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

63. Guinevere

63

GUINEVERE

Wraithwood, Emberhaven, Thornbriar, and Ferndale. Gwen recited the names as she walked through the village of Eldermist, now completely overrun by a mix of human residents, visitors, fae refugees, and elemental soldiers. They mostly kept to their own camps. Mostly.

Some mingling was inevitable as supplies were collected and distributed.

Gwen’s own mixed company battalion was in charge of that task. They could at least stand one another after a couple of weeks training together.

Tonight she owed her report back to Arran. Which meant that today, she had to secure an alliance worth reporting. Or rather, four of them. Her eyes twitched as she walked, the slight burn of a sleepless night beginning. But sleep would have to wait. She’d spent the entire night in conference with Sylva, planning.

Veyka and Arran had given her what amorite they could spare and leeway to negotiate. Sylva had armed her with information.

Helene of Thornbriar wanted amorite.

She found the woman in the village square, negotiating at the command stall for rations of sugar in exchange for salted beef.

Gwen waited until the conversation finished, noting the woman’s stance and tone. She was tall for a human woman and rail thin. Her once blonde hair was liberally sprinkled with gray that lent a certain gravitas, but it was the sharp hawk nose in the dead center of her face that drew the eye.

“What do you want?” Helene asked, not bothering to lower her voice despite the prevalence of pointed fae ears in every direction. At least the woman in the command stall was already busy with her next visitor.

Gwen kept her own voice pitched low, so that only Helene would hear it. If Helene required no pleasantries, then neither did she.

“I cannot arm all of your soldiers. But I can spare four amorite weapons—enough for your lieutenants.” Gwen used the term loosely, as the human fighting force had no formal structure. “And one amorite stud—for your son.”

That was the true price of her alliance, Sylva had guessed.

The woman’s eyes blew wide, the whites showing all the way around dark brown irises. Gwen did not flinch. Once, she might have worried about the appearance of favoritism. But this war would be over before each of the human leaders stopped arguing long enough to compare the price of their allegiance.

Helene swayed—like she might fall over with a gust of wind. The end of her hawk-nose twitched as she considered, but Gwen could taste victory. She reached into her pocket, the amorite already at hand, and pressed it into the woman’s palm.

“Yes?”

Her hand closed around the amorite stud. “Yes.”

“I will inspect your forces tomorrow morning.” Gwen turned and walked away before the woman could argue or attempt to add any caveats to her cooperation. Her last target had not left his room on the upper floor of Sylva’s house, though there had been a steady stream of visitors who he welcomed behind his closed door.

Wraithwood, Emberhaven, and Ferndale, Gwen recited again as she retraced her route through the snow, now churned into a muddy mess by foot traffic.

Elora had already secured the alliance of Tally of Emberhaven. Even with the Wraithwood leader’s disgusting words, Emberhaven’s allegiance had not waivered. Elora must be very persuasive in bed.

Wraithwood. She left him to Sylva. Gwen knew enough about prejudice to understand that she would not be the one to convince him. Any promise she made would not be trusted, anyway.

Inside the house, she discarded her heavy fur cloak but left her weapons in place. Winter in Baylaur was supposed to be mild; but in the human realm, just through the rift, the weather more closely matched the terrestrial kingdom. Though there was something to be said for a few inches of snow, rather than a few feet of it.

Sylva appeared at the door to the kitchen, gray hair neat as always and steaming cup in her hand. She offered it to Gwen immediately.

“Ferndale still upstairs?”

Sylva nodded. “I’ve got Wraithwood convinced. Coerced,” she amended. “But Ferndale…” her eyes traveled up the stairwell.

“One of Elora’s scouts spotted their approach this morning. As big as the forces the other three sent combined, and then some,” Gwen said grimly.

Sylva had admitted to not knowing much about the delegate from Ferndale personally; but she’d confided there was one thing that the town was known for—greed.

Gwen could use that.

She thanked Sylva and climbed the stairs. The door at the end of the hallway was closed, as it had been since the man’s arrival. He’d only opened it to attend the meeting downstairs the day before and to receive food and guests. As far as Gwen knew, those guests had ranged from residents of Eldermist to Helene, the leader of Thornbriar. But no fae had been invited over the threshold.

Gwen knocked but did not wait for an invitation.

She closed the door behind her with a resolute click , pressing her back to it as her eyes scanned the room. It was sparse by elemental standards, but better than many places Gwen had slept over the years. Including the last few weeks, when she’d taken up residence in Sylva’s pantry.

A real, wood-framed bed stood in the corner. Too short for fae proportions, but adequate for most humans. A dressing table in the other corner, with a pitcher and basin for water. Embroidered curtains hung at the window, where a single wing-back chair held the room’s occupant.

He was round and dressed for cold despite the roaring fire in his hearth. Unlike the headache from Wraithwood sitting in the kitchen downstairs, there was no hate in the man’s dark eyes. Gwen struggled to place human ages, so different from how the fae aged, but she guessed he was at least a decade younger then Sylva. Experienced but not yet elderly.

“I wondered when you’d come.” He tilted his head to one side as he considered her, the thick black hair on his head shifting with the motion. “You are welcome to sit.”

There was a single wooden chair across from him.

“I’ll stand.”

“As you wish.”

Gwen folded her hands neatly in front of her, a trick she’d learned in her youth when she’d dreamed of being High Queen of all Annwyn. It kept her from fidgeting.

“You have voiced no objection to joining your forces to ours,” she said. “But you have not agreed, either.”

“That is correct.” The man—Ferndale, her mind dubbed him—tilted his head the opposite direction, as if that would give him some new information.

“What will it take to secure your alliance?” Gwen asked. She did not have time for anything but honestly.

Ferndale’s head straightened to attention. “I see that what I have heard of the terrestrial fae is true. You do not favor the clever, cunning machinations of your elemental brothers and sisters.”

“I am tired and the battle will soon be joined,” Gwen said. If her hands had not been clasped, she would have crossed them over her chest. “The time for cleverness and cunning have long since passed.”

Ferndale’s chin dipped a fraction of an inch. “What will you offer me for my alliance?”

Your life, her lioness purred.

She needed to go hunting. After, she promised the feline that lived just beneath her skin.

“Gold, jewels, protection,” she listed the most obvious choices.

His head did not tilt, nor did his chin move.

But the left corner of his mouth lifted. “Amorite?”

Gwen had anticipated this question. “I’d have to take it from my own males to give it to you. Your fighters are valuable, but they are not trained fae warriors.”

One amorite stud, she could lose. But not even the elementals that Elora had found in the mountains were protected from losing their souls to the succubus. As it was, female warriors all over Eldermist and the outlying areas, human and fae alike, guarded the males who could turn deadly in an instant.

“Once we join forces with the High King and Queen, it is possible—”

Ferndale lifted his hand. “Do you know why there are no mighty human cities left? Why we’ve been reduced to struggling villages?”

Gwen clenched her jaw. She would not give him the satisfaction of shaking her head.

“It is because of your Ancestors. They destroyed everything during their Great War. You say it was never about fighting us, but about defeating the succubus even then. But the fae who came and burned our cities did not do it to protect themselves. They did it simply because they could .”

She could not argue with him. Maybe it had been a mercy—trapping the humans taken by the succubus and burning them alive in hopes of extinguishing them. Or maybe it was a brutal way of controlling the human population should the succubus become a threat once again. Humans reproduced much more quickly than fae. Or maybe it was exactly as he said. But those truths were lost to history, and they would not help them live through today.

“Ferndale is not a great city yet, but it will be soon. Our port allows us to trade all across the continent. We do not need jewels or gold. We need to survive. But without your precious amorite, the humans will be nothing more than charnel for your fae to sacrifice to the succubus as a shield.”

“I will retain command of the human forces. I will not let that happen,” Gwen vowed.

But Ferndale did not even dignify that with a response. He turned and stared out the window.

It was unacceptable. She could not atone for her Ancestors. They were the reason all of them, human and fae alike, were battling this monster from another realm. Ancient massacres and prophecies could not be given so much power over the present, not when the very future was at stake…

The future.

It was the only thing more powerful than the past.

“A place in Baylaur.” Gwen dropped her hands to her sides. “When this is over, the world will be different. We… we will renegotiate the treaty between our realms. Humans will have a voice in the fae court.”

She would never have considered it if she were in Veyka’s place. Humans had slaughtered Arthur—Veyka’s twin brother, Gwen’s betrothed. But those humans were not these humans. Those humans had been commanded by Roksana, and manipulated by Igraine and Gorlois, from the recounting Arran and Veyka had given back in Eilean Gayl.

These humans just wanted to live to see another dawn.

Ferndale tilted his head to the side. “Your King and Queen will honor this promise?”

“I am a Knight of the Round Table and her Majesty’s Goldstone Guard. Before that, I was the Terrestrial Heir to the throne of Annwyn. They will honor it.”

He nodded once. “So be it.”

Gwen’s shoulders sagged with relief.

“Close the door behind you.”

She could have done with a please , but her goal was secured. The calculations began to shift and rearrange themselves within her head. This would be her command. Arran was not a meddlesome commander; he would not interfere with however she decided to organize it. She would use the humans, but she would not sacrifice them unnecessarily.

The tiredness that had plagued her evaporated, leaving a sizzling energy in its wake.

The door opened just as her foot hit the landing, letting in a blast of frigid air.

Elora rushed through it, the emissary from Emberhaven on her heels.

“A succubus horde,” Elora gasped, her breath scissoring in and out of her chest. “In the valley.”

Gwen shook her head. She’d made this mistake before.

“It could be humans from the sixth village.” The one that had not responded at all to her envoy. Gwen could not recall the name, but Sylva knew. Gwen had been wrong before.

But the lines around Elora’s mouth only deepened. “In a few minutes, you’ll be able to scent their bile from here.”

The sizzle of anticipation in Gwen’s veins turned to dread. “You could pull your troops up into the mountains. I can call for Arran using the communication crystal. Retreat until we can join our forces with the terrestrial army.”

Elora’s nostrils flared. The door still hung open, making it impossible to tell if the chill came from outside or from Elora herself. “Or we can fight.”

Gwen recognized the vengeance in the female’s eyes. In Baylaur, she and Elora had fought side by side, lost the city inch by painful inch. Elora wanted retribution. She wanted victory. She wanted to feel like she was not an Ancestors’-damned failure. Gwen understood her completely.

But even though she’d just told herself and Ferndale that she would take command of the human forces, she found herself looking to the other doorway.

Sylva stood, hot tea in hand as always, framed by warmth and firelight that glinted and turned her gray hair a striking silver.

“We have been running long enough,” the human woman said. “This is our realm. It is time we fight to defend it.”