2. LONNIE

2

LONNIE

THE OBSIDIAN PALACE, EVERLAST CITY

O nly a few hours later, the sun was high in the sky and I found myself out on the castle lawn practicing magic.

Several days ago, we'd set up targets—as if for archery practice, and now I furrowed my brows in concentration as I attempted to direct balls of fire toward them. Thus far, I'd managed to burn a large patch of brown grass in the manicured lawn, but the targets stood untouched.

I spread my feet wider apart and relaxed my shoulders, then took a deep breath and conjured another flaming sphere in the palm of my hand. In a single movement, I tossed the ball in the direction of the target. I held my breath for half a second before the flames spun wildly off course. They flickered and died mid air, but not before managing to catch a nearby rose bush on fire. I screamed in frustration.

"Careful screaming like that, Rebel." Scion extinguished the bush with a lazy flick of his wrist. "What few servants we have left will think you're being tortured and abandon us before lunch."

"You're not funny."

"I wasn't trying to be." Scion replied from where he lounged on the grass watching me. "I really am concerned about how many servants you've terrified into hiding."

"Fuck off," I grumbled. "Just because you've had no difficulty mastering flames, doesn't mean we can all be so gifted."

Scion shrugged and gave me a rare grin, which lit up his entire face, and set his silver eyes dancing.

Indeed, he'd taken all of one afternoon to learn to swap easily between his own inherent magic talent of shadows and illusions, and the power he'd borrowed from me by way of our mating bond. Now, Scion could make flames in one hand and shadowy ropes in the other, all while barely breaking a sweat. Meanwhile, I was just happy to have stopped lighting buildings on fire by mistake.

It was infuriating.

"Don't be jealous, Rebel," he said with a slightly arrogant smirk. "I've been practicing magic since birth. It's a skill like any other, you'll get used to it. And honestly, I do think that last attempt was better."

"That's not saying much," I grumbled.

"On the contrary," another voice chimed in. "What you've accomplished in these last weeks has been nothing short of remarkable."

I glanced over my shoulder and offered a weak smile. "Thank you, Idris."

Scion scowled, and he didn't have to say anything for me to know precisely what he was thinking. This motherfucker gets thanks and I get complaining? How is that fair?

That thought cheered me slightly. "Don't be jealous, my lord," I teased. "Manners are like any skill, you'll get used to them eventually."

My mate scowled, but beside him Idris grinned.

Idris—whom we'd rescued from the prison in Underneath a few months ago—was completely unrecognizable from when we'd first met him. Then, his hair and beard were so long they brushed the floor. He'd been dressed in rags, and while it was clear he wasn't exactly starving under all that filth, he'd dragged around an aura of illness and depression.

Now, that prisoner was gone, replaced by an average looking Fae male. If I passed him in the ballroom at the Obsidian palace, or on the street in Inbetwixt, I wouldn't look twice.

Idris was tall and muscular, with a square face and chin-length black hair. To a human, he would probably appear young—thirty at most. For the fae, however, the slightly ashen tone to his dark hair and depth of his eyes would imply he was middle aged.

That implication would be incorrect.

Though he didn't look it, Idris was likely the oldest faerie alive. He claimed he'd been imprisoned beneath the castle of Underneath for seven thousand years, which seemed unbelievable but was, nevertheless, possible.

Like all magical beings, Fae were immortal. That term, however, was not entirely correct. To be truly immortal meant that you could not be killed by any means. Nearly all creatures could be killed, provided you knew how to do it properly. The average age of the Fae population was somewhere in the realm of 300. I'd met beings as old as ten centuries, but very few older than that. Most Fae who lived to such an age chose to pass on at some point, returning to the Source when they felt their life was complete. Perhaps Idris had never felt that urge, given that his life was put on hold the moment he'd been imprisoned.

Regardless of what we knew–or didn't know–about the former prisoner, Idris had thus far been a helpful and pleasant guest. Ambrose seemed to trust that he wasn't a danger to us, and that was enough for me. At the very least, he'd been allowed to roam free since we'd arrived in the capital–a privilege that couldn't be taken for granted when it hadn't been extended to all those who returned from Underneath with us.

I glowered, that thought instantly darkening my mood.

Seeming to sense my unease, Scion stood up and strolled over to me. He said nothing, but leaned his cheek against the top of my head for a moment in a silent gesture of affection.

On rare occasions—usually when he thought we were about to die—my prince would share outrageous declarations of love. But on a daily basis, Scion was as incapable of speaking his feelings aloud as he was of lying to my face. Despite my teasing, I wasn't all that bothered by it. I didn't enjoy discussing my feelings either, and anyway, Bael was poetic enough to last all of us an immortal lifetime.

As if reading my thoughts, Scion pulled back suddenly. "Where's Bael?"

I shrugged. "Sleeping, I believe."

Scion frowned. "Again?"

"Not so much again, as ‘still.' He changed back into himself early this morning, but still seemed too tired to leave his room."

"That's…unusual." Scion frowned, which sent a spark of anxiety skittering through me.

Since our return from Underneath, I couldn't help but notice that Bael seemed more tired than I had ever seen him before. At first, I'd thought it was fatigue from the battle with his father, but now I wasn't so sure.

"Why?" I asked quickly. "Do you think he's ill?"

"Probably not..." Scion wouldn't meet my eyes. "It's not as if he could contract a common plague."

I narrowed my eyes, my anxiety rising. The fae could not lie, and therefore found many creative ways to spin the truth to avoid being forthright. I'd been around the Everlasts–and Scion especially–long enough to know that "probably" and "perhaps" were as good as an omission of wrongdoing.

"I wouldn't concern yourself, Lonnie," Idris said casually.

Scion and I both turned to look at the other fae male, who stood several paces back from us, with his hands in his pockets. Scion frowned. "Why?"

Idris raised a brow. "Your cousin just gained a powerful amount of new magic. That's taxing on the body, but he'll recover eventually."

Scion looked mollified, nodding as if that made sense, but I was still confused.

"What new magic?" I asked, feeling uncomfortable at being out of the loop.

A momentary expression of annoyance flickered across Scion's too-handsome face, as if he was trying to suppress an eye roll. If this conversation had taken place three months ago, he would have definitely ridiculed my lack of comprehension. But now, it seemed like Scion was making an effort to be more patient and understanding for my sake.

"Bael's never been able to transform at will before," Scion said.

"What changed?"

Scion shrugged. "I'm not sure. I would say it was due to the mating. Mating always results in increased power for both partners. But since you haven't completed your bond, I can't say for sure if that's the reason."

"Maybe it's because he's now the king of Underneath," Idris theorized.

"Maybe," Scion agreed. "Whatever the case, Bael's power has increased, possibly beyond mine."

"Does that bother you?"

He let out a bark of harsh laughter. "No."

Even as I heard the honesty in his answer, I glanced at him, searching for any hint of jealousy or resentment on his face. There was none. "I would have thought you'd envy anyone with stronger magic."

"No, not at all. I—" Scion broke off abruptly, leaving his sentence hanging in mid-air. He let go of me, and turned sharply to look over his shoulder. "By the fucking source!"

I turned and followed Scion's gaze, already knowing whom I was likely to see. Sure enough, my gaze immediately landed on Ambrose striding toward us.

"Why doesn't he stay in his half of the castle?"

"Which half is that?" I asked blandly.

"Whichever half I am not in," Scion growled.

"He can hear you, you know."

"I hope so," Scion raised his voice to a near yell. "Then maybe the prick would turn around and leave us the fuck alone."

I watched as Ambrose laughed and shook his head, not changing course as he carved a wide path toward us across the lawn. His expression was amused, but otherwise he looked every inch the fierce rebel leader, with his bright white hair falling wildly around his shoulders and his shirt open at the neck to display a hint of his tattoos.

Pointedly ignoring Scion, Ambrose nodded a greeting to Idris, then stopped in front of me and grinned. "Hello, Love. How is practice."

"Er, good…fine…I mean. It's great." I flushed, even as my throat began to burn. He'd flustered me enough to lie by mistake, and I looked down hiding both my face and my watering eyes.

I felt Scion's sharp gaze on me, probably wondering what the hell was wrong with me. It was a good question, really.

Last night had been far less awkward, but perhaps that was because it had been the middle of the night. No one had been around to witness my awkwardness.

Indeed, there was really no need for me to feel so uneasy around Ambrose. On the ship, we were relaxed around each other, almost like friends. But now, I couldn't help but feel on edge.

Perhaps it was because I knew how my mates felt about him, and their mistrust was rubbing off on me. Or perhaps it was due to that night we'd spent together in Underneath. Just because we hadn't slept together, didn't make what I'd done any less embarrassing to think about. Then, there was the strange moment between us last night. It had been so fleeting, I was half sure I'd imagined it.

Or, at least I was, until I glanced up and accidentally met Ambrose's dark eyes. Instantly, I felt scrutinized. Watched. Like I was standing naked on the lawn.

I flushed, and pushed all thoughts of that night out of my mind before everyone could sense my reaction. Fortunately, Scion was clearly too incensed by his brother's presence to examine my strange behavior.

"What do you want?" Scion barked.

Ambrose finally condescended to look at Scion, his posture relaxed and his expression neutral. They were exactly the same height, but somehow Ambrose managed to look down his nose in the way that only an older sibling could. "Calm down, brother. You'll give yourself an aneurysm."

Scion spluttered furiously, but didn't manage to reply before a massive raven swooped low over our heads, drawing everyone's attention. The bird let out a loud caw, and landed on Scion's shoulder, its feathers rustling against my hair as it settled comfortably on its new perch.

"Hello, Quill." I smiled and extended my hand, gently running my fingers along the soft feathers of the bird's neck. Quill chittered in response, as if bidding me good afternoon.

Ambrose made a noise of disgust, and his carefully neutral expression cracked. He glared angrily from Quill to Scion. "Can't you make that thing stay inside?"

Scion sneered. "Are you telling me the mighty Dullahan is afraid of a bird?"

"That's not a bird," Ambrose grumbled. "It's an omen of disaster."

I scratched Quill beneath the beak, and he cocked his head at me, cooing innocently. "I really don't understand why you're all so afraid of a harmless pet."

"Exactly," Scion replied triumphantly, sneering at an affronted Ambrose. "But if you're so bothered, feel free to walk away. I guarantee, we'll take no offense."

Ambrose scowled, first at the raven and then at his brother. Scion scowled back, and I had to bite back a laugh. Their expressions were identical, down to the last dimple.

Aside from their coloring which was entirely opposite, I would have readily believed that Scion and Ambrose were twins. In actuality, Ambrose was nearly two centuries older.

For over a hundred years, Ambrose had been the crown prince of the Everlast dynasty, until he abandoned the family to join the rebellion against the monarchy. With his brother gone, Scion had become the heir-apparent, and the two of them had been on opposing sides of a brewing civil war since before I was even born.

For that reason, among many, Scion hated his brother with an unholy passion. I had loathed him as well, until Ambrose took me captive and we were forced to spend two weeks getting acquainted.

Ambrose possessed the incredible gift of foresight. He was the most powerful seer born in generations, and therefore he'd been burdened since childhood with the knowledge of his family's eventual downfall. It haunted him, until finally, he made the conscious decision to stop passively observing, and instead actively work towards shaping a better future for his family and the entire nation.

Unfortunately, that had meant sacrificing his title, his reputation, and his relationship with his brother. Ambrose had explained all this to me, because I was the only person—aside from himself—whose future he couldn't directly see or influence. Now, I was perhaps the only person on the continent who didn't think he was a monster.

"Was there something you wanted?" I asked Ambrose, hoping to defuse the tension between the brothers.

Ambrose shook his head as if to clear it, and refocused on me. His jet black eyes bore into mine. "I came to tell you that your mother is ready."

I faltered for a moment, startled by his complete attention. "You're not serious."

Ambrose grimaced. "I am. As I expected, hunger was a powerful motivator."

I wrinkled my nose in distaste. "Yes," I muttered grimly. "I know all too well that starving in a cell has a way of making one reevaluate their priorities."

Beside me, Scion stiffened uncomfortably, running one large hand through his hair. Behind us, Idris cleared his throat.

I turned to look at him, having forgotten for a moment that he was here. I gave him an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. I'm sure you don't want to hear us discussing dungeons."

He shook his head. "Don't worry over it. In my time, we used far harsher methods of persuasion. Your dungeons are very tame compared with what I'd do."

I frowned, a shiver running through me. Part of me wanted to ask what he would do if it were up to him, but a larger part didn't want to know. I supposed it didn't matter. I was technically in charge here, and imprisoning my mother in the very dungeon where I'd nearly died was about the worst thing I could possibly think of.

"Do you want me to go with you to speak with her, Rebel?" Scion asked.

"If anyone should go with her, it's me," Ambrose said pointedly. "I actually know Rhiannon."

"And look how well that's turned out," Scion said acidly. "Did you also order her to kill my mate?"

"Alright, stop," I interrupted before Ambrose could respond. "I'm going alone."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, love." Ambrose furrowed his brow in concern. "Your mother is clearly harboring some resentment toward you."

I snorted a humorless laugh. "Resentment" was an understatement.

"Having either of you there will only make things worse," I said. "Anyway, it's not as if she can hurt me in her present condition. I'm just going to ask her some questions."

Neither Scion nor Ambrose looked happy, but they didn't argue. We all knew that my mother might hate me enough to kill me, but she hated the fae more. She'd been perfectly willing to die in Underneath rather than be stuck on a ship with dozens of fae, and had spent the last three days starving rather than answering a few questions. Unless we wanted her to starve herself to death before providing any answers, I'd have to speak to her alone.

"Take Quill with you," Scion said abruptly.

As if he understood his master's words, the raven jumped into the air and made a circle around our small group before coming to rest on my shoulder.

"Oooph," I grunted, when the bird's weight landed on me. "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"For once, I agree," Ambrose said begrudgingly. "You should take the bird with you."

"Wasn't it you who was just complaining that he's here at all?"

Ambrose shrugged. "Perhaps the mere presence of such evil will make your mother think twice if she planned to hurt you again."

I couldn't quite tell if Ambrose was joking, but I supposed it wasn't that much of a hardship to take Quill with me. I rolled my eyes and shifted so the raven's weight was more evenly dispersed on my shoulder. "I find it ironic that the only time you two can agree is to gang up on me. Maybe you should set your own example. Isn't there something you can do other than arguing?"

The brothers glanced at each other, then back at me, seeming wary.

"I've been looking through Grandmother's study," Ambrose said slowly.

"Fine. Then do that together." I replied almost too quickly, jumping on the chance like a starving man on a crust of bread.

"Why?" Scion practically growled.

I shrugged, unable to think of a good enough reason why they should have to spend time together. In truth, I wasn't even sure why I cared so much that they put aside their animosity once and for all, but I did. At the very least, it would make my life easier if my mate and my–I shook my head– his brother got along.

"I'll bring Quill with me as long as you two promise to try and get along while I'm gone," I promised.

Ambrose seemed unbothered. "Fine."

"And agree not to kill each other," I added.

Pointedly, no one said anything.