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

5. Arran

5

ARRAN

We were taking too long.

The golden thread of the mating bond in my chest was still there, connecting me to Veyka. But it was taut. She was pulling on the other end—because she needed me, or because we’d stretched it to the limit, physically on opposite ends of the continent, even with the rift open between us?

Either way, the compulsion started in my chest and spread through my veins with every heartbeat, an incessant demand. Veyka. Veyka. Veyka.

“How much farther?” I demanded over the heads of the elemental courtiers. We’d been slowed to a walk by the tight quarters of the passageways, and each second might have lasted a decade.

“A few more minutes,” Lyrena called back.

My growl of frustration reverberated against the goldstone, sending a flicker through the torchlight.

The torches set in the goldstone walls flared to life as we snaked through the narrow passages, lit by Lyrena or one of the elemental survivors. Cyara’s mother was only a few steps ahead of me, her white feathered wings tucked in tight to avoid scraping against the walls. I knew better than to touch one—I’d spent enough time around Cyara.

“Lady—”

“Just Minerva,” she said sharply, wing-tips contracting tighter still above her head. But I could see the wary look she shot me over her shoulder. She gestured to the ragged survivors around her. “They are doing the best they can, Majesty. We have lived in constant fear for weeks.”

She’d mistaken my growl of frustration, thinking it aimed at the survivors.

No, for them I felt only pity.

But the Brutal Prince was not known for such emotion. I was no hero, nor savior. I had never wanted to be.

Yet I still asked, “What about the males? Are there still some who have not turned?”

I watched the silhouette of her throat bob in the torchlight. She was married. Or at least, she had been when we’d left Baylaur.

“If there are,” Minerva said, “They are in the rooms above the library.”

“How far from here?” I asked.

Lyrena answered. “By the passageways, a short detour.”

Now or later. Now or maybe never.

A tremor quaked through my muscles—not my own. Hold on, Princess.

“We don’t have time—”

“I will go, Your Majesty.” Elora spoke from behind me.

I opened my mouth to argue—we needed Elora’s expertise on the battlefield. But the grim set of her eyes stilled my tongue. This was the battlefield. And Elora was ready to do her duty.

“Take two of my terrestrials with you,” I said instead. “And an amorite blade.”

Elora nodded sharply. A loud yell, and she was able to move past the elementals separating us and Lyrena, listening attentively to the latter’s directions for navigating through the concealed passageways. By the time she arrived back at my side, I had Vera and another terrestrial ready to join her.

But she paused, exhaling slowly. I braced myself for her words.

“The Dowager is there as well.”

Igraine. How had I forgotten her? It was a failure as a mate and a commander.

The urge to go to her flooded my senses. After everything we’d learned at the Battle of Avalon, after what she and Gorlois had put Veyka through… my beast roared inside of me, demanding vengeance.

“Is she restrained?” The beast growled through my mouth.

“Yes.”

For Veyka, I wanted to shift. To follow the directions I’d heard Lyrena give to Elora, to tear through any succubus that dared to cross my path. My jaws would rip their heads from their bodies, one by one, until I reached the Dowager. Then I would kill her. More brutally than any succubus could hope to do. I would make it hurt. I would punish her in kind for every brutality she’d heaped upon my mate.

But another tremble was taking hold of me, an ache settling into my bones. Veyka.

For Veyka, I said, “Leave her.” And for myself, I added, “For now.”

Veyka would never forgive herself if another member of her court fell to the succubus at the expense of her own revenge. To save the males closeted away in their cells, yes. But for Igraine? Never.

Watching Elora’s contingent split away was nearly painful. But we were almost back to the rift. I could feel the change in the bond.

The tunnel curved and then there was a burst of light. Lyrena pried open the doorway out of the passage, sending a wall of fire to repulse any succubus on the other side. But the corridor beyond was blessedly empty. A small mercy among the losses we’d already sustained.

An audible gasp rolled through the crowd of elementals as they spilled out into the hallway. For half a breath, I saw the rift as they must have. A rip in the very fabric of the world, opening into a dark and unknown void. And at the center, the glowing edges of the rift illuminating her face and skin so that her entire body seemed to be glowing, was the High Queen of Annwyn.

I shoved the courtiers aside, none too gently, to get to her. Without a thought, I stepped through the rift, earning another cry from the crowd behind. The Queen they’d never seen exhibit any type of magic now stood in control of a power that barely existed in legend. Terror shone in their eyes. One female lifted her hand, sending a spiral of water through the rift from one side to the other. It passed through unchanged, but still they held back.

It was a mother who took the first step. A female who could not be more than sixty years old, with a golden-haired girl on her hip and an older boy’s hand clutched in hers. She was more plainly dressed than most of the survivors. Even disheveled as they all were, the differences were apparent. She wore no jewels, her gown was simply made, her children dressed in pale brown. Servants, I realized.

The most desperate among us even before the invasion of the succubus.

But perhaps those with the most determination to live.

The young mother held her children close and stepped through the rift.

She stumbled slightly as her feet went from the smooth goldstone tiles to the rough-hewn stones of the bridge to Eilean Gayl. But she was upright in a moment. There was my own mother, a hand on the female’s shoulder, ushering her forward.

After that, it was a flood.

The Lady of Eilean Gayl had things well in hand. Even if she had not, I doubted that I could have been any help. Not with Veyka standing there in such obvious distress.

It hadn’t been an illusion. She was glowing. White light emanated not just from the rift itself, but from every inch of her exposed skin.

Her eyes glowed as well. Not the vivid ring of blue desire that circled her pupils when she looked at me. This blue was bright as the center of a flame and it encompassed everything—the pupil, the iris, the whites of her eyes. She might have been a goddess from some other realm entirely.

But it was my mate’s voice that said clearly, softly— “Hurry.”

Veyka’s entire body trembled with the effort of holding the rift open. This new dimension of her power should have been explored systematically, with careful observation and testing to explore the nuances and limits.

All magic had a cost. The Ancestors demanded it.

But the Ancestors could not have my mate. Not now, not ever.

“Faster!” I yelled into the goldstone palace.

A second later, Minerva stepped through, the healer behind her, each of them shepherding an injured elemental under their arm.

Cyara waited only long enough for her mother to hand off her charge before flinging herself forward. They embraced, faces tucked in tight, their shaking wings the only indication of the sobs that overcame both females.

“Father?” Cyara managed to ask, her face wet and turquoise eyes round.

Minerva’s pause answered the question before the sideways jerk of her chin.

I did not see Cyara’s reaction. One of Veyka’s knees buckled.

My arm went around her waist, bracing her body with mine. Lyrena was at my side in an instant, then Gwen.

“She can’t keep holding the rift,” I shouted. “Where is Elora?”

Lyrena lifted her sword. “We’ll go after them—”

“No, we don’t have time.” I eased my face down to Veyka’s, though she gave no sign of noticing. “Close the rift. We can come back.”

Neither Lyrena nor Gwen dared to argue. They fell back to make whatever preparations they’d been trained to. I tightened my hold on Veyka’s waist. The skin of her stomach, where her gown was open, was cold to the touch. Usually, it was just her hands and face, but now… it was as if the lifeforce was being drained from her body.

All magic has a price, my beast rumbled softly, more gently than was possible.

Veyka did not respond. Could she even hear me, as deep as she’d dove into her power?

“Arran.” When she titled her head, still facing the rift she’d opened but so her eyes could connect with mine, I saw every dimension of her magnificent, resilient soul shining out at me.

I knew, then. She would hold the rift until every soul was liberated from Baylaur. She did not need me to argue with her—she needed my help.

“Veyka,” my beast growled. Then me, “You can do this, Princess.” I let the corner of my mouth lift in time with my voice. Somewhere between teasing and challenging, where Veyka and I had thrived since the moment we first met in the scrubby forested hills of Baylaur.

Her chest lifted and fell against mine, the slightest hint of a scoff.

“Do you remember when you told me you were powerless? Look at you now, Veyka. You are no longer the Queen of Secrets. You are Queen of the Void. Queen of this realm, and every realm, should you desire it.” I watched her as I spoke, the words pouring out of me easier with every syllable. A crash sounded from the direction of the rift, and I was aware of another wave of elementals crashing through it, heard Elora’s voice in the background. But every sense was tuned to Veyka—the scent of her exhaustion, the tangible crackle of her magic against my skin. She glowed brighter with every heartbeat as I went on:

“The entire world is at your fingertips. Worlds that I cannot even imagine, beyond what the rest of us can see and hear and dream. Immortal? No, not next to you. You are not the elemental queen, or the void queen. You are an Ancestors-damned goddess. And after this, everyone in Annwyn will know it.”

“They’re all through!” someone yelled from the distance.

I lifted one hand, cupping Veyka’s face where the Talisman showed as dark cuts into the light that emanated from her pores. “You can let go now, Veyka.”

She went rigid against me, flashing with light in time with the rift. The spiral contracted violently in on itself until it was nothing more than a pinprick of light. And then complete darkness.

The price has already been paid, Veyka’s voice caressed my mind.

What in the Ancestors-damned hell did that mean?

She collapsed against me.

I went to my knees, holding her upright. She wasn’t unconscious, but she wasn’t in full control of her body either. Where seconds before she’d been trembling, now she was eerily still. I found myself pressing a finger to her throat to check that she was still breathing, her heart still pumping. When I’d reassured myself of that much, I just let myself hold her. I heard my mother issuing orders, shepherding the elemental males into the great hall to have their ears pierced with amorite immediately. I shielded Veyka with my body, the stone parapet at her back, so that none of the courtiers, elemental or terrestrial, could get to her.

But I felt them come, their presence steady as they assembled around us. Cyara, Lyrena, Guinevere… the Knights of the Round Table. Another few minutes, and with Parys sorted by my mother, we’d be complete for the first time in months.

They stood arrayed around us, unflinching sentinels until Veyka regained herself.

Her voice was raspy when she finally lifted her head and spoke. “Where is Parys?”

Gwen did not speak. Nor did Lyrena. Or Cyara.

It could not be. Gwen would have told me—should have told me, the moment she had me alone. Surely it had been clever Parys who had deduced the plan for separating the males, who had helped keep the survivors—

Veyka straightened in my arms.

“Guinevere.” The High Queen of Annwyn’s voice did not shake.

But Gwen’s did. “He is gone, Your Majesty.”