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The Worth Series: Complete Collection

Page 53

by Lyra Evans


  “It would have ushered in a new era of peace,” Maeve said. “Cementing the Treaty and uniting the Courts in a way that hasn’t happened in centuries.”

  Nimueh nodded. “So I dared to hope. And throwing caution to the wind, I asked Logan to meet me.” She took a small sip of the liquid summer remaining in her cup. After a deep breath, she said, “it was wonderful. The first time was like we were meant to be together. As though we always had been. I’ve never felt so alive, so loved, so gloriously happy. So we met as often as our schedules allowed and revelled in one another. Always in secret, of course, because of all the reasons I mentioned and hundreds more. But when we were together, it was as though time and politics were nothing. All that existed was us.” Oliver found his hand in Connor’s, fingers intertwined. They both knew the struggle of hiding their relationship, of escaping over the border for a day or a weekend, of bathing in the wonder of being together, even if it was just for a moment, when nothing else mattered. “We had hoped that we could announce something after your bonding ceremony was complete. Once the reality that mixed-species bondings were both possible and accepted set in, we figured it would help reaffirm the strength of the Three Courts. I would divorce my husband, and Maeve here would officiate a bonding between Logan and I.” Taking a deeper swig of the liquid summer, Nimueh finished it and placed the glass on the table. “But one night we were careless, and High Warlock Carmichael walked in on us. Logan left, and Frederick gave me a stern warning. He said that no matter what the ‘plebs’ do, royalty will always be held to a higher standard. Inter-Court relationships would never work at that level, and the kingdom would call for my abdication if I divorced Corbyn for a Werewolf. It would be viewed as a betrayal of my people.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Oliver snapped, and at the surprised looks they gave him, he reigned in his rage, and added, “Apologies, your Majesty. But it’s not true. The vast majority of the kingdom would be behind you. If any disagreed, they would be the minority, and everyone would see them for the bigoted hypocrites they are.”

  Nimueh offered him a kind smile. “Little does it matter now,” she said. “That was only a short while after the announcement of your bonding. And now it will never be. I suppose the High Warlock got what he wanted in the end.”

  An image of High Warlock Frederick Carmichael’s face, speaking to the media and disavowing Oliver as a traitor, swam in Oli’s mind. He gritted his teeth.

  “He’s just a bigoted, power-hungry fool,” Oliver said. Nimueh seemed vaguely affronted.

  “I know his views on Werewolves are antiquated and unfair,” she said. “But he is still the High Warlock, and he has served me well over the years. How much more power can he really want? He’s already achieved the highest office possible in our Court.”

  Oliver thought back to the interview, to the way he spoke of Nimueh, to how he claimed responsibility for every action taken in the case. He thought of the High Warlock speaking on the Werewolf Court, using inflammatory language and insulting their traditions and culture as barbaric. Swallowing against the growing tightness in his throat, Oliver looked at Connor. Blue eyes filled with an icy terror told Oliver he wasn’t alone in his conclusions.

  “The High Warlock has taken over your Court,” Oliver said, and Nimueh looked up in surprise.

  “What?”

  “He’s taken over, claiming you’re missing and no one can find you,” he said. Nimueh’s eyebrows pulled together, wrinkling her smooth forehead. “He’s even pushing the rumour that we might have kidnapped you. He’s not working for you, Majesty. He’s working against you.”

  Straightening to his full height and stance, Connor said, “The High Warlock arranged the coup.”

  Chapter 21

  “That’s impossible,” Nimueh said. She brushed aside their revelations about the High Warlock as she would a lock of hair. “Frederick has been by my side since my coronation. He would never—” Her words cut off abruptly as Maeve flicked on a television hidden behind a hanging tapestry.

  “—no sign of Queen Nimueh, as of yet, but it has become clear she was not kidnapped,” High Warlock Frederick was telling a group of reporters, standing on the steps of the High Court. Pillars of white flanked him and his lectern, raising him atop a pedestal ringed in light. The positioning was perfect, intentional, and the chain of office around his shoulders shone like an aura about him, marking him as clearly as the next leader of the Court as if he’d worn a crown. “Evidence collected from her rooms suggests she may have left of her own volition. Clothing and a suitcase are missing, as well as her most prized obsidian jewellery.”

  “High Warlock, why would Queen Nimueh leave her Court in such a dire time?” a reporter asked, holding up his recording spell higher, the glowing orb peeking over the heads and hands of other reporters.

  The High Warlock attempted to look mournful. “Why any Monarch would abandon their people in a time of turmoil is beyond my understanding,” he said, his voice almost moving in its strangled emotion. Oliver’s skin crawled. “But if Nimueh has decided to flee, abdicating power, then we should waste no more time on her, focusing instead on the dangers ahead. We have redoubled our efforts in the manhunt for Oliver Worth and Connor Pierce, both fugitives from the law in the case of the murder of Logan, Alpha of the Werewolf Court.”

  “Have the Werewolves offered more help since the last press conference?” another reporter asked.

  High Warlock Carmichael bit back a laugh of contempt. “We’ve had little to no cooperation in the case from the so-called representatives of the Werewolf Court. The various Alphas have, instead, dissolved into petty squabbles over the vacated seat at the head of the Court. Representatives from our police force sent to gather intelligence and evidence on the possible whereabouts of Connor Pierce and Oliver Worth were met with violence and hostility. Wolves have begun to turn on each other, fighting like base animals, tearing one another apart in order to gain power.”

  Abruptly, they cut to a set of clips showing the Wolves of the Court. In one of the clips, Nadia, backed by a large grouping of Wolves with hackles raised, faced off with Donna, backed by a smaller but still significant group of Wolves. They growled and snapped at each other, never making actual contact. Another clip showed Lane Irons standing up, trying to call for order and civility only to have a Wolf from the opposing side of the Court launch at him. One of Lane’s Wolves threw themselves in front of their Alpha, and everything descended into chaos. In another clip, Wolves Oliver didn’t know by name snapped and slashed at each other, while more and more Wolves looked on, seemingly egging the two on. And again. And again. More and more clips were shown, all in quick succession, showing the Werewolf pack structure crumbling into anger and jealousy.

  “This is absurd!” Connor cried, his own hackles raised. The hairs at the nape of his neck stood on end, his shoulders wide and muscles taut for a fight. His mouth was a maw of sharp fangs, glaring at the screen. “Most of this footage isn’t even recent. These are sparring matches from pack events. No one was hurt, and no one was angry!”

  Oliver jumped to his feet, reaching up to Connor to soothe him, to coax the Wolf back into the Man. Connor growled in his throat and retreated into himself a bit, the maw of fangs fading to his beautiful mouth, his hair lying flat, his muscles beginning to relax.

  “I can’t believe Frederick would ever say those things,” Nimueh said, also on her feet, her jaw tight and head held high. “He has betrayed me. He has betrayed the Court. That he would ever publicly imply that I am unfit, that I would ever forsake my people—” But Nimueh didn’t seem to even have the words to express her horror.

  “He’s done more than that,” Oliver said. “He stopped referring to you as Queen. He even used the word ‘abdicate’ when discussing your departure. He’s manipulating viewers against you, setting himself up as the next leader of the Court.”

  “And doing a masterful job of it too,” Maeve said, studying High Warlock Carmichael on the muted screen. “I’m half
-surprised he didn’t just whip out the crown and proclaim himself King then and there.” Sucking on her teeth, she shook her head. “But no, he still needs their hearts. He needs them to give in to fear and allow him full control over their lives.”

  “He’ll never win over the whole Court,” Oliver said. “Not while your Majesty is alive and possibly returning. He either needs to completely destroy your reputation with the people, or he needs to create a threat so severe they would turn to him in desperation.”

  Oliver turned to Nimueh to find her eyes wide, her shoulders dropped a half-inch. “Or both,” she said, voice barely louder than a whisper. “He’s inflaming the Court’s minds in regard to the Werewolf Court, playing on their fears, their centuries-old prejudice. If he makes them seem volatile enough that the chaos could spread to our Court, he’ll have them. Treaty be damned, he’ll be given the power he needs to walk straight into the Werewolf Court and take over.” Nimueh shut her eyes slowly, head still held aloft. “And I gave him just the ammunition he needs to harden their hearts against me. My relationship with Logan will seem like foolishness, like recklessness, or even traitorousness. That I would put my people and my Court in danger for carnal pleasure,” she huffed a bitter laugh and sat down on the couch again, shaking her head. “I should have seen it. I should have seen him for what he really was. He always hated the Treaty and everything it represented. I just thought he was slower to come to terms with it because he was of the older generation. Harmless, impotent prejudice, I thought, because I was in control, and I knew better. Not so harmless, after all.”

  “Prejudice is never harmless,” Maeve said, sitting next to her friend, one hand on Nimueh’s shoulder. “But it’s not your fault you didn’t anticipate betrayal. Only the damaged and damaging prepare for that kind of wound.” She hugged Nimueh again.

  “Highness, we have to act quickly,” Oliver said. “We may still have time to stop this, to return you to your rightful place, but we need your help.”

  “Anything,” she said, looking up at him. “I’m sorry for my part in what has happened, and I intend to set it right. What do you need me to do?”

  “Are there families still loyal to you? Families that would remain loyal to the bitter end?” Oliver asked.

  Nimueh frowned slightly. “Hours ago I would have said all of them,” she said, “but now… I can think of a few I believe would always stand by me. Families who do not share the High Warlock’s antiquated prejudices and fought hard for the peace we’ve established.”

  “You’re going to need to contact them,” Oliver said. “Quietly and secretly. Gather together and wait for my instructions.”

  Nimueh nodded. “But the High Warlock will surely have tracking spells on all forms of communication, particularly the lines used by the Royal family and Council.”

  Oliver and Connor shared a conspiratorial smile. Connor shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out several of Rory’s green candies. He handed them over to Nimueh and Maeve.

  “Use these,” he said. “The instructions are on the wrapper. The messages they carry will be protected, I assure you.”

  Looking curiously at the candies, Maeve studied them closely a moment. “Oh, of course,” she said. “My daughter invented these. Tweeter Eggs.” She considered them a moment. “She should probably work on the name… How did you come by them?”

  Oliver blinked, slightly aghast at Rory’s network of friends, but given her mother’s relationship with Maeve, he should have guessed. “Rory,” Oliver said, and Maeve’s face broke into a smile blinding as freshly fallen snow.

  “But what are you going to do next?” Nimueh asked of them.

  Oliver shot a sidelong look at the television screen, now broadcasting candid shots of Connor and himself looking as suspicious and sinister as possible.

  “We’ve got to solve Logan’s murder,” Oliver said. “Properly. No one will believe our allegations against the High Warlock unless we can prove he was involved in the assassination. And the Werewolf Court won’t find peace until the real culprits are revealed.”

  “I cannot let my Court continue to fracture as it is,” Connor said. “I cannot let my cousin’s death go unpunished.”

  Nimueh pressed her lips together, swallowing visibly, and nodded at Connor. Maeve got to her feet, her hand held out and mouth open to speak, when a wail loud enough to split a tree sounded throughout the whole manor. Oliver slapped his hands to his ears on instinct, blinking through the pain at Connor, who was doubled over and visibly shaking. His hearing so much more sensitive than the rest of them, the siren might have burst his eardrums. Connor fell to his knees, his face shining with uncontrollable tears, his teeth grinding violently together as he pressed his palms to his ears in desperation.

  Oliver gritted his teeth and reached out one hand to direct his spell, allowing the siren to blast his one ear without muffling. The muting spell travelled from his fingertips to Connor, encircling both his ears like nearly invisible earmuffs. A moment later, Connor visibly relaxed, collapsing on the ground and panting hard. He wiped at his face, looking up to find Oliver trying to cast the same spell on himself, when the siren abruptly stopped.

  The silence following the wailing was nearly as deafening as the siren. For a moment, Oliver thought he had gone deaf, his head ringing with the lack of aural input. Chest heaving, face slick with sweat, Oliver looked up to find Maeve and Nimueh in similar states of distress. Connor pushed himself up off the ground, his face pale, his eyes red, and Oliver ended the muting spell on Connor’s ears.

  What was that? Connor mouthed at him, either afraid to speak aloud for fear of the pain, or unsure of his own deafness. Oliver shook his head and shrugged at him. The door behind them opened and closed, the noise of it at once strangely loud and distant.

  “They’re here,” Lucia said, her face full of fear. “The NCPD and Special Response Squad are converging on the manor. Someone or something triggered a signal to them. That siren went off, and they began appearing from nowhere. You’ve got to get out of here.”

  Oliver and Connor spun to Maeve and Nimueh, both of whom looked just as alarmed as they were. Maeve’s distress quickly turned to fury.

  “They’ve crossed into my Court, trespassing on my land without consulting with me? Without permission?” she cried, her eyes flashing a ring of golden red. “Nim, show them to the escape portal and get yourselves out of here. I will take care of the NCPD and their Special Squad.”

  Nimueh ushered Oliver and Connor toward the door to her bedroom. “Maeve, are you certain? I’ve already lost one person close to me, I can’t bear to lose you as well,” she said. “Frederick has gone mad. There’s no telling what he might have ordered the SRS to do.”

  Maeve glanced over her shoulder at Nimueh, her cloud of wild curls electrified and growing in size, as though each strand of hair pulsed with the power she wielded. Her hands held out to each side as though she grasped some fragile, invisible ball in each palm, Maeve smiled.

  “Then he will rue the day he dared make an enemy of me,” Maeve said, and in one hand appeared flashes of lightning, tiny and deadly, and in the other swirled a tiny cyclone, drawing erratic lines across her palm. “No Wizard will get the better of the Queen of the Fae.”

  Nimueh nodded, and she rushed Oliver and Connor through toward the secret escape portal. Oliver glanced back, his heart pounding in his chest and his mind whirring with information and urgency. Throat tight, he saw Lucia standing next to Maeve.

  “Lucia! Come with us!” he cried, unable to bear what might happen to her. He couldn’t allow her to come to harm. He couldn’t allow Rory to feel what he and Connor had both already experienced, so young.

  “I stand with my Queen!” she cried, then casting a small chain at Oliver, she added, “take this! It will lead you to safety. Now go!”

  Connor urged Oliver to come just as Oliver caught the chain in one hand. Nimueh swiped at the wall between the two shuttered windows, the panel vanishing into darkness and
producing a void before them that shuddered and flickered under the surge in magical power in the manor.

  “Take my hand,” she said. “We must pass through as one entity.” Oliver took her hand, and Connor held his, holding the chain Lucia gave them between their palms. “Hold your breath!” she cried, and Oliver and Connor managed one desperate gasp before they were pulled through to a world of rushing water and darkness.

 

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