“Right,” I said. “They must have gotten something from him that led them to me. But they’re dead. I killed them.”
Elrine stared at the floor, and I could almost see the wheels turning in her mind. “You killed them? Please tell me you drew blood.”
“Of course I did.”
Her lips curled in a sharp, predatory smile. “Perfect, because I can follow blood. We have everything we need.”
Chapter 10
Just as we were discussing the exact logistics of breaking into one of the banshee mansions, a knock interrupted us, and Abellio peered into the library. “The twins cooked dinner.”
“I’m starving,” Elrine said.
“Will our guest be staying for dinner?” asked Abellio.
“Yes.” I clutched my rumbling stomach. “We have a lot to discuss, I think.”
“Perfect.” Abellio’s blue eyes glinted in the candlelight. “We’ve set up in the dining room.”
Roan nodded at the door, and I followed him back into the hall. Outside, the sun had begun to set, hanging just over the opposite wall of Roan’s mansion, in a livid sky streaked with honey and rose. The day had begun with me sleeping on the floor in the pile of Cheesy Wotsits, my head throbbing. It seemed impossible that mere hours ago, Gabriel leaned over me, helping me up, fetching me painkillers for my hangover. And now he was gone, and I was hiding in a mansion full of fae rebels, planning the downfall of a king who wanted me dead. Elrine shot me sharp look, and I realized my emotions were threatening to pierce the surface again. I summoned my inner ice.
Flanked by Elrine and Roan, I crossed into the curving stone stairwell, and into a cavernous dining room at the bottom of the stairs.
Here the walls were made of stone, and open to the courtyard. Flowering vines crawled up to the high ceiling, winding around the tall windows, and a heavy summer breeze filtered into the open air.
Two fae already sat at the candlelit table—Nerius, and next to him, a woman whose dark hair flowed over one shoulder. Dressed in a crimson gown, she had the same dark, almond eyes as Nerius, the same olive skin. These were the aforementioned twins, I presumed.
Nerius’s lip curled. “Is the fortal really—”
A low growl from Roan silenced him.
I surveyed the table setting, the eight chairs lining the table, and six place settings—each with its own silver-domed tray. A green wine bottle stood on the table between two candelabras. Was this like a family dinner, each of the diners with his own spot?
Abellio apparently noticed my hesitancy, because he pulled out an empty chair across from the twins, catching my gaze. “Cassandra, will you give me the pleasure of sitting by my side?”
I flashed him a grateful smile, then took my seat, stealing a glance outside at the courtyard, now bathed a deep pumpkin in the dying sunlight.
I pulled a napkin onto my lap, trying to ignore the twins’ matching death glares.
“Cassandra,” Abellio said. “These are the twins, Nerius and Branwen.”
I flashed a smile at Branwen, ignoring her twin. “Nice to meet you.”
Her crimson lips curled just a bit, and she nodded curtly. She was shorter than the others, her body beautifully curvy. I had yet to meet an unattractive fae. Even Nerius had a certain rough appeal.
By Branwen’s side, Elrine’s eyes sparkled, the candlelight wavering over her creamy skin. “So, Branwen, what did you prepare this time? Let me guess. Steak pies and mashed potatoes.” She lifted the lid on her tray, and steam curled from a plate of pie and mash, covered in dark gravy. The rich scent of meat curled into the air.
“How did you know?” asked Branwen.
Elrine arched an eyebrow. “Because you’ve made the same meal every night for the past month and a half.”
“I didn’t see you show up in the kitchen, Elrine. In fact, I’m not sure you know the way.”
“The what-chen?” Elrine asked, her eyes wide with feigned innocence. “Is that some sort of foreign word for a servant’s room?”
Branwen rolled her eyes, pulling off the cover on her own tray. “Eat up, everyone.”
Following the others, I pulled the lid off my dish. Instantly, my mouth began to water at the savory scents curling into the air.
“We should make a toast,” Nerius said, picking up the green bottle from the table. He unstopped it, and began pouring a tiny measure of clear liquid into each glass. It almost looked like water, except it clung to the glass in a way that made me think of honey.
I noticed a shift of tension in the table. Everyone’s eyes were on me. Abellio cleared his throat, looking as if he was about to say something, but Nerius gave him a sharp look and he remained silent. So. This was some sort of test or initiation. Whatever the case, they wanted to see how I reacted to drinking it.
When he’d finished pouring, he lifted his glass, still smirking. “To our guest. And to the utter and complete destruction of the Weala Broc, Court of Terror, of the Drowned Man and everyone who belongs to it.”
Roan glared at him, issuing a silent warning, but everyone else lifted their glasses—including me. I wasn’t from the Court of Terror. Genetics didn’t mean anything to me.
Nerius’s eyes narrowed at me, a small smile twisting his lips, waiting for me to drink. Not creepy at all or anything.
I watched as the others sipped their drinks, and I followed suit. When the sweet, thick liquid hit my tongue, I began to relax. It tasted like walking on a misty morning, breathing in humid spring air. I had expected something bitter or powerfully alcoholic. Instead, it danced over my tongue.
As I took another sip, I felt something warm curl up my spine, as if the liquid were exploring my body. The warmth snaked inside my ribs, creeping up to my skull.
For a moment, I could feel everything, knew the histories of everything around me: the texture of the glass I held, its distant history as sand, boiled into liquid, crafted into an intricate goblet. The glassblower who’d created it had been proud of his work. His wife had died the year before, and he devoted himself to his craft to overcome his pain. Now he loved another man’s wife, secretly yearning for her from afar.
I closed my eyes, breathing in the myriad scents around me. Suddenly, I knew the chair beneath me had been made of a single oak, which had grown for seventy years before a woodsman sawed it down. The oak had grown from an acorn of another oak, one hundred fifty years old, and that one had grown from another oak… but I opened my eyes, and my attention snagged on another detail, a carving on the table. The daughter of the carpenter who’d made this table had wanted to marry a knave. As the carpenter had plied his blade on the hardwood, he’d muttered angrily to himself that she belonged in a nunnery.
And the fae around me. So beautiful, so ethereal, so light—gods among men. I wanted to cry in gratitude that they allowed me to sit and dine with them. I felt the tears sting my eyes, a monologue of broken thanks on the tip of my tongue. The flame I’d felt burning in my chest glowed hotter, warming my ribs with delicious heat.
I turned to Roan, who eyed me with concern, and his beauty took my breath away. Somehow, under the green eyes and short hair, I could see the real Roan, the forest god with golden eyes who blessed me with his presence, enveloping me with his scent.
As his magic seemed to kiss my skin, my pulse raced, and I stared at the perfect planes of his face bathed in golden candlelight. I needed to nestle my face into the crook of his neck, to lick the place where I’d bit him. No—I needed to drag him into another room, tear off my clothes and worship him, beg him to touch me. I clenched my thighs together, my breath catching at the pressure between my legs, body swelling. I could feel my cheeks warm, my body heating, my breasts straining against my shirt—Roan’s shirt. My nipples pressed against the soft fabric. I needed to feel Roan kissing them, his tongue flicking over them. As glowing heat poured into my belly, I could think of nothing but stripping down and touching myself. Maybe I could entice his perfect mouth onto my breasts, his fingers between my legs. If
I got on all fours… As the flame burned uncontrollably hot in my chest, my fingers found their way to the hem of my shirt, and I began to lift it.
Roan’s hand shot out, interrupting me. His eyes glowed bright gold now, his whole body beaming intensely with amber light. A god of sunlight. He was feeding off my pure lust, but keeping a leash on himself. Staying in control.
“Do you like something you see?” It was Nerius’s voice.
I turned to look at him, dropping the hem of my shirt, my cheeks burning. Nerius’s smile widened. Not ethereal, nor godlike. Amused and cruel. A bully with a helpless victim.
Spots of color danced in front of my eyes. My mind tried to leap everywhere at once, and I actually forgot to breathe. Could I still speak?
I cleared my throat, the sound ringing in my ears. Had I been too loud? Thoughts flitted through my mind. I latched to the one thing that felt clear and solid in my mind, under the glaciers of sadness. The grief. Gabriel lay dead, underground. A kind and loving friend, murdered because he got too close to me. I pushed everything aside, letting that thought expand in my mind. Slowly, the strange euphoria began to fall away.
I prepared the words beforehand, and prayed that I’d manage to form them without stumbling. Such a complex sentence. So many syllables.
“It’s nice.” I lowered the timber of my voice to steady it. “A bit sweet. I think I prefer beer.”
Branwen and Elrine looked at me with new respect. Nerius’s expression darkened, and he frowned at the bottle. Abellio’s eyes glinted with mirth.
“It’s fae nectar,” Roan said. “Most find it very potent the first time they drink it.”
Abellio winked at me. “What Roan is trying to say is that it makes people go totally bananas.”
Branwen smiled. “Humans often go insane with lust or sensory overload after consuming it. I was hoping we’d see a bit more excitement.”
“Good thing I’m only half human, then,” I said lightly, concentrating on forming the words. I picked up my fork, trying to ignore where the fork’s silver had been mined, and the miner’s hopeless infatuation with his fellow miner, and the silversmith who’d crafted the fork when he’d been dying of cancer. I scooped up a forkful of potatoes and let the rich, buttery taste melt in my mouth.
As I ate, the fae around me launched into a discussion, but I couldn’t follow it, my mind roaming to the thought of Roan’s head between my legs. It wasn’t until I’d eaten most of the way through the mashed potatoes and finished the pie that I could feel the effects of the nectar fading, and I started to tune into the conversation again.
“… waste of time,” Nerius was saying. “This is nothing but another distraction. The king must be stopped before the attack is launched.”
“Yes.” Branwen tutted. “You keep saying that like some sort of drunk parrot. But you never give an actual explanation as to how we should stop the king.”
Nerius glared. “I do, sister, but your soft female mind refuses to listen. Launch an attack on the king’s keep.”
Branwen let out a long sigh of disgust. “There we go again. Attack the keep. As if it were some sort of afternoon stroll. You’d need a huge army—”
“We have an army!” Nerius interrupted her. “And most of the Elder Fae would join us. And we have incredible powers at hand. Roan could summon a—”
Roan thumped his fist on the table. “I’ve told you over and over again, do not mention that. Ever. This will not happen.”
A tense silence fell over the room as Roan and Nerius stared at each other. Finally, Nerius lowered his gaze.
“An attack like that would be suicide,” Elrine said, her sharp voice piercing the silence. “You know that well.”
Nerius waved his glass as he spoke, the candlelight sparkling in his dark eyes. “All I know is that the king wants us to think it’s impossible. Constantly, we hear tales of how the keep has never fallen, while we know for a fact that it’s fallen twice. The Unseelie took it from the Elder Fae, and it fell during the Ulthor rebellion. Gormal—Lord Balor—is a distraction. He’s probably dead, and we’ll be risking our lives for no reason.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “And who’s to say this fortal is telling us the truth?”
“I’m to say she’s telling the truth,” said Roan.
Abellio lifted his glass. “And me. I’d tell you if she’d been lying. You know that.”
“If we attack the keep,” said Roan, a hint of snarl in his voice, “this rebellion will end like the last one.”
Another long silence ruled over the room. Roan and Elrine’s eyes met, and something silent and heavy passed between them.
Were they fae soulmates?
Roan leaned back in his chair. “I agree with Elrine. If we have a chance to find Lord Balor, we should take it. We need his forces and his knowledge. And on top of that, the king believes Cassandra is important enough to warrant a small horde of banshees. Only Lord Balor can tell us why.”
Elrine threw her napkin into her plate. “Good. Let’s do it tomorrow. Banshees are most active at night, so we’ll have a slight advantage during the day.” She rose from her chair, and the others followed, including me.
I felt slightly dizzy from the nectar, and I lingered slightly behind the others. As we reached the doorway, Roan turned to me. “I can bring you to a guest room. Your possessions are already there.”
Nerius turned to us from the stairs. “Except for the guns with the iron slugs. She’s not getting those back anytime soon.”
“Yes. Except for those.”
When the others had climbed a little further up the stairs, Roan grabbed my hand and pulled me closer. He said in a low voice, “If I had intervened with the nectar, the rest would have thought I was coddling you. It would have cost you their respect, and I want you to work with us.”
“I know. I figured.”
“I would have intervened if you’d done anything I thought you might regret. I was certain that your sanity would survive drinking the nectar.”
“You did intervene,” I said. “I was ready to…” I let the words die on my tongue. To strip off and beg you to fuck me on the table? Yeah, let’s keep that thought quiet, shall we? “Anyway.”
“I was surprised at how well you took it. You are a woman full of surprises, Cassandra.”
Despite everything, I felt a small smile curl my lips. “Thanks, Roan.”
Chapter 11
I sat in the alcove of a bay window in the guest room, staring at the street below. Rather than facing the courtyard like the other rooms I’d been in, this room overlooked a darkened London street. It was more an alley than a real street, twisting and turning, the cobblestone floor uneven and dimly lit by the yellow streetlights. A man in a long coat skulked through the shadows, and I followed his fluid movements, his steps sharp and certain. He knew exactly where he was going.
He suddenly paused, his attention drawn. He turned around and my heart skipped a beat when I caught a glimpse of those beautiful hazel eyes.
Gabriel.
He began walking back, his manner urgent. I knew where he was going. I thumped the glass.
“Gabriel!” I shouted.
He never even raised his eyes. He just kept going, his eyes intent on the figure in the street. A pink-haired woman, knees on the ground, weeping. Around her, the three banshees. This would end in death. I slammed on the glass again.
“Gabriel, no!”
He didn’t hear, but the banshees did, raising their dark eyes to me, smiling, their teeth sharp. Sharp enough to tear a neck open.
“Gabriel! Please!”
He aimed his gun at the banshees, like I knew he would. But I couldn’t let it happen again. I just couldn’t. I flung my senses to the street, feeling the fear of the three banshees. The gun scared them—but not enough. I drew the dark tendrils of their fear into my body, letting them roil like a maelstrom until they thrummed along my ribs, and I unleashed a storm of pure terror on them.
Their eyes widened, and they fled, Gabri
el still aiming his gun at them. Leaping into the air, three banshees transformed into silver cranes, taking off into the dark night sky, leaving behind only Cassandra and Gabriel. I slumped in relief. He would live. Drained, I watched him approach Cassandra, pick her up, wrap his arms around her.
Then I stared as she bit his throat, tearing into it, blood running down her chin, her eyes dead.
“No!”
I sat up in bed, my heart slamming against my ribs, my own screams ringing in my skull. Sweat dampened my nightgown, and my body shook. I hugged my knees, praying for the screaming in my mind to stop.
It didn’t.
I clamped my hands over my ears, scanning the room. Silvery moonlight poured through the bay window onto the faded tapestries that hung on the walls. An ancient mahogany cradle lay in the corner of the room, its surface etched with leaves.
There was no way in hell I could fall asleep again with that shrieking in my mind. I could go to the kitchen and find some alcohol or nectar…
Nope, that was a terrible idea. I had a mission now, and the mission did not include another week of getting wasted.
Flinging off my sheets, I crossed to the door, my bare feet padding over the wood floor. I opened the door, stepping into the dark hallway, the floor covered in a threadbare rug. Only a thin stream of light from a skylight lit the way, and as I passed under it, I gazed up at an uncommonly clear sky, a sliver of a moon gleaming among the stars.
I kept walking, my shadow growing ahead of me as I left the skylight behind. At the end of the hall, I reached a large hall that I hadn’t seen before, the walls blood-red. Embers burned in a stone fireplace, and the tiled floor felt cold beneath my feet. Portraits hung on the walls, of beautiful fae with antlers and wings. I recognized one of the paintings—a stunning blond fae with ethereal wings that cascaded down her back. The woman from Roan’s memory. That flame in my chest guttered for a moment.
From a shadowy corner, a flicker of movement caught my attention. I tensed, straining my eyes in the dark. When I recognized Abellio, I heaved a sigh of relief. He stood by a window, staring outside. He turned to look at me, his blue eyes shining in the dark. “Nightmares are a terrible thing,” he said softly.
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