Roan frowned, glancing at the mirror I’d stepped through. “I’m sorry to hear that, Cassandra.”
“Thanks. I want vengeance. I want—”
“Let’s talk in the Morgen Apartments. We can sit there more comfortably, and discuss this at length.” He turned, crossing to the door.
I clenched my jaw and followed him into an oak-walled hall, the dark ceilings arched high above us. Tall windows looked out over a grassy courtyard dappled with blue and yellow wildflowers. If it weren’t for the stark London buildings towering over the other side of the building, I’d have thought we were in Trinovantum.
“What is this place?” I asked.
He didn’t answer, and I kept studying the walls, carved with images of forests and stags. A heraldic emblem hung on the mahogany—one I’d never seen before. A stag’s head. The House of Taranis. Did Roan come from one of the six noble houses? In Leroy’s, a defaced heraldic shield hung on the wall. Maybe this was it.
We reached an arched doorway, just as Nerius walked out, arms full of vases and metal candlesticks. He dumped them unceremoniously in the hall, and one of the vases shattered. My mouth went dry. They were taking all the reflective surfaces out of the room. Roan didn’t want me to go anywhere.
“You don’t have to bother,” I said. “I came here willingly.”
“It’s done,” said Nerius, his body exuding dark magic.
Roan gestured into the dimly-lit room, indicating I should enter.
I stepped inside the room, the walls a deep blue, a bed in the center of the room. No windows, no metal. Not a single reflective surface, and nothing to light the space. As I surveyed the room, straining my eyes in the dim light, I heard the door slam behind me, the lock clicking shut.
Roan, the bastard, had locked me inside.
Chapter 8
With the door shut, I could hardly see a thing. From under the door, a faint stream of sunlight pierced the darkness—but that was it. Darkness muted reflections, so even if Nerius had missed something, I’m not sure I could have used it. Nevertheless, I turned in a slow circle, feeling for reflections. I felt the faint tug of a few reflections, like an invisible cord pulling at my chest, but they were so subtle they must have been in other rooms. I needed to actually see a reflection to use it. In this room, a rug covered the floor. Would the floor under it be shiny enough to use? Doubtful.
More to the point, I’d come here for a reason—to find out why the king wanted me dead. For one reason or another, he saw me as a powerful threat to him—and maybe I was. If I could join the rebellion against the king, maybe I could make a difference.
Just as soon as I got out of the room they’d locked me in. An image of Gabriel flashed in my mind—lying on the pavement, mouth agape. Blood pooling behind his head. I curled my fingers into fists, my fingernails digging into my skin. Closing my eyes, the ice in my mind began to crack, threatening to let the sorrow out, to unleash the dam of grief.
Nausea climbed up my throat and I clutched my stomach, dropping down to the bed. Not now. I couldn’t let grief overwhelm me now.
I still had to keep my wits about me. Taking a deep breath, I summoned the ice in my mind again, the glacier of calm. Distraction. I focused on my full bladder. I had to pee like a racehorse, and I let the discomfort pull me from my pain.
But I still had no idea what was going on. As soon as Roan had seen me, he’d nearly unveiled. Somehow, Roan saw me as a threat.
Why?
Maybe he saw me as the Mistress of Dread too. Had I unleashed some new power when I’d touched the Stone? The Stone was powerful, I was sure. I just didn’t know how.
After a few more minutes, the door clicked open. Roan stood in the doorway, holding a candle—no candleholder, of course. That would be too shiny. He closed the door behind him, crossed to a bureau, and dripped some wax onto the surface. Then, he wedged the candlestick into the wax, so it stood upright.
He crossed to sit next to me on the bed, depressing the mattress with his weight. I could feel the warmth radiating off his body, and the scent of moss and oaks curled off him. His deep green eyes met mine, and he studied my face.
I tightened my grip on the bedsheets. “Are you going to explain why I’m suddenly your prisoner?”
“Sorry about that.”
“That’s not much of an explanation.”
“I need to ask you some questions, and I don’t want you running off when you learn what I know.”
I swallowed hard. “And what do you think you know?”
The candle guttered. “That I can’t trust you.”
Join the club. “Why? Does this have to do with the Mistress of Dread thing, by any chance?”
Genuine confusion flickered across his features. “The what? No. Look, Abellio and I have some questions for you.”
“Who?”
As if on cue, the door opened again and another man came in. His brown hair contrasted with his pale skin, and kindness shone in his pale blue eyes. In the pocket of his midnight-blue shirt, the top of a silver pen glinted in the candlelight. Tall as hell, though still not as tall as Roan. I’d take him over Nerius in a second.
He closed the door, locking it behind him, then turned to me. “I’m Abellio.” He leaned down, gazing into my eyes. “And you’re Cassandra. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
I stared back at him. “Is that so?” I asked dryly.
“Well, you know Roan. A talkative fellow, can’t stop sharing, am I right?” There was an amused glint in his eye. “So… what are you doing here, Cassandra?”
“I came here to join forces with you and destroy the king,” I said.
Silence fell as they both stared at me with bemused looks.
“I can give you information,” I added defensively.
“Can you?” asked Roan in a tone that suggested he didn’t believe me at all.
With his arms crossed, Abellio backed away, leaning against the bureau, watching me with fascination.
I bit my lip, trying to think of information I could barter with. I knew the London Stone was important, but all my attempts to explain it to other people had been disastrous so far. My mother seemed to be in the Stone, screaming. What else? Oh, I thought it might be a reservoir of terror, through which I could see another fae’s visions. It sounded like a stream of insanity even to me.
Roan leaned in closer to me, and he brushed my damp hair off my neck, the gesture surprisingly gentle. Sliding his hand down to my back, he leaned in, smelling my neck.
Instinctively, I tilted my head back.
Roan pulled away, shadows darkening his eyes. He looked furious. “Where did you go once you returned to London, five days ago?”
“I checked into a hotel. Why did you just smell me?”
Roan cocked his head. “You’re lying,” he said softly.
“I’m not. Okay, first, I went to get my stuff back. I’d left some in a locker at the metro station. Then I checked into a hotel. Well, not a hotel, really. A shitty hostel, because I was low on cash.” And then I spent a week getting drunk and obsessing over a stone. Maybe I’d skip over that part.
“Who did you meet since then? Who did you talk to?”
“I’m not telling you another thing until you explain to me what’s going on.” My urge to pee was out of control, and it was only making me more annoyed.
Roan’s face darkened. “You’re not in a position to—”
Abellio stepped forward, laying a hand on Roan’s shoulder. “Cassandra. Don’t worry. We don’t want to hurt you. But the faster you answer our questions, the quicker we can resolve this. We really need to know who you talked to since you returned.”
“Fine,” I said coldly. I had nothing to hide from them. Might as well be honest. “Since I last saw Roan, I met with a young fae I know named Alvin. I wanted to know where I could find my mom. My birth mother, I mean. I talked to Scarlett on the phone.” I shook my head, trying to grasp onto clear images from that lost week. “Strangers. I talked to human
strangers, people in shops, nothing significant. And then Gabriel came to see me this morning.” My voice broke, and I trailed off, the ice cracking just a little.
Roan nodded slowly. “That doesn’t explain why you smell like banshees.”
The memory of Gabriel’s body blazed in my mind, and the breath left my lungs. “They’re the ones who attacked me—three of them.” Sadness welled, threatening to pull me under, and a hot tear slid down my cheek.
I felt Roan’s palm on my back. “What happened?”
I stared at the floor, tears now sliding down my cheeks. “He was trying to protect me. The banshees came for me. They said the king had sent them. They said I was the Mistress of Dread.”
“You?” Roan asked, disbelieving. “The Mistress of Dread?”
“Apparently.”
Roan glanced at Abellio, who nodded.
“Who were the banshees?” asked Roan.
“I didn’t get their names, Roan. We were busy trying to slaughter each other. They killed Gabriel.”
He stared at me for a long moment, as if trying to read my thoughts. “I understand.”
I wiped the tears off on the back of my hand. “That’s why I came here. I can help. And now we want the same thing.”
He took a deep breath. “First, I need to know about the path. You must have told someone.”
“What path?”
“The secret path. Through the river in Trinovantum. The magical route I showed you. Who did you tell? Alvin?”
I shook my head. “No.” At least, I was pretty sure I hadn’t. I took a deep breath. “Look, I spent a lot of the past week drunk on whiskey, but I’m nearly positive I didn’t tell anyone about the path.”
Roan breathed in deeply. “What happened to the banshees?”
“I killed them.”
He frowned. “You killed three banshees?”
“Yes. I...” I hesitated, trying to think how I could explain what had happened. “I used their own fear against them. I’m not sure how; it just happened.”
“Your story makes little sense. You can’t use fae emotion, Cassandra.”
“I’m telling you, that’s what happened.” Exhaustion began to seep in. They clearly didn’t believe me.
Roan glanced at Abellio, who gave him a slight nod. He turned back to look at me. “This Alvin. Describe him.”
“He’s young, shaggy blond hair, constantly stoned, hangs around in Leroy’s. He definitely knows you. He’s mentioned you several times—”
“Alvin Taranis?” Roan’s lip curled slightly.
“He never gave me his last name.” I shook my head. “Are you related?”
Roan gritted his teeth. “He’s a distant relative.”
Abellio smiled, his cheek dimpling. “Surely not that distant?”
“Distant enough. Did you tell him about the path? I wouldn’t trust him with anything.”
“Like I said, I’m nearly positive I didn’t.”
Roan’s emerald gaze pierced me. “You don’t quite remember. How convenient.”
“It’s actually really inconvenient.”
Roan glanced at Abellio again.
Abellio stroked his jawline, frowning. “Not sure. There’s so much emotion here, and so much hidden emotion as well. It’s like reading the ocean.”
“What are you?” I asked. “Some kind of lie detector?”
Abellio nodded. “That’s a very good definition. But being in your presence is… confusing. There’s a lot of pain. A lot of anger. It’s hard to distinguish the truth from the lies. Even harder to see if the lies are aimed at us, or at yourself.”
“Oh great. A fae therapist.”
“Why don’t we start again?” he continued. “You came back to London after Roan took you to the portal. Please recount your story. Slowly this time.”
I wanted to pee, but I also knew that if I told them that, they would have even more leverage over me. How many times had I told a suspect he could go to the bathroom after he answered just one more question? No. I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.
“Like I told you, I went to see Alvin after returning to London.”
“Why?”
“I hoped he could help me find my birth mother. I know my biological father was the Rix. I don’t know who my birth mother was. I wanted to find out.”
If either of them were surprised or interested in the answer, it didn’t show. “And did he know who she was?”
“No.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it wasn’t a lie either.
“Did you tell him anything about your trip to Trinovantum?”
“No. I wasn’t drunk then. I remember.” They weren’t good interviewers. They led the interview, enabling me to skip over details, to avoid mentioning my visits to the London Stone, the screams in my head. All the things that would make me sound unhinged. They didn’t even ask why I’d spent a week drunk. “Now can you tell me what happened?”
Roan stared at the floor. “Two days after I showed you our secret path, three rebels were ambushed by the king’s men while crossing it. One died, and one was captured.”
“She’s telling the truth, Roan,” Abellio said. “The king must have found it on his own. Or perhaps there is another traitor among us.”
“Of course I’m telling the truth. Why would I lie?”
“You have no other way out,” Roan suggested. “And you hope to get more information from us.”
I crossed my arms. “Roan. I can always find a way out.”
“How?”
I pointed to the silver pen in Abellio’s shirt, the reflection gleaming in the dim candlelight. “You can tell your friend that next time he should keep his pretty stationery supplies away from me.”
Abellio looked down at his shirt pocket, then burst out laughing. Roan glanced at him in irritation and then turned back to me, studying my face as if trying to memorize every feature. “I need to know the truth for myself.”
“You’ll just have to trust me and Abellio,” I said. “Can someone point the way to the bathroom, or do I have to jump there through Abellio’s chest?”
Abellio raised his eyebrows quizzically. “I must admit I want to know what that feels like. Is that weird?”
Roan nodded at him. “Take her to the bathroom, but bring her back. I have a few more things I want to ask her. Alone.”
Chapter 9
When I got back to the Morgen Apartments, no longer distracted by my full bladder, Roan was waiting for me on the edge of the bed, exactly where I’d left him.
I closed the door behind me and sat by his side. “Why do I get the feeling that I still need to convince you?”
His green eyes pierced me. “It’s hard to believe that one of our own passed along the information. I’d trust them all with my life.”
“And you don’t trust me.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Your lineage is the same as the Rix’s, and the same as the king’s. The House of Weala Broc. The Court of Terror.”
My throat tightened. “Is this what this is about? Me being a terror leech? After everything I’ve done?”
“We have no one among the rebels who belongs to that house.”
“I don’t belong to that house. It’s just genetics. It means nothing.” At least, that’s what I was trying to convince myself.
“The other rebels will have a hard time believing your story. A Weala Broc fae whom they don’t know found out about our secret path, and the king’s banshees just happened to ambush our men there two days later. And then you—the very same terror-fae we already suspect—just happened to break into my home a week later, reeking of banshee magic. What a coincidence.”
Okay. So it looked bad. Very bad. “It is a coincidence.” I frowned. “So this is your home? I thought you lived in that cabin in the woods, but apparently you’re the Lord of Taranis, with your own palace and family crest. One of the six kingdoms of Trinovantum, is that right?”
“This was my family’s London residence. I haven’t been here i
n centuries.”
“Why? What happened?”
A hint of gold flashed in his eyes, but he didn’t answer me. He was so close to me, I could feel the warmth coming off his skin, could smell the scent of moss and pine. It smelled like… home. He smelled like coming home.
The glacier in my mind began to crack again, and loneliness gnawed at my ribs. “You still don’t trust me. And it will be particularly hard for you to convince your friends if you don’t actually believe it yourself.”
“Maybe there’s a way to prove to me you’re telling me the truth.”
“How?”
He rose, towering over me. “Stand up.”
I did as instructed, gazing up at him. He simply stared at me, as if trying to read my thoughts. Could he read my thoughts? The way he was looking at me, I felt as if he was laying me bare, exposing each of my secrets. And yet I couldn’t tear my eyes away. Electricity seemed to charge the air between us, raising the hair on the back of my neck, and I felt acutely aware of every inch of my skin.
If he could truly see into my mind, he would have found two Cassandras at war with each other. One Cassandra stood entranced by the shock of his beauty, acutely aware of every detail: his thick black eyelashes, the golden hair, the sensual curve of his lips. The other Cassandra lay submerged under the ice floes of my mind, frozen in grief. The other Cassandra could die of the cold.
I craved his heat, wanted to hear his heartbeat and feel his warm lips against mine. And yet somehow I knew if I closed the distance between us, all that ice would crack and a river of sorrow would drown me. It was all I had keeping me together.
So I kept my distance from him, resisting the magnetic pull I felt toward his body, my mind glacial. Hollowness welled in my chest—but it was controlled. I had it under control.
And yet as he gazed at me, it was almost as if he pierced through my armor, stripping me down and claiming me. This close to him, I could feel the power of his ancient magic curling around my body, a sensual caress, dangerously close to penetrating my defenses.
His brow furrowed. “You’re not happy. You’re devastated. That’s real. I can feel that. Your emotions are seeping into me.” He reached out, tracing his fingertips over my cheek. “I need to see what’s happened to you.”
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