He wished her feelings ran to something other than his leadership skills because her words went straight to his cock that was now hard and aching for her.
Only her.
Always her.
Chapter Eleven
Dark Palace
The cries of pleasure from the many humans captured by the Dark didn’t register with Xaneth. He’d returned to the palace as soon as he left the Reapers. But if he thought he could get back to his life, he was sorely mistaken.
The warriors’ words kept ringing through his mind. The fact that Cael had seen him standing between the two armies was significant. Xaneth might not know any of the Reapers well, but he knew of them.
Also weighing heavily on his mind was the fact that Death hadn’t killed him. He hadn’t thought much about it after helping Eoghan and Thea, but since then, Xaneth had done some asking around. It took quite a bit of prodding to learn anything about the Reapers.
The Fae—both Dark and Light—were a superstitious lot. They feared even talking about the Reapers, but Xaneth was used to prying information out of others. So it wasn’t long before he saw a pattern in the stories—anyone who claimed to know about the Reapers was soon dead.
As in, hours later.
Now, he understood why Eoghan and Cael had sworn to talk to Death on his behalf. He had thought it was just a ploy to get him to do what they wanted. Apparently, he’d been wrong.
Xaneth felt someone come to stand beside him, but he ignored them. He wasn’t in the mood to talk. He wasn’t even sure why he was at the palace. After fighting so hard to stay alive and avoid his insane aunt—who just happened to be the Queen of the Light—he wasn’t keen on losing his life because he chose the wrong side in a war.
But that might very well be what happened.
“It’s not polite to leave the king waiting.”
Xaneth blinked as the words registered. He turned his head and found himself looking into the face of Balladyn, the King of the Dark. “Mingling with us now, huh?”
“I really should gut you for such insolence,” the king said, though there was no heat in his words. “Something is troubling you. I’ve been watching you for thirty minutes. Ten of which, I’ve been beside you. I expected you to be more aware of your surroundings.”
Xaneth blew out a breath and faced Balladyn. “I have a problem I need to sort out. And quickly.”
“Then sort it.”
“I can’t make up my mind.”
Balladyn chuckled and pushed away from the huge column. “Take a walk with me.”
Xaneth had already had a few run-ins with the king. Balladyn had known that Xaneth was using glamour to appear as a Dark Fae, which didn’t please the king at all. Yet Balladyn didn’t throw Xaneth out or kill him—which would have been the king’s right.
Instead, he’d listened to Xaneth about Bran and struck a deal with him. Xaneth could remain at the palace for as long as it took for him to find Bran. Xaneth wanted someone to help him kill Usaeil, and Balladyn wanted Bran’s kidnapping of the Dark for his army to stop.
So far, neither had gotten their wish.
Xaneth fell in step with Balladyn. They walked in silence as the king nodded to others as they passed through the many wide corridors of the palace.
It was quite a shock to Xaneth when he found himself on the top floor and in Balladyn’s private chambers. He eyed the soaring ceilings and large windows, but it was the seemingly endless shelves stacked with books on the far side of the room that caught Xaneth’s eye.
“Have a seat,” Balladyn said as he made his way to the book area. He turned and smiled at Xaneth. “I have the largest Fae library outside of the Light Castle. And I know for a fact that I hold books that can’t be found anywhere else.”
Xaneth raised a brow, impressed. He walked to the large table where several books lay open. Before the table were two chairs. He took one and stretched out his legs before him, crossing his ankles.
Balladyn propped a hip on the edge of the table. “If you need a place to think, I’ve found quiet normally works. Less distractions. Or time for anyone to sneak up on you and kill you.”
“True.” Xaneth expected to be told to share his problem, but Balladyn always seemed to do the opposite of what people imagined. “I watched you fight in the Fae Wars once. I was only a small lad, but I knew even then that you were a badass.”
The king grinned, a faraway look crossing his face. “That seems like a lifetime ago.”
Neither mentioned that it was when Balladyn had been a Light Fae and Commander of the Queen’s Guard. Xaneth had no idea how Balladyn had become Dark, but he did know that somehow Usaeil had had a hand in it.
“I’ve done some digging on you, Seeker.”
Xaneth sat up straight in the chair. For all the casualty Balladyn showed, he hadn’t gotten to be king for nothing, and Xaneth would be wise not to forget that. “You wouldn’t be where you are if you didn’t know who was in your palace.”
“You’ve worked both Light and Dark without siding with either. In fact, you’ve done what no other has. Well done. I’m impressed,” Balladyn said.
Xaneth wasn’t fooled. The King of the Dark was cunning. He’d been Taraeth’s right hand for thousands of years before killing him and taking the throne. Balladyn had forged his way in the Light and then did the same with the Dark. He wasn’t a Fae to be trifled with.
“Why do you want Usaeil dead?” Balladyn asked.
Xaneth held Balladyn’s red gaze. The king’s long, straight, black hair hung down his back. “Isn’t it enough that I hate her?”
“It should be. But rumors have a way of changing things. And one has reached me. There are those who say you became the Seeker to keep hidden from Usaeil. The only ones needing to hide from the queen are those she wants dead.”
“Should I clap that you figured it out?”
Balladyn stood and walked to the other chair. He sank into it and smiled, his gaze shrewd. “Skip the clap. If you don’t want to tell me why Usaeil is after you, don’t. I’m merely curious as to why you wish her dead.”
Xaneth looked down at the ornate red and gold rug at his feet. Then he had an idea. “I’ll tell you what you want to know about Usaeil, if you tell me what you’ve discovered about the Reapers.”
“You assume I know of them.”
“You do,” Xaneth stated.
Balladyn stared at him for a long minute. Then he gave a nod. “Deal. You first.”
“Usaeil is my aunt. She killed our family and took the throne. She’s been searching for me since I fled.”
“Interesting,” Balladyn said. “And you want to kill her to take the throne?”
Xaneth snorted as he jerked back his head. “I don’t want to rule. I just want to be able to return to the Light and live as I should have all along—freely.”
“I think I might be able to help you out with that. But first, Reapers.” Balladyn je
rked his chin at the table. “There are all the books I’ve found that have any sort of mention of Reapers. But, I believe I’ve met one. Fintan.”
“The infamous Dark assassin?” Xaneth asked with surprise.
Balladyn nodded. “White hair and red-rimmed, white eyes. There is no other who looks like him.”
“Did this Fae confirm who he was?”
“Nay, but he didn’t deny it either. Why are you curious about the Reapers?”
Xaneth shrugged, unwilling to share what he knew. “There’s been a lot of whispers about them lately.”
“It’s more than that. You know something.”
“I’ll neither confirm nor deny that,” Xaneth said, repeating something he’d heard a human utter.
Balladyn gave a bark of laughter. “Damn, if I don’t like you.” His smile dropped. “There’s another rumor that has reached me. Some say this Bran we’re both after was once a Reaper.”
“From all the things I’ve heard about Bran, combined with him kidnapping the Dark, I’m guessing he’s not going to go down without a fight.”
“My people don’t scare easily, but it’s to the point that they’re asking me to spell the palace so no outsiders can get in. It means I’d have to mark each Dark personally. While it’s a decent plan, there are ways Bran can go around it.”
Xaneth nodded in agreement. “By using a Dark already in his army that’s stationed in the palace.”
“Precisely. That’s how I’m guessing Bran’s finding those he wishes to take. Are you still trying to get noticed by him?”
“That’s the problem I’m sorting out. Someone has given me incentive not to.”
Balladyn gave Xaneth a droll look. “What you really mean to say is that there is someone else wanting to go up against Bran, and they want you on their side.”
Xaneth didn’t reply, unsure how to act.
“I know the signs of oncoming war, lad,” Balladyn said. “I’ve fought in too many of them. Bran isn’t taking Dark for shites and giggles. He’s building an army. And a man only does that when he plans on something big. Like going for my throne.”
“What if it’s something else entirely?” Xaneth asked.
Balladyn frowned as he sat forward, bracing his elbows on the arms of the chair. “If this has anything to do with the Reapers, then perhaps you should side with them. From what I read, they’re a fearsome lot—no matter who Bran might be.”