24. Veyka

"They are going to fall over at the sight of you," Cyara said, her turquoise eyes glinting with blatant satisfaction as she stepped back to observe her handiwork.

I tilted my head to the side so the jewels falling from my ears caught the firelight of the braziers anchored on either side of the mirror. "When I packed the essentials for a journey to Avalon, I did not think I would need jewelry and gems."

Cyara rewarded me with a small smile. "Then it is fortunate you thought that you needed me," she said. "And I knew that you would need jewels."

I shook my head, still managing my disbelief at the sheer quantity of finery that Cyara had produced from the recesses of her travel pack. Strands of black diamond and amethyst to be woven into my now nonexistent plait. Earrings so heavy with sapphires they brushed my shoulders. Golden bangles studded with amorite. I would be digging those out and distributing them to the males in Eilean Gayl. The only protection I could give, other than my warning, against the coming darkness of the succubus.

I focused my attention back on the towering mirror leaning against the gray stone wall. Tonight, I would be fighting a different sort of battle.

While Lyrena had searched our quarters—two adjoining suites with a shared washroom and sitting room between them—for secret entrances or peepholes, Cyara had heated a bath and polished the golden brassiere I'd worn off and on since our departure from Baylaur. She'd scrubbed away all the grime, getting it to shine just as brightly as it had in the throne room of the elemental court.

But the true wizardry was her rendering of the gown.

A servant had delivered the news that I'd expected from my brief glimpse of the occupants of Eilean Gayl. Not a single one of the terrestrial females of standing here possessed a gown that would fit me. They were all willowy or thin to the last. And while Cyara might be able to stash jewels in her travel pack, she could not produce a gown.

I'd almost said fuck it all and gone down in my soiled traveling clothes. I was the High Queen of Annwyn. They'd all strip naked if I told them to.

But clever Cyara had managed something so much better.

She'd used her petite knife to cut open the seams of the flowing black shirt I'd worn while we traveled, held in place with my golden brassiere. But instead of sewing it into another garment, she'd looped it behind my neck, then brought it straight down on either side, in front of my breasts. The golden brassiere fitted atop it, holding the panels in place and leaving my back bare. Even the dusky rose of my nipples was visible through the translucent black fabric, if one looked close enough.

For the skirt, she'd lobotomized a forest green gown, delivered to us as the largest they had. What did it matter if the skirt was too small? My body was too perfect to hide. The skirt she'd contrived was a mockery of the thick ones I'd seen on the welcoming delegation, with slits cut nearly to my waist, my powerful legs on display with each sway and step.

It was nothing short of marvelous.

I stopped admiring myself in the mirror long enough to notice that Cyara had sat down, still wearing nothing but a loose nightgown.

"You still have to change."

Cyara's wings shot inward, the tips nearly colliding with one another. "I beg your pardon?"

"Lyrena must stay to guard those two." I jerked my head to Percival and Diana, their rope bindings exchanged for thick metal ones. Maybe I ought to have felt bad for shackling them to the wall like animals. But I was not going to give Percival another opportunity to stab one of mine in the back.

I swung my gaze back to Cyara, pinning her with the same force she liked to use on me. "I am the brawn." I patted the daggers at my waist. "You are the brains. I want you to watch, listen, and analyze. What you do best." I smiled, and it was only half faked.

I felt more like myself than I had in weeks. Without the thick boots and leather and weight of travel, with my skin on display and jewels in my ears… with my power buzzing through me, waiting for my call.

All of it was a distraction from the empty, ever-present ache in my chest. I wanted to collapse into the luxurious, silk-lined bed and cry for a week. I wanted to poke into each and every one of the rooms in Eilean Gayl, to search for something that might speak of Arran. Something that might connect me to my mate.

But what I wanted did not matter.

The safety of Annwyn did.

I would fall apart later.

That ice would shatter. I could feel it already, deep within my soul.

But I would make use of every minute between now and then. If I still prayed, I would have asked the Ancestors for it to be enough… that when my mate woke, he would find a world of light, rather than darkness. That I would be enough to save it.