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

11. Guinevere

11

GUINEVERE

The meager breakfast she’d eaten an hour before came up violently, burning her throat before it spewed across the reddish dirt. She would have hit the ground herself if not for the gold-laden hand that closed around her upper arm and held fast.

Going through Veyka’s void was nothing like stepping through the portal rift she’d created to Baylaur. Maybe it was the fact that they’d crossed realms as well as the continent. Or maybe it was always this fucking terrible.

It’s no less than I deserve , Gwen thought as she jerked her arm from Lyrena’s grasp and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. When nothing else came up, she lowered it and took stock of their location.

“We passed through this copse of trees on our way out of Eldermist. Backtrack over that mountain. The village is just on the other side of the pass,” Veyka said. The queen appeared unruffled by the swirling black hell they’d just traveled through. Gwen’s stomach clenched again. She forced herself to focus on the words instead.

Veyka’s description was generous. The copse was a small cluster of four bare-trunked trees, their ragged fronds crackling overhead in the crisp wind. Gwen’s eyes traced the route Veyka indicated—away from the scant protection of the trees to the jagged orange mountain and then beyond, to the village that had long taken up residence in Gwen’s imagination.

“It gets easier every time,” Lyrena said, slapping her on the shoulder.

Gwen did not disabuse the other female of her assumptions. She could have done with a quieter companion for this task. Osheen, perhaps. But at least Lyrena was competent with the sword strapped to her bejeweled belt.

“You should be there in less than an hour. Another hour to prepare. Then I’ll open the rift.” Veyka repeated the plan, though Gwen had already fully committed it to memory. “Here,” Veyka added, extending her hand.

Gwen palmed the white crystal. Veyka had explained its use. Another fault laid at her feet. If she’d been able to get the truth about the communication crystals out of Igraine, she could have called for help. Baylaur might not have fallen to the succubus.

“Tell us if there is any delay,” Veyka said. She stepped back, well clear of them, even though Gwen suspected it was not necessary. In the months of her absence, the queen’s control over her new power had grown.

“Are you certain the crystals will work from so far away?” Gwen asked, still staring at the faceted white pillar. It was easier than looking at the queen.

“Make sure we don’t have a reason to find out.” Veyka winked at Lyrena, and then she was gone.

For a second, Gwen yearned for her presence. She recognized Veyka’s irreverence for what it was—a shield to keep her real feelings at bay. Or at least, to allow her to function while those feelings took their toll privately on her soul. But when Veyka was there, with her wicked grins and sarcasm, it was a little bit easier to forget the darkness bleeding into her own soul.

The crystal would work. Igraine had kept one in her possession; presumably to communicate with Gorlois in the human realm. Gwen was still processing all of the details that had been shared with her. So much information, given so fast, started to lose all meaning.

She pocketed the crystal and pointed her boots in the direction of the jagged pass. But before she could take her first step, a blur of gold flashed by her. Lyrena—starting up the mountain at a run. She paused only long enough to throw a wide grin over the gleaming shoulder of Goldstone armor.

Lyrena and her fucking golden grins.

Gwen shifted. Let the golden knight try to keep up with her dark lioness.

She should have stayed in her lioness form all the way to Eldermist. Not two minutes after she shifted back into her fae body—to drink from the canteen and force down a few bites of nourishment—Lyrena began badgering her.

“Tell me about the humans who came to Baylaur,” Lyrena said around a mouthful of dried oatcake.

Gwen ground her teeth. “You were with the king and queen in Eldermist.”

She could practically hear Lyrena rolling her eyes. They were almost to the pass. The path they’d followed dwindled away beneath their feet, disintegrating into the sand. This high up, there was no shrubbery or even scrawny trees. The wind ripped away everything. If the humans used this pass in and out of Eldermist, any evidence of it was thoroughly wiped away. Good for isolation and protecting the village, bad for two outsiders finding their way.

Lyrena lengthened her stride, closing the small gap between them. “Yes, but I was not in Baylaur after.”

“You heard my report,” Gwen said sharply. One more drink of water and she would shift back—

“You have gotten grumpier.”

Gwen stilled. She forced herself to stopper the canteen, then to return it to its place on her belt. She checked her weapons by rote, each move mechanical. Even her words. “Watching your friends die has that effect.”

Lyrena laughed.

How in the Ancestors-damned hell could she laugh? Even acerbically.

Gwen’s throat burned with anger, until Lyrena added, “You are not the only one who has lost loved ones.”

No, she was not.

Veyka chose sarcasm. Lyrena chose humor.

Wounds all healed differently. Gwen could not help but admire that they’d managed it at all.

Before Lyrena had departed Baylaur with the king and queen, they’d forged a tentative truce. They were both Goldstone Guards, formidable warriors, Knights of the Round Table. Foremost, they both were intent upon Veyka’s protection.

But these months had changed everything. Whatever pull she’d felt toward the beautiful golden knight, Gwen refused to entertain it under that harsh desert sun. There was a war to be fought. Many would die—too many already had.

But Lyrena spoke the truth. She’d suffered her own losses. That did not mean that Gwen was ready to confront those, either. “I don’t want to talk about Arthur.”

“Good. Neither do I,” Lyrena said, shouldering past her and starting down the other side of the pass.

They walked in silence for several minutes. Despite the fact that Gwen had offered no answers, Lyrena did not press. She kept walking resolutely on towards Eldermist, with little idea what she was walking into, because her queen commanded it.

Maybe it was admiration for that steadfast loyalty that had Gwen opening her mouth when all she wanted—really, truly—was to curl up inside of herself.

Gwen cleared her throat. “The humans were desperate. I sent female warriors to guard them—some of the best we had.” She paused, bitterness temporarily clogging her throat. “If those females had been in Baylaur, the city might not have fallen.”

Lyrena’s steps hitched, but only slightly. It could have been merely unsteady sand turning beneath her foot.

“You had no way of knowing that the succubus could infect fae. We all thought it was a human scourge,” the golden knight said. “Arran spoke of your competence as a commander in battle.”

Gwen felt her own features hardening, her instincts for self-protection so deeply ingrained she did not even need to consciously summon them.

“Yes. But in battle, I always had someone above me giving orders. It is different when you are the one responsible for every decision.” It was a truth she’d realized in those long, endless days trying to defend Baylaur. With the city falling down around her, Gwen had realized another truth as well.

She would have been a terrible queen.

Someday, she hoped she would find the courage to tell Veyka. To admit that the right female sat on the throne.

“What if the humans refuse to help us?” For the first time, Lyrena sounded worried.

Gwen realized why a moment later—the first curls of smoke had appeared over the horizon. They were almost in Eldermist, and not a minute too soon. From the tracking path of the sun overhead, they’d already lost some of their second hour to the trek.

Gwen picked up her pace. “Then we will have to convince them.”

“At the end of a blade?” As she spoke, Lyrena drew the sword from across her back and slid it into a slot at her belt instead.

“If necessary,” Gwen said grimly.

If Sylva was still in Eldermist, she knew the old woman would convince the humans in time. But they did not have much time to squabble. When Veyka opened the rift, they must be ready.

Gwen stopped herself from reaching for her own sword. They should arrive peacefully, with weapons to hand but not in hand. She did pull out the communication crystal. Even as it burned in her hand, an ever-present reproach, she forced herself to keep it ready. If things went amiss, she would not waste a single moment in getting word to Veyka and Arran.

But even Gwen was not prepared for the sand itself to come to life.

She swung the crystal up, the incantation already on her lips.

But a blade came down on her wrist so hard she couldn’t keep her fist closed. The crystal fell into the sand; a booted foot kicked it beyond her reach.

Lyrena fared better. Her sword was in hand, her back pressed firmly into Gwen’s, giving her cover. They were too close for her to pull her sword, but she was just as good with a dagger. She could shift if she needed to.

The thoughts raced through her mind at the same time that it tried to make sense of what her eyes saw.

They emerged from the sand itself. Thick sprays cascaded off of their dun-colored cloaks, only to be caught in the wind and swirl around where Gwen and Lyrena stood back-to-back, creating a funnel of red that clogged their eyes and lungs.

Through the miasma floated a disembodied voice. “I suppose your words will have to be enough to convince us.”

Ancestors . How long had they been followed? They’d walked into a trap, clearly. But even two or three humans were easily handled. But not when she couldn’t even see them—not when she was supposed to be convincing them to give refuge and succor.

“Drop your blades,” the voice commanded.

Gwen gripped hers harder.

But as the sand settled, realization rose in its place.

They were surrounded.