“Nine hells,” Jack cursed, slamming the flat of his hand into the tree. It shuddered and creaked.
Lark was right, and that was the genius of the fey. Most of the time, victims fell into fairy traps through their own folly. And it hadn’t taken long for the Dark Queen to learn that his weakness was Lark.
Except... “You stopped me just now,” he said.
She leaned her head back, looking cold and exhausted. “I had no intention of delivering you into Selena’s snare.”
“Then, why the performance?” he asked, his tone guarded.
“The only way to keep Amelie safe was to play along. I didn’t anticipate that Selena would reveal my secret, but I knew the dance wouldn’t work to make you lose your head. We’ve done far more, uh, exotic things than that.”
Lark was underestimating her charms. Jack had come close to taking her right in front of the Dark Fey court, but he was too angry to admit it.
“And when the dance didn’t work, the queen turned on you. She used you to make me furious.” He closed his eyes, drawing in cool forest air. He needed more answers, but he had no appetite for them.
But Lark pushed on. “Lust brings your demon out, but anger is your real trigger. I know you’re afraid of losing control then, because that’s usually when you tie me up.”
A sludge of self-disgust pooled in his gut. “Turn around. I’ll unbind your hands.”
She obeyed and he loosed the belt, fastening it again around his waist. He was ashamed for behaving like what he was—a demon—but he was still burning with rage. “Dark magic?”
Lark spoke in a dead voice. She looked deflated, her shoulders slumped. “There wasn’t enough Light Fey power to heal me. I stole the spell on my way to Marcari. I knew there would be a residue, but not that it would last beyond the point where I could detect it myself.”
His tone hardened. “You know there is always a price. You compromised the safety of the royal family.”
“I know.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Do you think I haven’t cursed myself for that?”
He ground his teeth. “And what is this about Amelie and the Light Fey?”
Lark pressed her clenched fists to her face. “The Light have lived in isolation too long. You’re right, our numbers are dwindling. We need the princess on the throne to bind us to the land. She carries our blood through her mother and grandmother.”
Jack sucked in a breath. He needed more detail to completely understand the situation, but it was enough to grasp the enormity of the problem. “The Light Court has been planning this for generations. Amelie’s mother...”
“She would have been our answer, but she died too soon.” She unfolded her fingers, hiding her face altogether. “Now our hopes are on the princess.”
Jack folded his arms, wanting to hold her, to feel her soft skin in his hands—but he could no longer trust his instinct to be tender. “Who else knows?”
Lark let her hands fall, but left her head bowed. “Only a handful of the Light Court. Maybe King Renault. I wasn’t briefed until a few months ago, when I was recovering.”
“The Company guards the royal family,” Jack said in a low, tight voice. His anger wasn’t just at Lark anymore, but at the whole fey council. “We protect her. We should have been told.”
“This is the survival of a people, Jack. The Light Court trusted no one.” She spoke softly. “But I condemned us all when I stole that spell to heal myself.”
Jack’s chest hurt. She might have made a terrible mistake, but she’d been asked to carry an unfair burden. And yet he wasn’t sure understanding was enough—she’d shut him out too many times. As she spoke, his heart slowly froze, as if the truth were sealing his emotions in eternal winter. Light-headedness stole over him, making everything surreal.
“I’ll help the Light Court if I can, but my first priority is getting Amelie home safely.”
“I’m sorry,” Lark said, finally raising her head. She looked devastated.
Jack shifted, forcing himself to face Lark. Rage seared through his icy calm, proving his emotional freeze was temporary. I loved you. But she’d wounded him to the quick. Again. “Don’t bother apologizing. After everything we’ve been through, you still didn’t see fit to trust me. I can’t forgive that.”
“Amelie’s secrets weren’t mine to tell,” Lark replied in a voice barely above a whisper.
“With anyone else, I’d agree.” Sadness lodged in Jack’s throat, roughening his words. “But it’s my job to die for the princess. And you should know by now I’d open my veins for you if you merely asked. If you still don’t see that, I’ve no hope of building a real bond with you.”
Lark’s eyes turned bright with tears. “Jack!”
Her cry went straight to his heart, but any reply he might have made was cut off.
There was a rustle in the bushes. They both spun around. Jack realized they’d been so absorbed in their discussion, neither had been watching for enemies. Jack braced his feet in the soft loam, ready to fight.
But the figure who emerged from the trees was Crown Prince Kyle of Vidon, using a large branch as a walking stick. He looked dirty and disheveled, but very relieved to see them. “Jack,” he said. “Ms. Lark. I must say that’s quite the outfit.”
He stopped, putting his free hand on his hip. He was wearing a cashmere sweater and what once had been an expensive pair of dress slacks, but both were in tatters. His handsome face was smeared with dirt. “I hope you’re on a rescue mission. I’ve been hiking for miles looking for some sign of habitation, but there are things in these woods.”
The glint in his eye—and several bloody patches on the walking stick—said at least a few of those things had come to a bad end. The prince turned to Jack, his face suddenly grim. “Have you found Amelie?”
“Yes,” Jack replied. “She’s alive.”
Kyle visibly relaxed. “And what were you saying about dying for the princess?”
Jack and Lark exchanged a look. She gave a slight shake of her head. This wasn’t a secret the Light Fey wanted to share—especially not with the Kingdom of Vidon, famed for its hatred of the fey.
But Jack had other ideas. “There is no more room for secrets.”
Chapter 29
Once they had finished talking, Kyle walked a few yards down the forest path and stood staring into the forest, his hands on his hips. Jack had told him everything.
“You’ve ruined their happiness,” Lark said darkly. She was crumbling in ways she couldn’t begin to describe, layers of anger and hurt and a horrible blank abyss shifting inside her like tectonic plates. As furious as she was, she wanted Jack’s hands on her again, his fangs in her neck and the rough bark of the tree scraping her back. None of it was logical, and she seemed trapped in an outward calm that mirrored his. It was just as well. That calm was the only thing that made talking possible.
“The bridegroom should not be the last to know his wife is the anchor for an entire fey kingdom.” Jack gave her a hard look. “Secrets destroy love.”
Lark bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.
Kyle turned and walked back toward them. Lark reeled in her thoughts, forcing herself into the here and now. The prince leaned on his staff. “The matter of fey heritage in the royal line of succession is immaterial to me. Despite what my countrymen might say, I love Amelie, and the fact that she is not wholly human changes nothing.”
Lark felt faint with relief, but the prince turned toward her with a frown. “Lark,” he said, a note of severity making him sound older than his years. “I hold you accountable for wedging a secret between Amelie and me. You put a wall there that didn’t exist until you created it. We are royals, and trust is hard to come by in our lives. Do not do it again.”
She bowed her head. After so much regret, she shouldn’t have been capable of more, bu
t still she felt her stomach twist in knots. “I am truly sorry, Your Royal Highness.”
Kyle gave a cool nod and turned to stare at the lights of the castle in the distance. “How do we rescue my bride and get out of this benighted place?”
Lark raised her right hand and willed the ring to reappear. As it pushed through her flesh, tears filled her eyes and she ground her teeth against the pain. Then it sat, bright and sparkling in her palm. She held it out. “Gentlemen, the ring and key to the gates.”
“Excellent.” Jack took it from her hand, the lift in his voice raising her spirits a tiny degree. “We have the ring of binding, the blood of a Haven, a royal for the humans and me for the vampires. All that we lack is a token from the shifters and we can perform the ceremony. Kenyon is gone. All I could think of was getting him away from the queen.”
“Was that another of the Dark Queen’s tricks?” Kyle asked softly. “Did she mean to deprive us of something we needed?”
A brooding silence followed, which Lark broke with a pleased exclamation. “The werewolf will be present in Lexie’s blood. Mark Winspear told me Lexie is pregnant, so Kenyon is represented by the mother of his child. Magically speaking, a blood token does not get much stronger than that.”
“The devil!” said Kyle, sounding pleased. “After this ordeal, I am glad our friends have so much to look forward to.”
And so they began making plans, or at least Kyle and Jack did. Lark stepped backward, slipping away as only the fey could.
She’d made up her mind. She would trick Jack one last time, but for the best of reasons. She had a lot to make up for—all the secrets and half-truths, the betrayal and complicated loyalties. It was her fault the princess was here, and saving Amelie might be the one apology Jack would accept. It wouldn’t win him back, but Lark hoped it would make things better.
After Lark got a few steps away from the men, she summoned her glamour and vanished into the night.
* * *
“Someone has to mobilize forces to clean out the mountain,” Jack said to Prince Kyle. “There’s a prisoner there—Therrien Haven. He’s Lexie’s father and a brave man.”
“I will make it my business to see him safe,” Kyle said, polite but very reluctant. “But why should I be the one to go? Amelie is still here and in danger. I should be here for her.”
“You have the authority to mobilize an army,” Jack pointed out. “You can ask for aid from other nations in order to keep the mortal world safe. That’s your role and responsibility as a future sovereign.”
Kyle frowned. “I don’t like that you’re right, but the princess...” He trailed off. “Jack, what’s wrong?”
Dismay pounded in Jack’s head, mimicking a pulse. “Where is Lark?”
Kyle looked around. “She was here a moment ago, but she’s vanished.”
“She has a way of doing that,” Jack said, holding on to his temper by a rapidly fraying thread. As angry as he was with her, worry threatened to derail every other thought.
“Why did she go without saying anything?” Kyle asked.
“We argued.” That didn’t begin to cover it. Guilt stabbed at Jack, opening a raw, wounded ache deep inside. “I need to get you on your way so I can look for her.”
She’s a trained agent, and she left of her own accord. She’ll be all right until I find her. Jack prayed he was right. And once I find her, I’ll strangle her.
A faint growl escaped Jack’s chest. He instinctively knew she had gone to find Amelie. He had no time to waste. “Prepare yourself, Your Highness, you’re going through that gate. Now.”
Kyle caught his expression and went pale. “Whatever Lark’s doing, it’s no better than a suicide mission, is it?”
* * *
The moment she returned to the castle, Lark saw something new was happening. Where the courtyard had been all but empty before, now it was swarming with warriors. There was no rhyme or reason to the company. Some were knights, some foot soldiers carrying spears and swords. Others were wild men who rode strange, lizard-like beasts with spiked tails and flickering tongues. Still more were massive, club-wielding giants who made the drawbridge shudder with their tread. Lark was tempted to linger and find out why the Dark Fey were gathering, but she had a mission to complete.
Lark slid past them all, keeping her distance. This was the type of operation she excelled at, and she was in the zone. When she got inside the castle, she immediately found the stairs and hurried up them, retracing her steps to where she’d seen Amelie last. She was far more careful than before, testing the air for magical wards and the kind of trip wire spells the Dark Fey used. She found a few, but none near Amelie’s cell.
It didn’t take long to figure out why. When she got to the room, the door stood ajar. Amelie had been moved. Lark slumped, regretting the fact that she no longer had the ring to make a simple tracking spell. She’d have to search the old-fashioned way.
Or not. Selena wasn’t trying to bargain with Lark and Jack any longer. There was no reason to put Amelie where Lark could stumble into her cell with ease—and then get caught herself. Lark’s pride still stung.
No, now Selena could treat her captive princess according to fey custom. Royal prisoners would be kept in a tower—the highest and most inaccessible one the Dark Queen had. Lark had seen slender spires rising straight up from the castle’s center. They were a reasonable place to start looking.
Lark ghosted through the halls and galleries, searching until she found a small arched door that led into the tower stairwell. It was guarded by two enormous figures with bronze helmets and tusks.
Ogres, Lark thought. She’d seen pictures in books, but they hadn’t mentioned the smell. However, the books had mentioned such creatures were utterly impervious to Light Fey magic.
Now what? Lark thought in dismay.
Chapter 30
One ogre was posted on either side of the door, at least six feet apart. Still invisible, Lark sidled up to the nearest of the pig-snouted creatures, eyeing his long staff topped with a double-bladed ax. He wore a uniform of burgundy velvet and silver braid, the helmet and breastplate elaborately etched with swirling designs. The finery didn’t hide his fearsome looks. Ogres had lumpy, leathery skin like that of an autumn gourd with a fungal disease. Tusks curved from their jaws like hooked blades. Their one weakness was their tiny, wide-set eyes. Lark guessed their vision couldn’t be that good.
Silently, Lark moved to the ogre’s other side, noting his boot knife, the key ring hooked loosely in his belt and the fact that he had a rather adorable curly tail. She reached out and gave it a tweak.
He jumped about a foot in the air and whirled on his companion. “Whatchu do that for?”
The other started, as if he’d been drowsing with his eyes open. “Huh?”
Ogres obviously weren’t that bright. Lark slipped out from between them and went around to the other guard. His tail wasn’t as cute, but she gave it a sharp tug anyway.
“Argh!” The second one made a lunge at the first, giving him a mighty shove.
“Your mother roots for acorns, Rog!” cried the shovee, who then rushed at his partner.
“Your father rolls in his own muck!”
Rog dropped his ax and flipped his partner to the floor. Lark used the opportunity to snatch his boot knife, hiding it inside her glamour. She got out of the way just in time. The downed ogre scrambled to his feet, his lips curled back in a snarl.
“I am Brak of the White Tusk clan. How dare you touch me?”
“You’re nothing but a side of bacon,” said Rog, obviously pleased to get in the first throw.
They went down again, this time with Brak on top of Rog. Lark plucked Brak’s keys from his belt with a pickpocket’s ease. They were starting to throw punches as she slid the key into the lock and quickly slipped through the door.
> The stairwell was dark and narrow, winding upward in a tight spiral. Cobwebs clung to the walls and ceiling and it smelled like rotten eggs. After all this, I really hope I’ve got the right place.
She had to work quickly. Once someone with any intelligence questioned Brak and Rog, they would figure out what had happened. With a pounding heart, she began climbing the stairs, the knife clutched in one hand. Progress, though, was slow. Her skirts were short enough not to trip her, but the stairs were crumbling in places and she had to be careful where she put her feet.
As she got higher, the smell of sulfur worsened despite the arrow slits piercing the heavy stone walls. It didn’t make climbing any easier so Lark stopped, putting her face to one of the slits to get a breath of clean air. The ground looked very far below.
It was at that point she felt a prickle of heat to her left. Lark spun, nearly slipping on the steps as she did so. It took a moment to make sense of what she saw. The arrow slits were letting in pale washes of light, but there was a faint orange glow coming from the steps above. Unfortunately, the curve of the stairwell made it impossible to see the source.
She swallowed, apprehension sending gooseflesh running down her arms. At a snail’s pace, she began ascending again, her hand firm around the ogre’s blade. Now she could hear something moving above, a sliding, clicking slither. Brick by brick the walls turned to the left, sometimes bright with a flash of illumination, other times dark. Lark kept pushing onward, the heat and smell getting more pronounced until air was barely breathable.
And then she saw the flick of something. Impatient, she took the next few steps quickly to get a better look. What she saw was a scaly orange tail. By Oberon, it’s a dragon! Lark sagged against the stones, bracing herself from collapse with one hand. Of course a captive princess would be guarded by a dragon. What else?
And that was what the light, heat and stink was all about. Dragons breathed fire. Lark leaned against the wall wrapping her arms around her middle. Fire was not her friend.
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