Chapter 26

O ver the next hour, we progress through three more wards and are attacked at each one by a new and different threat. Behind one ward, a pair of fae casting shields advances in front of another pair launching fireballs in searing arcs over their heads; Caleb and his pack again make themselves invaluable in eliminating the threat. Shifters are highly resistant to glamours of all kinds, so the fireballs essentially bounce off them leaving barely a smoldering patch on their fur, and the shields—rectangles of solidified prana—they shred through with ease.

The next ward claims the lives of one of my shifters and three vampires: the door beyond the ward is booby-trapped with a nasty little glamour that activated when the shifter and vampires charged through, decapitating all four at once.

We're more careful at the next ward, but there's no booby-trap there, just eight fae armed with hastaxi and shocksticks and willingness to sell their lives dearly—claiming four more of my fae and two vampires—the costliest skirmish yet.

The last doorway is unwarded—double doors twenty feet high, cast from solid steel, engraved with the Tribunal insignia.

Unwarded, yes—but not un-glamoured. The moment I touch the doors to push them open, a tremendous, vicious electric shock blasts me backward to the previous chamber. Not a booby-trap, but a security measure—the doors are glamoured to only allow Tribunal members through.

It's a simple enough glamour, but it still takes me nearly thirty minutes to pick it apart, find its weakness, and deactivate it.

Alistair catches my arm before I can push the doors open. "There's no way of knowing what lays beyond the door, Maeve," he murmurs in my ear. "Perhaps ask for a volunteer?"

I frown at him. "Cannon fodder, you mean? Ask for a volunteer to enter the Tribunal council chamber, knowing it very well could mean certain death? I think not." My voice rises. "I will not ask of them what I am not willing to do myself."

Hesperion steps forward, chin high, eyes glowing white. "I volunteer, mistress. You ‘ent asked, but I volunteer. Send me through."

I smile at him, touch the side of his arm. "No, Hesperion. I need you." I shake my head. "I only sense one person beyond the doors, and I know who it is. None but I can offer Zirae even a hint of a challenge." I swallow hard. Turn to the doors. "And I freely admit my fear."

Caspian and Caleb—now back in nude human form—come up beside me. "You do not face him alone," Caleb says. "We are your mates."

"And we are your coven," Fin says, Stirling and Alistair beside him.

"And your pack," Saige says, with the rest of the pack in wolf form. Only Sierra stands apart, eyes narrowed on me.

"I don't even know how to fight him," I whisper. "I can't watch you all die."

Caspian growls. "Nor can we stand idly by and watch you die. Together, Little Sparrow."

I turn to Hesperion, the oldest fae on my side. "Advice, Hesperion?"

He grimaces, glancing away thoughtfully. "An elder fae as ancient and powerful as Zirae is a unique and dangerous foe, mistress. Attack swiftly and without mercy. Do not assume him dead until his head is removed from his neck. Watch for feints. Remember that he is not above dark, forbidden magic, as we saw with the wraiths. If you can keep him occupied, your Alpha Prime stands a good chance at gettin' close enough to decapitate him, but in all honesty, none of the rest of your pack or coven stands a chance, and to try is suicide, plain and simple."

I huff a harsh sigh, nodding. "Thank you, Hesperion." I turn to Caspian and my coven. "Do not throw your lives away for no gain. Please, hear me. I love you all too much to ask you to join a fight that will only mean your death."

Caspian snarls. "I just got you back, Mae." His voice is a quiet murmur. "I won't lose you again. I'll die first."

I cup the back of his head and touch my forehead to his. "I have no intention of dying this day, my love."

"You never really explained when you started talking like Alistair when he's drunk," Caspian says.

I sniff a laugh. "It's complicated. The short version is that I bear within me slivers of my mother's spirit—many of them."

Hesperion grunts in shock. "A demense?"

I nod. "Not one—many. Thousands, over my entire life. According to my grandfather, at least. And it fits with why I can cast advanced glamours I've never learned. Why I've started speaking more formally or archaically or whatever, I'm less sure of, but I believe it to be connected to my mother's spirit within me."

" Thousands ?" Hesperion shakes his head. "I ‘ent callin' you a liar, mistress, but such a thing…?"

"I understand your disbelief, my friend. The only explanation I can provide is that my mother was a unique talent in glamourworking, and her desperation to protect me was motivation to do the impossible. She knew what I would represent to the immortal world, and I think it was her way of giving me the best chance to succeed."

He just shakes his head again. "If I had not watched you do many impossible things with my own eyes, I'd not believe you, mistress."

I grin. "I was raised mortal, Hesperion. I do not know what is impossible, so all things become possible."

I square my shoulders. Lift my chin. Reach out blindly and find Caspian's hand. Squeeze hard. Fin's hand finds my shoulder, Stirling's my waist, Alistair's my back. And then I feel the pack surround us, more hands touching.

"Take our prana," Caspian says. "Fill yourself from us."

I clench my eyes shut and find Caspian's lips with mine, taste his tongue and his love, and sip his prana. He growls into my mouth and whispers his love into my mind. Stirling claims a kiss, next, pulling away to gaze into my eyes, communicating all there is to say without words. Fin's kiss is lascivious, heated, and inappropriate, his hand cupping my ass and his fang nicking my lip, his tongue sending venom into me, making my sex tighten and pulse.

"Fin, you horny bastard," I whisper, cupping him over his pants. "I know. I need you too."

"So you better fuck this bastard up and make it quick, baby." He kisses me again.

Alistair's turn. He cups my face in his hands and gazes into my eyes. "I believe in you, Maeve. You can do this. Trust your instincts."

I hold his gaze, grip his wrists. "Will you kiss me?"

He touches his lips to mine, traces my lips with his tongue, and his breath shudders.

I open my eyes as he pulls away. "Tease."

"Maeve, I—"

I touch his lips to shush him. 'I know, Alistair. I understand." I rub my thumb over his lips. "We'll take it slow. After all, we have all the time in the world."

As I kiss each of my men, I pull prana from them, until my ocean is a roiling, turbulent sea smashing against my ribcage and surging in my throat and pulsing in my fingers—my bond-mark tattoos blaze white, as does my hair and my eyes. I feel the bond-mark on my back pulsing with power as Caleb grips my hand with crushing power, pushing his prana into me.

"Drink from me," he growls.

I breathe out, nodding, and turn into him, rest my forehead on his hard hot bare chest, feel his heart beating slowly and steadily, breathe in his scent. His blood sings in his veins, calling to me, and my mouth waters, saliva flooding my mouth, my fangs lengthening to prick my lips.

He fists my hair and guides me to his throat, tilting his head back and to the side. I hesitate at such intimacy in such a public setting.

"Drink," he rumbles again.

I lick his skin and taste salt and flesh and Caleb—his hand tightens in my hair, tugging it until my scalp tingles, and his other hand claws into the meat of my ass and presses me against him, and I pierce his flesh and moan as his sweet wild blood bursts upon my tongue.

I drink, moaning as I feel him respond, hardening against my belly. Caspian nuzzles the side of my throat, a low pleased growl rattling his chest as his hands skate over my hips and thighs, and—

I pull away with a frustrated snarl, closing Caleb's throat with my tongue and pacing away, raking my hand through my hair.

"Not the time or place to get carried away," I whisper, shaking all over, thighs clenched, sex trembling and wet, need blasting through me.

I need my mates. I need my coven. I need touch. I need closeness and connection.

"Then you'd better end this fucker," Caleb growls. He fists my hair again and tugs my face back so I have to look at him. " No mercy. No quarter. Not for him."

I meet his eyes in silence. Nod, once. Pull away. "Wait for an opening and then take his fucking head off his shoulders."

"With pleasure, my queen," he murmurs, his voice a dark rumble.

I gather my prana, send it surging through my body until I fairly crackle with nascent power, my hair glowing blinding white and floating around my shoulders in an unfelt wind.

I shove open the doors and enter the Tribunal council chamber.