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

40. Veyka

40

VEYKA

In the end, it did not matter what Talismans marked their skin or whether they were flora or fauna gifted. All of those terrestrials except one were going to die. I would not be responsible for all of them. I was not quite that cocky.

I could open a portal rift and shove them each through it, one by one, eliminating my opponents in the Pit by sending them for a frigid swim in Wolf Bay rather than killing them. I could do that. But I wouldn’t.

There were times for mercy and times for strength. In the terrestrial kingdom, strength was the only measure of value. They would not think my mercy a strength.

If the cost of a seamless transition of power was the terrestrials in the Pit, I’d pay it. I’d come to fear many things in the months since Arran pulled me from my apathy. Love meant fear. I loved Arran. I loved my friends. I even loved my kingdom. And to save the thousands, I would sacrifice the few. I was afraid for my kingdom. But I was not afraid for myself or my soul. It had turned black a long time ago.

I left Excalibur sheathed across my back. I was tall enough that no one would have enough of a height advantage to take it from me. If they stupid enough to try. I palmed my daggers instead, the jeweled scabbards secure at my waist, their secret known only to my own party. The amorite swirled blades reflected back the light of the white-gray clouds above, the wolf-heads carved into the hilts caressing my palms.

The low rumble of Arran’s beast raised the hairs at the nape of my neck.

Do not worry, Brutal Prince. This is what I do best.

If he had an argument for that, he held it back. Morgause snapped her fingers. All around me, terrestrials leapt down into the Pit. The fight for the Round Table had begun.

Two terrestrials waited just below, blades raised and ready, eager to match themselves against me. What they hoped to gain by killing their queen, I did not know nor want to. It was absurd that the same terrestrials who sought a knighthood by my hand wanted to draw my blood.

If I could kill them, then they did not deserve that knighthood.

Bloodshed did not have to make sense. Not among our kind.

I jumped—and disappeared into the void. I reappeared behind one of their backs, sliding my dagger up beneath his armor and straight through his kidney. A killing blow.

The male across from him watched his partner fall. He did not turn away from me, lifting his axe to attack. My respect for him rose a notch—only to disappear entirely as a massive bear rose up behind him and ripped his head from his body, tossing it into the second level of the Pit.

I laughed.

And began.

Arran did not exist. Nor Lyrena or Isolde or Barkke. Nor even Morgause, though I was certain she preened over the scene like the queen she imagined herself to be.

There was only that moment, the swipe of my blade across the flora-gifted terrestrial’s throat, severing his blades of grass and his arteries in one slash. I felt the gush of blood as it splashed across my face, savored its warmth before spinning and lodging my knife in the shoulder of the same bear shifter from moments before. The beast roared, swiping with his mighty claws. But it was huge and bulky, while I was swift beyond reason. I flayed open its belly and leapt over its entrails as they spilled onto the dark stone floor of the Pit.

I did not pause to count, but I could feel the contenders around me thinning. There was less movement at my back, less to keep track of in my peripheries. Still, I kept moving. Moving was the best defense in a battle like this; Arran had taught me that. It was different than the sparring ring, where I only had one opponent. In close quarters like this, with so many opponents, slowing down for even a breath meant presenting an easy target.

But I did not need to take a breath. My lungs burned with excitement, not exhaustion. I hardly needed to plunge myself into the void. I was capable all on my own. You are strong, and you are powerful. And every realm should be trembling at the strength of the new High Queen of Annwyn.

Arran’s words were a memory that fueled me through the next kill. A hawk shifter I relieved of one of his wings. A flora-gifted who found her thorns could not make me bleed, even when she wrapped them tight around my wrists.

I stabbed, slit, swirled—and then stopped.

A hatchet met my dagger.

So similar to the weapon my mate wielded, but smaller. Though its blade was no less deadly. And unlike Arran’s axe, the head of the hatchet shone with swirls of amorite.

Mordred.

Morgause had sent her son into the Pit.

A table of destiny.

He held his weapon strong against the push of mine, not giving an inch.

Five shall be with you at Mabon.

We could not remain like this, locked in a single hold. We were too vulnerable. I could not kill Mordred. It might neutralize Morgause. But it would destroy Arran. He had not shared his feelings with me, beyond shock. But I knew my husband. He was attached to his parents, he’d grieved his brother’s death and the part he’d played in it. I could not kill Mordred.

One is not yet known, but the bravest of the five shall be his father.

The bravest of the five was Arran. Of course, it was. Arran, who had loved me even when I was nothing but a shell. Who had sacrificed himself for me again and again. Who had chosen me, even when his memories deserted him, even when the easier thing would have been to walk away.

But if that part of Merlin’s prophecy was true, then did that mean the rest was as well? Her cunning voice echoed in my mind.

When he comes, you will know that the time for the Grail is near. The last is the Siege Perilous. It is death to all but the one for which it is made—the best of them all—the one who shall come at the moment of direst need.

Morgause had heard the prophecy and decided that her son would be the one to fulfill it. If I believed that we had any choice in such things at all.

I did not know what I believed.

But I was spared the decision. A flash of silver moved over my shoulder. I moved by instinct, digging in to find more force within myself to push away Mordred and his hatchet, then to spin and meet the blade with my own. I caught the female’s forearm with my other hand and swung her up over my head, bringing her down with as much force as I could manage. The sound of her neck snapping as she hit the second level echoed through the Pit.

Everything around me came to a standstill. Far above, outside of my consciousness, I heard Morgause’s voice give the next command: “Descend.”

I leapt down to the second level of the Pit, my feet crunching on the broken body of the female I’d thrown down moments before.