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

28. Veyka

28

VEYKA

“Where are you taking us?” Lyrena asked, raising her voice to be heard from near the back of our entourage.

The female had introduced herself as Morgause. And since the requisite ‘Your Majesty’s’ were completed, she’d spent too much time looking at my mate. I’d have to be blind to miss the glowing umber ring in her brown eyes.

“To the Dyad,” Morgause answered, pausing on the next landing until Arran was at her side. Then she immediately began to move again, up the narrow stairway. It was only just wide enough for them to walk abreast. But she made no move to step ahead.

Covet him all you like. He’s mine.

Arran’s eyes were everywhere but on me, assessing threats and rightfully assuming I could take care of myself.

“The Dyad are the stewards of Cayltay,” Morgause explained. “The most powerful flora-gifted terrestrial and most powerful fauna-gifted terrestrial form the Dyad that rules the city.”

“And here I thought I’d married the most powerful flora and fauna gifted terrestrial in the kingdom.” As I spoke, my thumb traced over the ring on my finger. Elayne’s ring. Then Arran’s. Now mine.

I hadn’t been taught about the inner workings of the terrestrial kingdom. Those lessons were saved for Arthur. But Arran and Barkke, and before them, Elayne, had given me a slapdash course in how things ran here in Cayltay.

Though they’d all left out the Dolorous Guard. What other details had they missed? And what nasty surprises awaited because they had?

Arran paused on the stairs. “I’ve never sought a place with the Dyad. I prefer actions to words. Battlefields to politicking.”

Morgause stopped a step later. She waited for him to join her. He waited for me. Let me pass him. Then took up his place a half step behind, one hand on the small of my back.

Ancestors, I fucking loved him.

Our guide’s smile was pinched. I enjoyed the sight.

“Come now, Arran. There is plenty of blood to be shed on the way to the Dyad’s thrones,” she said.

She did not wait for me to join her on the next stair.

Nor did I move from mine. “Kings and queens have thrones.”

Do I need to kill her as well? I asked Arran’s beast.

“Seats,” she amended. But Morgause’s gaze did not linger on me. It slid over my shoulder and settled on Arran, standing of a height with me a stair below.

She could not have disguised the glow of desire in her eyes if she’d tried. The curse of our passionate race afflicted the terrestrials and elementals indiscriminately.

Arran’s voice did not radiate into my mind.

Oh.

Oh .

This female did not just want my husband. She’d had him before.

Do not kill her yet , Arran’s beast growled into my mind.

Apparently, I did not make my point clear when I kissed you outside of the fortress. I was not jealous. Jealousy implied some sort of fear of losing, of competition. I’d watched Morgause’s bony ass all the way up the first two flights of stairs into the dark heart of Cayltay. I’d felt Arran’s love for me through the bond before I could recognize my own.

Jealous was the wrong word.

Pity—no, not quite. She was much too smug to pity.

Anger, certainly. Maybe even rage. Arran was mine . Any being, elemental or terrestrial, who thought to challenge that deserved to die.

The pressure of Arran’s hand on my waist increased, nudging me up the stairs.

Morgause resumed her climb. Up and up and up. We had to be going to the highest tower, the one whose tip was hidden by the clouds from the ground outside the fortress. One of the Dyad was probably a bird shifter who liked to roost.

I was laughing at my own joke as Arran’s dark rumble continued to explain terrestrial governance, more for Lyrena and Isolde’s benefit than mine. “They kill their way to the top. The last one of each type standing is granted a seat on the Dyad.”

Isolde was quiet, but Lyrena, sword still out, questioned. “And they keep their seat until…”

“Someone challenges them for it and wins,” Arran answered.

“It sounds delightfully chaotic.”

I knew if I turned around, I’d see Lyrena’s gold tooth glinting through a massive grin. She’d be drinking with the terrestrials in the kitchens of Cayltay before the week was out. Fortress or no, my golden knight could charm—and disarm—anyone.

Just like the gate into the massive fortress, the door to the Dyad’s meeting chamber was unremarkable. Plain wood. No engravings. No jewels. Not even the tasteful tapestries and gold gilt frames that Lady Elayne used to decorate Eilean Gayl. The only thing that mattered in Cayltay was power and strength. The stark appearance, inside and out, was a reminder of that.

The chamber inside was equally bare. But for the first time since entering Cayltay, the austerity worked to enhance the impact of the space. The walls were not made of stone, but glass, rising up in straight, triangular planes to where they met in a pointed dome high above our heads. Outside the windows, clouds encircled the tower in a swath of white.

In the center of the room stood a round table—less grand than my own, made of wood rather than stone—several matched wooden chairs, and two wooden thrones. Like everything else, they were plain, their only decoration the sheer size of them. And the fact that there was no other furniture in the room.

Seats . Morgause had the right of it the first time. The Dyad imagined themselves kings and queens in their own kingdom.

Maybe I’d have Lyrena burn the thrones before we left Cayltay as a reminder.

Neither throne was occupied. But a massive male stood beside them, his yellow gold eyes marking every one of us as we passed through the door. He was shorter than Arran, but wider. Despite the cold, he wore a sleeveless leather tunic that left his massive biceps, nearly the size of one of my thighs, bare except for the weapons strapped to them.

He was the only occupant of the room. Which meant—

“I am the flora-gifted half of the Dyad,” Morgause said. She moved over the stone floor like liquid, her dark blue gown shifting around her. Unlike most of the terrestrial females, she’d opted for heavy silk and velvet instead of wool.

She’d been building to this since the moment she appeared in the inner bailey. Arran made no sound of surprise; nor did Lyrena or Barkke. They’d both likely suspected as much, though each for their own reasons. Lyrena was an elemental. Reading between the lines was beaten into her from birth. Despite having never traveled to Cayltay himself, Barkke was a terrestrial. Even as removed as Eilean Gayl was, they surely received news about major changes in government officials.

Only Isolde made a little mewl of displeasure. Despite her gentle healing magic, the faerie could be fierce when provoked. And she recognized the game as well as the rest of us. Clearly, she did not approve.

My instincts told me that this female did not command vines the way my mate did. Her gifts would be subtler. Poisonous, perhaps. There were many ways to kill and not all of them were loud and demonstrative.

I wondered if Isolde sensed that as well. She was an unmatched healer, preserving life as much a part of her identity as the white braids that dangled around her shoulders or the porcelain-tipped claws she clicked together in displeasure. The magic of the Faeries of the Fen was ancient, not governed by the rules of elemental and terrestrial fae heritage. It was entirely possible that she sensed something about Morgause that the rest of us did not.

But there would be no private conversations in the glass tower we’d been led into.

Morgause dismissed Isolde and the rest of us, focusing her attention on Arran. Ancestors, she was obsessed with him.

She gestured to the massive male at her side, though stopped short of actually touching him. “You recall my husband, Orcadion?”

Arran lifted one dark brow. “No wonder you’ve chosen the Cloud Tower for your meeting chamber.” Then to me, “Orcadion is an eagle shifter.”

And a ruthless killer , Arran added just to me. He has never been defeated in combat.

Then he’s never faced you.

Arran’s beast answered my observation with a growl of approval.

I wished I’d said my earlier jest aloud. But I had another observation ready in lieu of a greeting. “We have eagles in the Effren Valley. They are scavengers.”

Morgause narrowed her eyes on me. Which meant they were off of Arran. Good . “Here they are creatures of opportunity.”

“We are not here to debate particulars. I am taking command of the terrestrial army and preparing them to fight the succubus. Veyka will oversee the distribution of amorite. As of now, it is the only weapon we know of that can slay a succubus and prevent it from stealing into a male’s mind,” Arran said, severing our staring contest.

He said he disliked political maneuvering, but he was good at it. It was not so different from commanding bloodthirsty troops, except that the conflicts were with words. I rolled my shoulders, the weight of Excalibur resettling between my shoulder blades. Maybe not only words.

Morgause sank down onto her throne, bringing her quietly hulking husband down with her. She ran an idle finger along the wooden arm. “Yes, we’ve heard about your succubus.”

“Heard,” I repeated. “You’ve been unscathed. No attacks.” I did not form them as questions, and I modulated how much of my surprise I allowed to show.

Morgause shrugged her slim shoulders. “We have maintained control.”

She did not question the succubus’ existence or ask for an explanation of what a succubus attack meant. She was posturing. “An illusion of control,” I scoffed.

Morgause folded her hands in her lap. “So often, it is only the illusion that matters.”

My kingdom was falling apart, my people dying and murdering each other while their souls leaked from their bodies in trails of noxious black bile, and she pretended like it was nothing.

“Yes. For instance, you might imagine that the way I disappear and reappear is an illusion.” I stepped into the void, reappearing on Arran’s other side. Morgause’s eyes widened, her head snapping to the side to follow me. “However, I promise you that my command of the void is very,” in and out, now behind her, “Truly,” I appeared just in front of the thrones, dragging my dagger across her brown knuckles, “Real.” I reappeared beside my mate.

Morgause did not move. Blood welled and dripped down the arm of her wooden throne.

“Your queen is impressive,” she said. This time, her eyes were firmly on me.

“Our queen,” Arran corrected. He did not need to interrupt our staring contest. I held Morgause’s brown eyes with my own as droplets of her blood fell from the tip of my dagger and splattered on the bare stone floor.

“The army is yours to command, of course. But without the support of the Dyad, there will be difficulties. You could spend months rooting out dissenters and trying to establish loyalty.” She had fought her way to that stupid throne, and for that, she had a tiny bit of my respect. Despite the subtler methods I guessed were her preference, she did not flinch from the wound I’d dealt her. But I could bargain.

“Months we do not have,” I said, wiping her blood on my skirt and returning the blade to its jeweled scabbard at my waist. “What do you want?”

“We’ve heard of the prophecy made about Lady Guinevere’s Round Table.”

“ My Round Table.” I was getting sick of correcting her. “Mind your tongue or next time I’ll go for it instead.”

Morgause tightened her hand to a fist, the blood that had finally started to clot flowing once more. “Seat another terrestrial at it. That is our only condition.”

Arran growled. “There are no conditions. The terrestrial army is ours to command—

“Done.”

Veyka , his beast warned.

We do not have time to argue, I shot back.

This will not end the way you think.

Morgause stared at us hard. She hadn’t figured out the secrets of the mating bond. Lyrena snorted into her hand at the confused look that the terrestrial exchanged with her male counterpart.

A knock broke the silence.

Morgause straightened, the sanguine smile back in place on her lips.

“Enter,” she called.

A male entered carrying a tray of wood-carved cups and a flagon of wine. I’d have preferred food, but wine would fill my stomach for the time being. There was something strangely familiar about the cupbearer.

“My son, Mordred,” Morgause said, accepting the wine that he served to her first, even before his king and queen.

My. Not our . Not related to Orcadion, then. From the surprise Arran had felt but did not let show when Morgause had announced her marriage, I could glean that the union was recent. The male bore no resemblance to Orcadion, his shoulders square and strong but lacking the brutish width of the eagle shifter. His skin was a paler brown than his mother’s, his black hair clipped too close to his head to discern if he’d inherited her tight curls.

But the angle of his eyes was entirely different from hers, as were the heaviness of his brow ridges. And the color.

“Thank you,” Lyrena murmured, lifting a golden brow and then collapsing it into an impertinent wink. Perhaps Mordred would be her next conquest. It could prove useful in managing the Dyad. Though I hoped that once we left Cayltay with the terrestrial army in tow, I’d never have to see Morgause again.

“To new alliances,” I lifted my cup.

“And old ones,” Morgause added. She took a deep drink from her cup.

The rest of us did the same, the male taking up a spot against the angled glass wall of windows. He watched us intently, though there was nothing unusual about that. It was not every month—or even every decade—that the High King and Queen of Annwyn came to Wolf Bay. Let alone with a faerie of myth for a companion. But the intensity of his stare drew my eyes back to him.

Arran finished his wine and turned, ready to get the hell away from Morgause. A solid plan. But the aforementioned headache stopped us.

“You truly do not recognize him, Arran?” She passed her wine to Orcadion, who drained it as she stood and approached the male, Mordred. She laid a possessive hand on his arm.

“Who?” Arran asked, already halfway to the door.

Morgause waited until he turned back to look at her. Once she was satisfied that she had his attention, she turned those conniving brown eyes to me. “Mordred. He is your son.”