14. Veyka

We were a mile past the last sign of tracks before Lyrena caught the scent on the wind. The same one I'd stumbled across while hunting for Gorlois' soldiers. Percival was clever, indeed, dragging his feet through the thick mud, only to change direction and head west instead. Had it been anyone else, I might have applauded the attention to detail in a moment of crisis. He and his sister had run while the battle at the lakeside still raged.

But he was arrogant as well as clever. And after more than a fortnight of relative safety, he'd let his guard down and hadn't bothered to be clever anymore. Which was how we walked right into his camp.

It was so simple it did not even require a plan. Lyrena, Cyara, and I exchanged glances, pulled our weapons, and encircled the meager camp.

I left Percival's long-lost sister, Diana, to my companions. She wasn't a warrior. Cyara could likely have subdued her on her own. But Percival was mine.

He managed to get a dagger out and up. The same blasted dagger I'd pressed into his hand in thanks for saving my life when we battled the succubus. The one he had slid into Lyrena's back the instant it benefited him.

Diana was whimpering in the background. Not much fight in her.

Percival's dark eyes darted around the campsite, trying to take stock, to weigh his options. He had none. His deep ochre skin paled at the realization. I smiled.

"You really thought it would be that easy, did you?" I crooned, pausing a few yards away. Propping a hand on my hip, chuckling mirthlessly. "No matter who triumphed in that battle, you were always going to be hunted down like the vermin you are."

Percival's chin notched upward. "Lord Gorlois promised—"

"Gorlois is dead. If you were stupid enough to trust him, then you deserve the consequences." I took a casual step in his direction, then another.

I made a show of examining my knife, the twin to the one he held. Percival gripped his hard enough that the red-brown of his knuckles nearly glowed. Mine—casual, loose. Deadly.

There was a slight crunch behind me. Diana hadn't stop whimpering from the moment we had entered the clearing, so I doubted the intentional, quiet sound came from her. Lyrena or Cyara, then. Trying to remind me of something?

I summoned a slow, malicious smile as I turned to look at Percival's sister. Her lilac robes, a variation of what the other priestesses on Avalon wore, were filthy. The hem was caught on the log she'd been sitting on when Lyrena dragged her backward. It would not be the first rip in the ragged garment. Her brown cloak—which I recognized from Percival's shoulders in the weeks before we arrived at Avalon—was in only slightly better condition.

But none of it was as impactful as the tears rolling down her cheeks or the way her soft chin trembled against Lyrena's small knife. My golden knight had not even bothered to draw her mighty sword.

I rolled my eyes, rolled my shoulders, and looked back to Percival. "She doesn't seem worth the effort."

His eyes burned with anger. He wanted to stab that knife into my gut, to twist it again and again. The feeling was entirely mutual.

But I could not allow myself to be governed by rage. Not anymore.

So, each move was carefully calculated.

Springing toward Percival. Knocking my knife out of his hand and catching it with my empty one. Burying my knee between his legs and then smashing it into his face as he doubled over. It took hardly any effort to push him down to his knees; especially with a knife pressed to his throat.

Diana cried out behind us. I ignored it, pressing my blade tighter against Percival's jugular as his head snapped up, trying to see past me to his sister.

"If you behave, we have no reason to hurt her," I said reasonably. Really, I was being very reasonable. I had not executed them on sight, which was my due for the part he'd played in Gorlois' plot. For what it had meant for Arran.

"Do whatever you want to me. But leave her alone," he ground out.

Yes, Percival would do anything for his sister. Even betraying those who had helped him.

"Lucky for you, I have decided to be merciful," I said, not bothering to loosen my stance or the tension of my blade at his throat.

"Merciful?" Cyara echoed behind me. I swung my gaze around, just to let myself savor the disbelief on her face. It was so rare that I managed to surprise my crafty friend.

Anger contorted her lovely face, filling her turquoise eyes. For a moment, I thought we might meet the harpy once again. Messy, but it would scare Diana and Percival shitless. However, she managed to master herself. Her eyes flared, wings twitched, but no talons appeared.

"This isn't mercy," Percival spat, earning back my attention.

I rolled my eyes. "Would you rather I killed you?"

His entire face screwed up, trying to hold his mouth closed. Pain arched his body—magic. Different than the terrestrial or elemental or even the void power inside of me. This was ancient, part of his very essence. As old as our world itself.

"No." He scowled at the word, passing involuntarily from his lips.

I laughed aloud. Not at his will to live. But at how beautifully it worked. A witch at your mercy must answer three questions. Percival wanted to live. That was certainly something I could use against him.

He realized it as well, glaring at me with an impressive amount of bravado. "You would have done it already," he added of his own free will.

I shrugged. "Fine. I will kill her, then."

Lyrena was ready. She pulled her sword in one long, graceful motion, without disturbing the knife she pressed to Diana's throat.

True terror flashed in Percival's eyes. Tears bubbled out of Diana's.

I knew it was cruel. I had spent twenty years being tortured by the same monster who had held Diana hostage.

But my heart was encased in ice. I had a kingdom to protect.

I pinned my attention back to Percival. His eyes remained on his sister. Good—he ought to remember the stakes.

"How do the communication crystals work?" I asked.

His dark eyes flared—not the question he'd expected. I had plenty of others. But I'd enjoy torturing them out of him later.

For once, though, his response was not pained. He was compelled to give it, but he did not fight the command in his blood.

"They work on intention. You must know who you wish to speak to, and they must be open to receiving your messages. Otherwise, you are just talking to a rock."

I compared that against what I'd seen so far, checking the veracity of it. The priestesses in Avalon wore them. That made sense, since to become an acolyte or priestess involved taking vows. Surely that would cover the intention necessary to make the crystals function.

It also fit with Percival stealing the crystal during the festival at the Crossing. He knew Diana had one, and hoped she would be willing to receive his message even while in Gorlois' clutches. Or Percival had used it to communicate with Gorlois himself.

My stomach tightened, my muscles as well. I fought to keep my breath steady, my heartbeat even. Even as a half-witch, Percival could not perceive those changes. But I hid them nonetheless. Let no one see my struggle, my weakness. Even my friends.

I was the High Queen of Annwyn. I could handle it.

For all that Percival had given the answer about the communication crystals freely, there was plenty he'd left out. He'd answered the bare minimum; given no details about how the mechanics of sending and receiving messages actually worked. Another question, for another time, then.

I tucked the knife that was not pressed to Percival's throat into the crevice between my breasts. With my now free hand, I casually slid my palm along the side of Percival's face. Down, until I cupped his chin firmly. My other knife still pressed to his throat. One jerk of my hand, my fae strength combined with the muscles I'd built from years of training, and I would snap his neck.

As a human, there would be no healing.

I leaned in, whispering the question into his ear like a lover. "Will you betray us again?"

Percival swallowed, his throat bobbing against my hand, the stubble of his unshaved chin rough against my callouses. But he did not appear to resist the answer he gave— "No."

I released him. Sheathed my knife. Lifted my eyebrows at Lyrena, who had not shifted a fraction from where she held Diana.

"He is telling the truth now. But he could change his mind in the future," Lyrena argued.

"Then we'll make a habit of tying him to a tree and torturing him for answers," I said. I checked him for weapons as we spoke, but found none other than the knife I'd already taken back.

Lyrena was right, of course.

He spoke the truth of his intentions now, but those intentions could change. Cyara was watching me, her protest silent. I could not see the struggle on her face; she was too skilled of an elemental to allow that. But I knew the twitch of her wings. She was considering all the angles. Understood my decision, but did not like it.

"Arran will remain in Avalon indefinitely. Isolde is with him." The words hurt, threatened to shatter me. But I pushed past them. Cold, ice, unbreakable. "The priestess who made the Void and Ethereal Prophecies may be dead now, but she dwelt on the blasted island for seven thousand years before that. At some point, these two did as well." I jerked my head between the pair.

"Until I am confident I've leeched every bit of useful information from their brains, they live." I smiled at Percival, in case he'd entertained any doubts about what happened next. "They are coming with us."