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

64. Veyka

64

VEYKA

I’d hoped to never visit Avalon again. The instant my boots touched the lush green grass, the memories of Gorlois, Arran—

His hand curled around mine. I am here , his beast growled just for me.

Once, I would have been horrified at how easily he accessed my emotions. Now I was just grateful.

My hand was steady as I lifted it, a spiral of light appearing instantly. I did not spare time for greetings, though my eyes prickled uncomfortably at the sight of Cyara.

“We cannot linger here or we will quickly lose our senses,” I reminded everyone. “Through the rift.” Only once we were all safely on the mist-shrouded island did I take another full breath.

Mya peered around, nose crinkling as she realized we could not see more than a few feet in any direction. “Evander, can you do anything about this?”

He lifted his hand, cold whipping up at his command. But my focus narrowed before I could judge his effectiveness. Cyara gripped my hand.

“Your Majesty.” She dropped to her knees, bowing her head over the hand she held. “Forgive me.”

My throat threatened to close. She wore her usual gray tunic and pants, a thick cloak against the cold like the rest of us. Her copper hair was neatly arranged in its customary plait. But Cyara had never prostrated herself before me. Ever. Even when we first met. She’d curtsy and show the utmost respect. But this… it made my heart ache.

“We’ve talked about this,” I said around the lump in my throat.

She lifted her turquoise eyes to mine, glowing with unshed tears. “I know. I did not complete the quest you set for me, I betrayed your trust, and I will surrender my Knighthood willingly.” She did not offer an apology.

I’d told her to go to the Faeries of the Fen and secure an alliance. Instead, she’d abandoned Osheen and Maisri and run off with the humans, Percival and Diana. The two currently lingered at the edge of our group, eyeing Mya’s blue skin with wariness and a heavy dose of fear. The dutiful but honest handmaiden I’d known had changed.

But none of that could touch the love I bore for her.

“Veyka. You call me Veyka,” I reminded her, pulling her to stand.

Cyara blinked.

I tried very hard to keep my voice steady. “You followed your king and your heart. I am lucky to call you my friend and my knight.”

Her wings wobbled, and I knew she was very close to collapsing again. I pulled her tight against me—the oldest, truest friend that remained to me. Forgiving her was easy.

“Do not be angry with him,” Cyara said into my hair.

“Anger,” I laughed at the absurdity. “Such a simple word cannot even begin to touch what is between us.” I’d forgiven him, too.

I was ready to give up my own life to save Annwyn. But the simple truth was I did not know how I would react if the roles were reversed. If the prophecy had asked for Arran instead of me… part of me said that I would let him go. That I would still choose Annwyn.

But another part screamed in protest.

“Here,” Cyara said, pressing something into the space between us. Large, metal, and rounded. The chalice.

There it was. The grail. The final item of the Sacred Trinity. I’d dripped my blood into it not once, but twice. All three sacred objects had been there in Baylaur and I’d had no idea. But Merlin did. She’d known all along. Punishment would come for her, now that I had the chalice in hand. Though Arran might have to be the one to deliver it. Even with the metallic gold of the grail against my palm, I struggled to believe.

No footsteps alerted us to her coming, but I felt the Lady of the Lake’s approach all the same. The magic of Avalon was intense and wild, and it all centered around her. She pulled the force with her as she walked, appearing from the mist that Evander had managed to push back by several feet.

Mya glanced in my direction, looking for confirmation. It was strange to see her wrapped in fur, the warm browns and golds so contrary to the cool tones of her skin and clothing. She said she did not feel the cold of the water, but by the slight tremble of her hand, she could feel it in the air. That must be the reason that ever-steady Mya was trembling.

“Morgyn le Fae,” I confirmed. “The Lady of the Lake.” My half-sister. And utter pain in my ass.

“I am the Ethereal Queen,” Mya said steadily. Evander held her hand so tightly it could not tremble with the cold, or anything else. “We have come to fulfill the prophecy.”

Morgyn’s response was to ignore Mya completely and look at me instead. My perfect half-sister was as composed as ever— her curtain of brown hair fell in a straight line to her shoulders, the only ornamentation a braid that started at each temple and framed her beautiful face. Her blue eyes matched the ones I saw in the mirror each morning, the ones I’d adored when set in Arthur’s smiling golden face.

She looked at me because she knew .

Pain. In. My. Ass.

I broke away from the group—Lyrena and Arran at each shoulder, Cyara close by as well. I walked right up to the Lady of the Lake, pulling Excalibur from its sheath across my back, unbuckling the belt that held the scabbards, the grail’s golden shimmer dulled by the mist.

“Not quite yet.” I dropped all three of the sacred objects in a heap at her feet. “Tell me about the Sacred Trinity.”

The tiniest of divots appeared between her eyebrows. “You treat our sacred objects as if they are nothing.”

“They all belong to me now,” I said, planting my hands on my hips. “Tell me what it means to be master of death. Don’t leave out any details.”

Morgyn was an expert at appearing completely unruffled by my antics. It was more than annoying. But her eyes stayed with me—as if everyone else who’d come to her island, including the prophesied Ethereal Queen, did not matter at all.

“Only when wielded as one can they serve the purpose for which they were made,” Morgyn began. I recognized the words that Gwen had recited, the ones Parys had found in the library in the goldstone palace. “Fae, human, and witch united to create the Sacred Trinity. Only when united again can the three be wielded to defeat the darkness by becoming the master of death.”

I wanted to stab her. But my daggers were inconveniently in the scabbards at my feet. “You are still talking in riddles.”

Morgyn did not engage with my complaints. “All magic has a cost.”

And this one had not been paid.

I knew that Arran listened to every word, the hope that he’d kept alive a tiny flame between us. Precious. And still flickering, still alive. He did not understand.

“What is the cost to become the master of death?”

Morgyn held my gaze, as she had from the moment her eyes landed on mine. Just once before, I’d caught a flash of emotion in her blue orbs that were such a strange reflection of my own. She did not try to hide it now. That was sympathy that turned her irises a shade lighter, that softened the smooth plane of her forehead.

“Your soul.”

I did not want her sympathy. “You knew all along.”

Arran’s beast howled, snarled, growled—he was losing control. His shift was imminent. He understood.

“Of course. I am the Lady of the Lake.” Any feeling that had shone for that brief second was gone.

“You should have told me months ago,” I snarled. It wasn’t wholly me—some of it was Arran, clawing his way across the golden connection between us. “Spare me your prattling about Avalon’s neutrality. You should have told me.”

Mya gasped. She understood now, too. Another few seconds, and my Knights would work it out as well.

Morgyn dipped her chin. “Rage at me if you like. I know who you are really angry at.”

Arran shifted. He was with me in a single bound, his head beneath my hand, his wet snout shoving into my stomach. Trying to reassure himself that I was still here. That what Morgyn had implied could not possibly be true. But it was.

That precious ember of light Arran had so lovingly cared for died.

There had never been any hope for me. To fulfill the Void and Ethereal Prophecy and banish the succubus would require my life and Mya’s. To unite the Sacred Trinity and wield it against the succubus would cost my soul.

I was doomed either way.