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

14. Guinevere

14

GUINEVERE

“Drop your blades.”

A half dozen human women formed an even circle around them. Three on either side of the meager path into Eldermist; they’d closed ranks once Lyrena and Guinevere were directly between them. A half dozen humans against two of the most formidable warriors in Annwyn. If Gwen had still possessed the ability to laugh, even her composure would have cracked at the absurdity of the implied threat.

Lyrena let loose, her back shaking with mirth where it was pressed against Gwen’s. “No, thank you,” she said with mock politeness.

The same woman who’d given the initial command ground her teeth. “That was not a request.”

“And we do not answer to you.” Lyrena lifted her sword in challenge, silently daring them to try to come and take it from her.

This was a different side to the golden knight. The bright smile had always been there, but the sharpness was new.

Gwen was not the only one who had changed these last months.

But they did not have time for trading barbs.

“Stop antagonizing them,” Gwen said over her shoulder, too quietly for the humans to hear.

“You are not my commander,” Lyrena bit back, her voice equally low. “And I will when they lower their weapons.”

Gwen ignored both of those responses, addressing the humans instead. Particularly the one who appeared to be their leader—a tall woman with red-gold hair and a sour face. “We are Goldstone Guards, Knights of the Round Table, sent by Their Majesties Arran Earthborn and Veyka Pendragon, High King and Queen of Annwyn.”

Gwen could sense the ripple of reaction around them. Arran and Veyka had stopped in Eldermist in their quest for Avalon. Gwen herself had sent fae guards to help the village, in Veyka’s name. But they did not know what had happened here in the intervening weeks since Baylaur had fallen. Those promises might mean nothing now.

“Are you infected?” This from a dark-haired woman on Lyrena’s other side.

“You know as well as we do that the succubus only takes males,” Lyrena scoffed.

“It has a name,” their leader breathed.

Lyrena’s head snapped in her direction. “Even the evilest things do.”

Gwen empathized with the women, their eyes darting between one another. She’d felt much the same when Veyka opened the portal rift from Baylaur to Eilean Gayl. So much information, so fast, could be nothing but disorienting. Especially when they were already living under conditions of stress. This would be the moment to disarm them. She could feel Lyrena tensing, her assessments the same. But physically overpowering the humans was not the goal. They needed their cooperation.

“We seek council with Sylva and the Council of Elders for the village of Eldermist,” Gwen said, hoping the old woman was still alive.

Silence echoed around them, off the mountains and down into the valley below.

“Most of the Council of Elders are dead. Taken by the succubus, as you call them. And put down by the guards your queen sent,” the leader finally said. She struggled to control the emotion in her voice; Gwen did not have to be an elemental to realize it. And where once she would have remained impartial, her heart twisted.

“But the village stands. Your children and families are safe.” Gwen did not let herself intone it as a question.

“What remains of it after the earthquake,” came the hollow answer. “Our womenfolk survive. At least, those that did not refuse to be separated from their husbands and sons.”

Gwen felt Lyrena tense against her. Elemental though she was, her laughing facade always in place, even she was not immune to tragedy. Gwen wished that was a comfort. Instead, it made her wary. She could not trust herself anymore. She needed Lyrena to be steady.

“We are peaceful envoys,” Lyrena said before she could. Something like relief eased the tension in Gwen’s stomach.

A silent conversation passed between the women around them. Gwen could not help but be impressed by their steadfastness in the face of two clearly superior warriors. But whatever they communicated with looks and shrugs, it was their leader who spoke for them all.

“It remains to be seen if Sylva will vouch for you. Until then, surrender your weapons or you’ll go no further.”

At her words, four of the women stepped forward, two to each of them.

Lyrena lifted her sword into an attacking position, her voice silky and lethal. “Try me.”

She’d been to Eldermist before, Gwen remembered from Arran and Veyka’s recounting of their journey upon leaving Baylaur. The humans had threatened Veyka then, and Lyrena had not forgotten it.

The red-haired woman shrugged with feigned nonchalance that belied the growing tension in the air. “If you are as peaceful as you say…”

“Give them the sword, Lyrena,” Gwen said. They were both lethal without weapons. A wave of her hand and Lyrena could set all six women’s clothes on fire. The weapons were symbols of authority—and symbols of goodwill when surrendered.

But Lyrena tightened against her. She did not turn her head when she spoke, her words so quiet that Gwen almost missed them and the humans certainly did.

“It was a gift from Arthur.”

Gwen’s heart did that terrible clenching thing that it had started after Parys’ death. If she did not get it under control, tears would be next. And there could not have been a worse place to fall apart.

But the tears did not come. Her eyes did not burn. Lyrena—imperturbable, smiling Lyrena—was tense with anxiety. It unlocked something inside of her; a strength and steadiness she had thought completely gone.

“You will get it back,” Gwen promised. With the hand that did not hold her own weapon, she reached back. Lyrena jolted at the touch, but Gwen did not pull back. She curled her fingers around Lyrena’s. “I will get it back for you.”

A silent heartbeat passed. Then Lyrena’s fingers answered hers, and she held out her sword to the humans.

Even disarmed, the humans held their formation as they escorted Gwen and Lyrena down into the village. Gwen scanned the buildings they passed, taking in as much information as she could. Information was always useful, either in battle or bargaining. She knew Lyrena did the same at her side. Their hands were no longer linked, but she could sense the taut energy emanating from the golden knight.

The glowering patrol leader took them to what appeared to be the village square. It was mostly as Veyka had described it, though two of the buildings were half tumbled down. An effect of the earthquake they’d felt across the entire continent? There were not enough people to match the buildings. Gwen counted less than twenty as they worked their way into the center of the village, and most of those were hidden behind cracked windows.

The village was still under the humans’ control, but they had not survived unscathed.

Someone must have seen their approach and run ahead. The door of the largest building—a half-collapsed guild hall of some kind—flew open and three humans spilled out, a familiar face in the lead.

“Sylva.” Gwen bowed her head.

The elderly woman returned the gesture of respect. “Lady Guinevere.”

“This is the Council of Elders?” Lyrena asked, disbelief crowding the syllables.

Sylva nodded. “What remains of us, yes.”

Lyrena had seen them before, Gwen remembered. Before.

Sylva, another woman with graying hair, and a middle-aged male watched by a fae guard that Gwen recognized as one of the contingent she’d sent to the village, though she could not recall her name. How many had there been before? How many males had the fae female cut down because they were taken by the succubus?

Lyrena swallowed beside her. “What happened—”

“We don’t have time for that.” Nor could Gwen stand to hear another story of death and darkness. Most of their two hours was already gone. “Baylaur has fallen to the succubus. We are here as royal envoys on behalf of High Queen Veyka Pendragon and High King Arran Earthborn. The Queen and King are involved in rescue operations for the last of the survivors from Baylaur. They seek your permission to bring the refugees here.”

“Here,” the woman at Sylva’s side managed, her mouth gaping. An elder, but not nearly as composed as Sylva. “Fae refugees in Eldermist.”

The man, his thick hair unkempt and bruises of exhaustion beneath his eyes, was unequivocal. “Absolutely not.”

“Without their guards, we would not be alive,” Sylva reminded him. She did not voice support one way or another; simply pointed out a fact. She was practiced at this game of managing her co-councilors. Gwen remembered her steadiness from her time in Baylaur.

“And if there are males among them, we will become nothing more than a meal,” the other woman said, regaining her voice.

Lyrena found hers as well. “None of the males will fall to the succubus. We will provide all of them with amorite.”

“You cannot buy our allegiance. We are past caring for such things.” It started with a sneer, but the councilman’s words ended in a desolation that Gwen recognized in her soul.

Her voice was gentler than it should have been, dealing with humans. There was no accounting for it. She still blamed them for their part in Arthur’s death. Didn’t she? She’d agreed to help Sylva when she came as a supplicant to Baylaur. But on Veyka’s orders.

“Amorite is the only thing that will stop the succubus from invading a male’s body and mind,” Gwen explained. “The High King and Queen will give you enough to pierce the flesh of every man and male child in your village.”

“You will save us,” Sylva breathed. She, better than either of her two companions, understood what those words meant coming from Gwen.

Gwen swallowed. “In exchange for sheltering the refugees.”

“And if we refuse?” the man barked.

Lyrena responded before Gwen could, her grin back in place. “The Queen will pull back her guards. She will need them to protect the survivors from Baylaur, wherever she can find to lodge them.”

Gwen had not been surprised to hear Veyka’s order back in Eilean Gayl, nor was she surprised to hear Lyrena wield it with such evident vindictiveness. The wounds between their realms would take more than a few months of tentative cooperation to heal.

Without an explanation, the three humans stepped back toward their ruined guildhall. Gwen could not tell if the damage was from the earthquake or some other dire event. There were tree branches twisted up with the ruins. They did not go back inside, merely lowered their voices. Gwen knew that if she strained hard enough, she would still be able to make out their words. But the echoes in her own head were too difficult to silence.

They did not take long to decide.

“The Council of Elders gives our agreement. Eldermist is open to you,” Sylva said, the two council members flanking her on either side.

Lyrena’s smile widened. “Good. Because the queen is about to open a rift in the middle of your village.” Then she held out her hand. “We’ll need our weapons.”

What few humans there were retreated with screams when the portal rift opened.

It was a terrifying sight. At first, it looked like a star had dropped from the heavens into the center of the village square. Except that it was daytime, and if it that was a star, it was about to explode.

The edges pushed outward, their rippling white edges expanding inch by inch to reveal a world beyond. Annwyn. Gwen knew it was coming, understood that this was an expansion of the queen’s void power, but still it took her breath away. The queen that had left Baylaur was scared of her power, denied its very nature. But this… Veyka had embraced the darkness and the light and shaped them into something wholly new and utterly terrifying.

The three councilmembers stood with their backs pressed against the wrecked front facade of their guildhall. There had been no time for planning or organizing. No sooner had Gwen and Lyrena received their weapons had the rift appeared. No time for explanations. Not even for a few hasty words using the communication crystal that the woman guard had finally returned.

After what felt like a lifetime but she knew to only be seconds, the glowing edges of the portal rift stopped expanding. They revealed a mountainous landscape, not unlike the one surrounding Eldermist. Though where the human realm managed to grow trees and a bit of long grass, the mountains of Baylaur were barren and orange-gold.

But the landscape was not what elicited gasps from the Council of Elders. It was Veyka Pendragon, standing at the center of the rift, her white hair lifting off her shoulders with the force of her magic, her blue eyes shining with an unearthly glow. And at her side, dark as she was light, was her mate and consort Arran Earthborn.

She’d done exactly what they’d planned—found the elemental survivors, convinced them to follow her, and then brought Arran and his warriors to their encampment to escort them to safety.

For a moment, Veyka’s feet seemed to lift off the ground. She looked like she was floating, suspended in the space between worlds.

Then in the next, her booted foot hit the ground and she stepped through to Eldermist. She turned back to the rift, her eyes still glowing and intent. Arran stepped through behind her, and behind him a river of refugees.

Guilt clawed up Gwen’s throat, its talons sinking deeper into her soul with every fae who passed through into Eldermist. Every survivor represented dozens of dead. And every single one of those dead left their blood on her hands. She’d sent soldiers into the city of Baylaur. But it hadn’t been enough. And when the goldstone palace itself descended into gruesome black chaos, she’d done nothing to help those trapped in the city below.

These survivors—families, orphans, males and females—they were alive despite her. Not because of her.

Yet no one looked at her with blame.

Lyrena rushed forward, helping those who limped or carried heavy burdens. Veyka held the rift open. Arran ushered them through, more a High King than a Brutal Prince. Behind her, Sylva had managed to come forward and begin issuing orders. To whom, Gwen could not see. Humans, presumably, though where she’d conjured them from Gwen could not have said.

No one noticed Gwen at all.

She counted every body that passed through the portal rift. Two hundred and seventy females. Eighty-four males. One hundred and ninety-nine children. All that remained of a city of thousands.

Gwen was going to be sick.

But she did not get the chance.

The last of the refugees passed through. Veyka closed the portal. Arran went to her side immediately, slipping an arm around her waist and pressing a fierce kiss to her head. The queen leaned into him for a few seconds, then straightened and walked to meet the Council of Elders under her own steam, her mate at her side.

“We meet again, Your Majesties,” Sylva said, bowing low. Her two companions bowed as well, though likely more from fear than respect.

Veyka did not stand on ceremony. “Thank you for giving refuge to our civilians,” she said, her sigh heavy and her tone genuine.

“We did not have much choice,” the councilman bit back. Stupid and afraid, then.

Veyka did not take the bait. She planted one hand on each hip and addressed the man directly. “You could have died. Once, I would have rather given myself to the succubus than accept the help of a human. Let alone ask for it.” She bowed her head to each of the remaining council members. “You have our thanks.”

There were murmured platitudes that Veyka met with a nod.

Arran took his queen’s arm. “Lyrena and Guinevere will remain behind in Eldermist to see the refugees settled. We cannot linger.” He was already turning to where the rift had been.

“Call on the communication crystals when you’re ready to come back to Eilean Gayl,” Veyka said to Gwen. Lyrena was with the refugees, her familiar Goldstones uniform no doubt giving some solace to the ragged bunch.

Veyka had almost caught up with Arran. Once she reached him, they’d disappear into the void. This was her only chance.

“I am not going back.”

The humans could not hear Arran’s beast growl. Neither could Gwen, not really. But she could feel the pulse of magic rolling off him. Several people nearby paused, casting wary glances their way, some ancient sense alerting them to the danger that wave of power represented.

Gwen stood her ground, even as Arran snarled, “Your place is at the queen’s side. You made a vow when you became a Goldstone Guard.”

Her hand fell to the belt at her waist, a wide swath of leather plated with goldstone. It was one of the few pieces of the uniform that Gwen had opted to wear. While Lyrena wore every single ostentatious piece available, none was technically required. Armor was not what made her worthy or marked her as Veyka’s personal guard. It was her deeds.

Gwen angled her chin with every bit of imperious command she’d learned, both from her father and from Arran himself. “I do not wish to break my vow. But I know myself and how I can best serve my queen.”

The sharp pitch of Veyka’s elbow into Arran’s side cut off whatever angry words rose to his lips. He turned those murderous black eyes on Veyka. As usual, the queen was unmoved.

“Make your arguments,” Veyka said, staring at Gwen intently.

“The humans are an untapped resource.”

“They are not effective against the succubus,” Arran cut in. A human woman coming out of the door of a darkened shop flew back inside at the sound of his harsh voice.

Gwen gritted her teeth. That woman would tell her friends about the brutal barbs the fae royals exchanged freely in the village square. It would make it even harder to rally the humans. But Gwen pressed on, though her voice was lower.

“Not scattered and divided as they are. But if there are enough of them, it becomes a matter of numbers.” She’d seen in Baylaur just how many fae it took to bring down a single succubus. It would take at least twice as many humans. But that morbid calculation did not change her stance.

Arran made those same calculations. Of course; he was the one who’d taught her the importance of understanding the deadliness of the enemy.

“You’d sacrifice the humans as chattel for your own revenge.”

Once, maybe, Gwen could admit to herself. But not now.

“I would work to unite them in common purpose. To share what we know as an act of goodwill and to teach them how to defend themselves as best they can,” she explained, struggling to keep her voice calm. The composure that she’d spent over a hundred years honing, to prepare herself to rule Annwyn, had deserted her during the siege of Baylaur. This plan had come to her in the night after their escape, alone in the darkest, tallest tower of Eilean Gayl.

Veyka’s hands tightened and then relaxed around the hilts of her daggers, belted in their scabbards at her waist.

“The succubus will come for them either way. At least if they are trained and organized into an army, the humans might manage to take a few succubus with them,” she said.

Something like relief rose up in Gwen’s chest. Arran stepped between the two females, intent upon squashing it.

“Leave someone else to do this,” he commanded. “We need you.”

Gwen heard the words he did not say. I need you.

To defeat the succubus. To protect Veyka. To stop the queen from sacrificing herself to save Annwyn. But Gwen could not do any of those things; not as well as she could do this. She knew it would feel like a betrayal to the male who had trained her, whose side she’d served at for more than a hundred years.

She held his gaze as she spoke. “I already have the trust of their leader, Sylva.”

Murder flashed in Arran’s dark eyes. Then he was gone—shifting into his massive beast, bounding off between the squat buildings. Gwen tracked his flight by the sound of startled human screams.

Veyka’s eyes went distant. Just like Gwen could not hear Arran’s growl, she could not hear the words that passed silently between the queen and her mate. But she knew an argument was raging, and she knew it was about her.

She also knew the moment it ended.

Veyka’s hands dropped away from her daggers, flexed and then relaxed at her sides.

“You have our permission,” Veyka said. “But you will keep the communication crystal to hand. We will not lose contact this time.”

Reasonable. “I will not let you down again.” Ancestors, let it be true , Gwen prayed.

Veyka’s bright blue eyes sharpened, and then she was moving into the space Arran had vacated, closer to Gwen than was reasonable or comfortable. “If that was what I meant, I’d have said it.”

Never, not once, had Gwen felt intimidated by Veyka Pendragon. But the power that swirled in her eyes, that poured out of her without even trying… it took all of Gwen’s fortitude to hold her ground. Not to step back, to put space between them.

Veyka trapped Gwen’s gaze with her own. “This is an act of penance.” A statement of truth, not a question. “You blame yourself for Parys’ death.”

Gwen could barely breathe.

Was the death blow coming now?

Part of her had been expecting it since the moment she’d told her of Parys’ death. It was her fault. The queen deserved vengeance. If relegating her to stay with the humans was not enough, if she judged the only fair recompense to be Gwen’s life, then she would not argue. She would accept her punishment.

“It was my fault,” Gwen said, every sound painful as it scraped out of her throat by way of her heart.

“That is a lie,” Veyka snarled. “I know, because I have told them to myself a thousand times. More, maybe. Arthur was murdered to put me on the throne. Arran nearly died because of my hubris. The succubus gained entry to my kingdom, ravaged innocents, because of my power.”

Veyka was not keeping her voice low. Everyone—human and fae—within two blocks must have heard every word. But the queen was incandescent as she stormed on.

“But they are all fucking lies, Guinevere. Igraine did this. And Gorlois. And the succubus themselves. They are evil, all of them. And their greatest crime of all is that they convinced us we were to blame. If we believe that lie, we are paralyzed. We are unable to fight. We are powerless.”

Veyka’s chest rose and fell rapidly, unshed tears of emotion glistening in her eyes. There was no mistaking them at this distance. Gwen exhaled a painfully shaky breath. Veyka could not help but feel it on her skin.

All at once, she seemed to realize how close she’d gotten. She took several steps back until she was nearly on the other side of the square. Gwen watched as Veyka’s eyes tracked around the perimeter, noting their observers. But she did not lower her voice when she spoke again.

“The choice is yours, Gwen,” Veyka said, her breaths still heavy. “But I will never be powerless again.”