Queen of Blood and Vengeance (Secrets of the Faerie Crown #4)

3. Veyka

3

VEYKA

Wait .

I’d never been a patient female. But what Arran asked was nearly impossible. It could not have been more than a few minutes, but each one felt like a century as Gwen and I stood on opposite sides of a continent but separated by mere feet. Both of us listening to the screams of our people.

A clash of metal echoed through the corridor beyond Gwen. She tracked it, head tilting to the side as her eyes scanned what I could not see. The rift I’d opened was like looking through a doorway. I could see directly behind Gwen, but the peripherals were mostly obscured.

Voices—unrecognizable, but discernably male. More metal, an entire cascade of it. The heavy clunk of furniture crashing down. Screams.

Then silence.

Gwen’s shoulders twitched, but she did not flinch. Two days, she’d said. Two days she’d spent fighting. The sounds of death must mean nothing to her now. If she let them shake her, I doubted she’d still be standing.

And I couldn’t fight. If I ran to the aide of those voices, the rift would close behind me. Would I be able to be open it again? It had taken me months to learn how to control the void, to move through it with purpose and to eventually bring others with me. But I did not have months to hone this new power. The passageway was open now. I could not risk closing it.

I could already feel the tension building within my body. The cost of my magic had already been paid with Arthur’s death, but that did not make wielding it easy. Maybe one day, I would open rifts like this with the same ease I now moved through the void. But now, when it was most important, it took nearly all of my concentration to simply hold the way open.

I could not fight with my blades, not yet. But I could arm Gwen with information. “They are called the succubus.”

Her golden eyes snapped to mine, widening as she incorporated the information.

The Great War, my void power and its role in the return of the succubus—those were nuances for another time.

Behind me, the music slipping from Eilean Gayl ceased. Arran had command of the great hall.

If Gwen could hear the change, she did not show it. “What else?”

Excalibur’s swirled blade glinted in the white light emanating from the spiraled edges of the rift. “Amorite is the only way to kill them.”

That earned a response. Gwen’s golden eyes widened slightly, her gaze dropping from my face to the weapon in my hand. We’d known it was special, even before we realized why. But now, Excalibur and its brothers could be the difference between surviving the succubus or succumbing to the darkness.

Another crash from behind Gwen. Closer, now. But her stance held firm.

“We’ve been using fire,” she said.

“It will hold them back but only for a time.” And it was a weapon that only the elementals had at their disposal. There were dozens of fire-wielders in the elemental court, Cyara’s family among them.

My heart twisted but I refused to let myself ask. The strain of holding the rift was growing, a low ache settling in my limbs. If I lost control of my emotions it might collapse in on itself entirely.

“I am well aware,” Gwen said.

Of course, she was. Two days since the goldstone palace descended into chaos. But that said nothing of how long it had been under attack.

Guilt clawed its way up my throat.

I should have been there to defend my court. I should have opened the rift sooner, or taken myself through the void, if only to tell them about the amorite. Help could have come sooner. More might have lived.

I wanted to press my eyes closed, to try to quell that internal battle warring to life inside my soul. But I did not have that luxury. As I blinked into Gwen’s gaze, I knew she understood.

The conversation turned silent. Not like Arran and I, speaking into one another’s minds through the golden connection of our mating bond. Gwen and I exchanged sorrows that needed no words to be understood.

Then Arran was back—and not alone.

“Veyka…” Cyara breathed, her voice laced with shock, thick with the emotions she so rarely lost control over.

“Is that the goldstone palace?” Lyrena whispered, her voice utterly humorless. No doubt Arran had given them some explanation, but hearing and seeing were unequivocally different prospects. Even I could not quite believe what my power had done. What I was still doing.

“Form the lines,” Arran ordered from my periphery. “Lyrena at the front.” Because of her fire. “Those with amorite blades on the perimeter. No matter what happens, hold your formation.”

Osheen barked orders, arranging the terrestrials.

Three neat columns formed behind Arran. Beyond them, Barkke organized a dozen or so more. One group to retrieve the survivors in the goldstone palace, another to guard the rift should the succubus try to overtake us and attack Eilean Gayl. It took less than two minutes. Brutally efficient.

The Brutal Prince.

He lifted his battle axe, cut a sharp nod to the assembled troop and turned with unmistakable purpose glinting in his black eyes. I could see exactly who he was, then—who he’d been for the past three centuries. Arran Earthborn, the terror of armies on this continent and many others. There was no mercy in the line of his jaw, no hesitation in the set of his eyes. The fear in my gut eased fractionally. I could trust Arran above all others to do what must be done.

But he did not step through the rift to lead his troop into battle.

He turned to me.

He did not need to speak, aloud or through the bond, for me to read the question on his face.

No, I was not all right. But that wasn’t really what he was asking—he already knew that answer. He could surely feel the despair in my soul.

So I answered the question I could. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold the rift.”

The shining white edges of the rift cast shadows across his face. “As long as you can,” Arran ordered. “But don’t push yourself to collapse.”

I opened my mouth to argue.

He took a step closer to me. “When this is over, we’ll need you standing. If you cannot hold the rift open, you’ll have to come for us one by one. We will barricade ourselves in the old palace until you come.” And they’d be safe. Every single one of the males assembled wore a sparkling amorite stud through his ear. Only a third bore amorite weapons. It was not enough. There would be losses.

The hand that did not hold his axe brushed against mine. The briefest, subtlest touch. All that he had time to offer, and all that I could stand without breaking. “Annwyn needs its queen.”

And I need you, his beast growled softly.

My fingers closed around his.

Arran’s mouth crashed down upon mine, teeth and lips grabbing desperately for anything I could give. I took as much as I gave, drawing his tongue into my mouth for a too-brief second before we were separated again.

We ripped apart as suddenly as we’d come together, and Arran did not spare any more words or touches. He was through the rift, then Lyrena, then the lines of terrestrials behind them. They walked through the rift I’d opened to Baylaur as if it were nothing more than a door. I felt the impact of each body passing through, like the tightening of a belt notch by notch. The power inside of me squeezed tighter, tighter, tighter. It threatened to burst, but I summoned a lifetime of control.

I would not let the rift close.

Arran had once declared that he was the greatest power Annwyn had ever seen. But he was wrong.

I was.