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

10. Cyara

10

CYARA

The priestess’s sanctum had been converted into an infirmary. She knew she’d find her mother there, keeping herself busy to avoid the debilitating weight of her grief. Cyara had cried her tears through the night and well into the dawn. But by the time the sun finally shined its pale, watery light over Eilean Gayl, her despair had hardened itself into resolve.

She would not lose another loved one to the succubus. And most certainly not her queen.

Every available surface was occupied by a wounded body, and what surfaces could be converted had been drafted into service as well. The priestess’s once carefully arranged possessions were shoved onto shelves with all of her books. Eilean Gayl’s priestess was flora-gifted, Cyara recalled. It made sense that she’d stepped in to help the healers. Her affinity for enhancing the efficacy of plants made her particularly valuable in crafting teas and tinctures.

Framed in the doorway, it took Cyara a few moments to parse the chaos. Those in the outer reading room were mostly vertical, sitting or standing while their wounds were tended or they awaited care. Which meant that the most critical, including those who had been injured during the rescue of the refugees from the goldstone palace, were likely in the inner bedchamber.

Healers, elemental and terrestrial alike, moved quickly through the room, navigating around the central table where Cyara had once sat and read with Diana. The stacks of books had been replaced by vials of liquid, jars of dried herbs, and various medical implements that Cyara could not begin to identify.

Elemental healers used carefully applied wind to coax flapping skin together, needles made of ice to pierce the flesh and then dissolve at will. Terrestrial healers must have their own approaches, Cyara mused as she paused to examine the assortment on the table.

Some herbs she recognized, their applications both medicinal and flavorful. Others were a dangerous mystery. Movement beyond the table caught her eye, pulling her gaze through the open door from outer room to inner.

Eilean Gayl’s terrestrial priestess stood side by side with the head healer from the goldstone palace, bent together over a prone figure Cyara could not see clearly enough to identify. Hovering beside them, her white skin and hair stark against the dark tones of firelight, was Isolde. Soft white healing light emanated from the faerie’s extended fingertips, topped with their curved white claws. In another life, Cyara might have marveled at the incredible unity that simple fact illustrated. But the events of the past year had made her nearly impervious to surprise, and she’d been excellent at hiding such feelings even before that.

None of them were the reason she’d come down here, in any case.

Nor was her quarry anywhere amongst the bustle. She ventured a step closer to the bedchamber; spotted her mother holding a compress to a young male’s head. But Cyara purposefully avoided catching her attention, instead pressing back into the reading room.

She’d have to search elsewhere.

Perhaps her grief was impacting her more acutely than she’d realized. Her instincts had sent her to the lowest levels of the castle, certain she’d find—

“Diana.” The name came out half-strangled with surprise as Cyara narrowly dodged the woman’s rounded form. She’d plowed through the door with her characteristic lack of grace—and total disregard for who might be standing on the other side of it. Cyara smoothed her nose before it could wrinkle; despite Cyara’s affection for the human, Diana had not learned much from her fae hosts.

Her brother, however, was a quicker study.

Percival sidestepped Cyara and almost managed to cover the look of apprehension that her appearance brought to his face before she noticed it. He covered the small slip with an emphatic sigh directed squarely at his sister.

“There are elementals here who can see to this,” Percival grumbled, one hand catching Diana’s upper arm to steady her—but too late to prevent water from sloshing down the front of her dress.

Diana glanced down to note the wetness, but dismissed it with a small shake of her head. “They are otherwise occupied,” she said. “I can carry water up and down some stairs.”

Despite his protestations, Percival also carried a pitcher of water, and he did not argue when she took it from his arms, balancing it dangerously with her own, and left them to venture into the bedchamber.

Percival’s arms were already crossed over his chest when Cyara slid her eyes to observe him.

She slid them away just as covertly. “She wants to be helpful.”

Percival snorted. “She should be scared.”

She took his meaning without any explanation. Diana had been held captive by a terrestrial fae, Gorlois, who’d collaborated with the Dowager Elemental queen, Igraine. Diana had every reason to hate and fear the fae. And yet…

“That she is not is a testament to her healing,” Cyara observed, letting her voice soften. “It is natural that she wants to help tend the wounds of others after what she has endured.”

Trauma affected everyone differently. Veyka had hardened, anger and rage honing her into a sharp weapon whose spiky exterior had taken months to allow anyone near. Diana had been no less traumatized, but she’d coped with tears and inward retreat. She, too, had taken months to trust that every time a hand lifted, it was not meant to strike her.

What thoughts passed through Percival’s head as he watched his sister moving in and out of view, Cyara could not say.

But she was not surprised when he asked, “What do you want?”

He knew that she’d come with purpose. Trauma had taught him lessons, too.

Cyara tilted her head toward the open door, into the relative darkness of the temple beyond. It was littered with a few faithful, beseeching the Ancestors, but most of the refugees from Baylaur were beyond prayer.

Cyara had noted the emptiness in the eyes of those who did linger in the temple when she’d passed through to these rooms. Their conversation would be next to private.

Percival narrowed his eyes, his dark brows pulling together until not even an inch of deep ochre skin separated them. But after one last glance to reassure himself that Diana was well, he led the way out.

“So?” he said abruptly, turning on his heel in the center of the darkened temple.

Cyara did not hesitate. She folded her own arms over her chest and let her wings lift subtly, just enough to add to her physical stature as she said, “Tell me about the Sacred Trinity.”