45. Veyka

Arran shifted into his beast form and sprinted off without another word to me. Maybe I should have gone after him, but the message he sent was clear. He did not want me.

I sank into the void, letting it wrap around me and offer the comfort that my mate no longer could. I landed in my bedroom far too soon. A moment. That was all it took to move through the void. What would it feel like to linger there? There were other planes of existence, other realms beyond the human, succubus, and Annwyn. What if I went to one of those? Would the pain of my shattered heart still exist?

But my feet landed on the thick scarlet and gold carpet that failed to warm the stone chamber. I missed the warmth of the goldstone walls of Baylaur. Once, they'd been my cage. Now, I wanted to curl up against them like a cat.

The bed called to me. It, at least, was warm. Each night, Cyara heated bricks with her fire, layering the stones beneath the foot of the mattress. The thick velvet draperies and heavy quilts sealed in the heat. When I caught Cyara rubbing at her wrists, I'd ordered her to stop, insisting I would be warm enough. But the next night, the bricks were in place as usual.

When my feet moved, it was not toward the comforting softness of the bed. That was the escape I'd taken once. I missed it. My world had been simpler when my only concern was revenge.

The door to the chamber opened, Lyrena sweeping in with a laugh on her lips.

My world had been emptier then, too.

"Welcome back," my golden knight said flippantly, flashing a smile that showed her gold-capped tooth. "Did you and Arran have that duel?" Her razor-sharp grin was edged with double-sided innuendo.

My heart gripped, but I forced myself to smile through it.

The corners of Lyrena's mouth softened in response. It must have come out as a grimace.

"Where is Cyara?" I asked.

Lyrena nodded over my shoulder, to the door that connected my room to the shared sitting room.

I met her nod with a sharper one of my own. "We don't have a round table, but we'll make do with what we have. You get the food."

The spread was impressive given the short notice. Lyrena must have charmed the terrestrials working in the kitchens. Not a surprise, really. It was impossible not to be charmed by that easy laugh and golden smile. It was part of what made her so formidable as a guard. She looked like she'd rather laugh than fight. And maybe that was even the truth. But she was deadly with the massive sword that hung at her waist, and anyone who underestimated her did not deserve my pity.

Right now, she was using her gilded golden teeth to rip into a yeast bun that looked like it was more air than dough. I held out the crock of honeyed butter to her before reaching for a roll of my own.

Cyara fluttered around us, pouring wine and fixing plates for Diana and Percival. I did not comment on the kindness as I dolloped a crushed tomato spread onto my roll, topping it with a thick slice of ham and an even thicker cut of cheese before taking a bite. I did not even try to restrain the audible groan of appreciation that spilled from my lips.

Lyrena shot the layered bun in my hand an appraising look, then reached for the tomato spread herself.

Cyara paused before each dish, glancing sideways. She was being very subtle, but I was much too attuned to food to miss the action. On the other end of that glance, Diana's chin rose and fell, or twitched side to side, equally subtly. The potatoes mashed with cream and so much garlic it brought tears to my eyes? No. The slices of sweet red apple and soft, blue-veined cheese? Yes.

When those two plates were filled and delivered to the prisoners, only then did Cyara return to the small rectangular table and serve herself. I dabbed at my mouth with a napkin, took a long drink of my wine, and then crossed my arms. "Something you care to share, Cyara?"

She did not look up from buttering a roll of her own. "You called this meeting of the… Round Table, Majesty."

I rolled my eyes.

"I have sent word to Baylaur and Wolf Bay, warning them of the threat of the succubus. Gwen will take the proper precautions, I have no doubt. As for those in Cayltay…"

Lyrena paused mid-bite. "You are the High Queen. They should listen to you without question."

I laughed at that, wishing it were true. "If the directive came from Arran, maybe they would. But Cayltay is a long way from Baylaur. My own court barely knew my face until a few months ago. I may technically rule the terrestrial kingdom, but without enforcement—"

"—they can do whatever they want," Cyara finished. I almost missed the days when she kept her quiet observations to herself. "It is why there is usually a royal progress shortly after the Joining," she added.

"I don't have time for a progress, and I doubt Arran would willingly accompany me on one anyway." I let that hang in the air for a few beats. Lyrena suddenly found her cutlery very interesting.

Cyara's turquoise eyes held mine.

"Have you been speaking with Lady Elayne?" I asked, fingers tightening around my now empty wine glass.

"No. But it does not surprise me that she's mentioned it." I lifted my eyebrows for the rest of the explanation. Cyara pursed her lips, as if it should be obvious. "She's been at the center of Annwyn's politics for most of her life, against her will. She'd be wise to anticipate events such as the progress and their implications."

First as the foretold mother of a child of unforeseen power, then as the mother of the Brutal Prince who eventually became king. Cyara's point was clear—Elayne was a formidable ally. I had accepted her comfort and her advice, but I hadn't thought to use her on the offensive. Arran would hate the idea—and probably me—for even proposing it.

I'd think more about that later.

"One thing at a time. We must give enough time for our missives to be delivered to Baylaur, and for Gwen to send a response." The idea of sitting around and waiting made my legs twitch beneath the table. But Annwyn was a vast kingdom. Even with airborne terrestrials bearing my missives, it would take weeks to hear back. Though there was another way.

"You could go to Baylaur faster," Cyara said, stealing the thoughts from my head. If I had not known better, I might have thought she was part of the Ethereal Prophecy with the way she always seemed to know what I was thinking.

I opened my mouth to respond, to excuse, but—

"She would be unguarded," Lyrena cut in sharply. There was no food in her hand now, and her bright eyes were fixed on Cyara with a look of absolute reproach.

My handmaiden's white wings shifted softly. "Go with her."

I did not know what that would mean for my power. How many jumps through the void would it take, and how would carrying Lyrena with me affect my power? What would the cost be? I had not yet seen an impact from my magic, nothing like the near comatose sleep that had taken Lyrena after she'd staunched the flames of the burning human village. But such a huge expenditure of power, surely there would be something.

Would I wake to find my memories gone, like Arran?

I remembered to set down the wineglass before it shattered in my hand.

Once, I would have welcomed the loss of every gruesome memory. It would have seemed a brilliant reprieve. But now, losing my memories meant losing them. My friends. Even if Cyara and Lyrena were currently yowling at each other like skoupuma kittens.

"And leave the King behind? I am also his Goldstone guard." Lyrena's usual grin was nowhere in evidence on her face. Was I imagining it, or was the tip of her golden tooth slightly pointed?

Cyara shrugged with contrived irreverence. "You haven't been doing much guarding down in the kitchens."

Lyrena had a reputation for carousing in the kitchens and guard barracks in Baylaur as well. But I did not realize she'd made friends here at Eilean Gayl… Unsurprising. She was the easiest person to love.

I shook my head, bringing my hand down flat on the table with more force than I'd intended—startling them into silence. "What is happening here? Are you two arguing? With each other?"

"Yes," they said in unison.

"Why—what in the Ancestor's frigid hell is happening?" I rubbed my temples. "Usually you are too busy arguing with me to squabble with one another."

Lyrena grinned, and it was more than a little predatory. I felt a rush of heat, suspected that if I looked down I'd find flames curling around her fingertips.

Which reminded me of another. "Where is Isolde in all of this?"

"Avoiding terrestrials who want to touch her skin and examine her claws," Lyrena smirked. "She is keeping an eye on Arran," she added, golden brows lifting in time with her lips in a smug smile aimed directly at Cyara.

Cyara would not do anything as indelicate as roll her eyes, so I did it for her.

Which gave her the opportunity to ask, "What about Arran?"

Across the room, the sound of cutlery scraping against plates ceased. Everyone was listening now, even our prisoners. I sucked in my cheeks, teeth catching on the soft flesh inside my lower lip. When the tangy taste of my own blood met my tongue, I spoke. "We move on without Arran."

Cyara's wings flared above her shoulders. "He is the High King of Annwyn."

"He's the next thing to an invalid." It was cruel, but it was the truth. "We can't trust him."

Lyrena reached for me next. Actually reached for me, her hand closing over my arm. "Veyka—"

"He does not trust me."

Arran could not be told what to do. As much as I wanted to throw myself into his arms and beg him to love me, to trust me and believe me and remember me, it would mean nothing. Not to the Brutal Prince. The male who had emerged from Avalon was not the mate I'd left behind.

"Arran has to figure out where he stands in all of this. We cannot do it for him. I've explained the threat of the succubus." I caught Cyara's eyes cutting to Diana and Percival. She was too good at hiding her thoughts and feelings for the motion to have been anything but intentionally meant for me. I ignored it. "Until Arran remembers… or he decides… this discussion stays between us."

"We await word from Gwen. But in the meantime, we need to get to the amorite mines. Until we know how much there is, we cannot decide what purpose to put it to." I heard Arran's voice in my mind. He wanted to make weapons. I wanted to protect as many individuals as possible. The argument was immaterial until we had quantities.

I could almost understand it, the deep place of calculation where Arran went when assessing a battle. That was exactly what this was—a race against time. Before the succubus came in numbers we would have no hope of beating back. Pretending it was nothing more than numbers, than movements in a dance, might make it easier to bear. But if the shattered wall of ice around my heart had taught me anything, it was that now that I'd released the cage on my heart and its capacity to love and care, there was no closing that door ever again.