79. Arran

It took less than ten minutes to assemble everyone Veyka wanted in the sitting room connected to the bedchamber. The sun had long disappeared behind the tall leaded-glass windows, but Veyka was the only one in her nightclothes. Another flowing, sensuous garment that skimmed over her figure and begged for my touch.

She saw the glow in my eyes, made a sound in her throat that might have been reprimand or repressed whimper, and pulled on a thick velvet wrapper over the top. Which did approximately nothing, other than add warmth and give me another layer to imagine peeling off of her alabaster skin.

Control.

This meeting was my chance to demonstrate to her that I could control myself and be a supportive partner rather than a total ass.

Veyka breezed into the room, going straight to the sideboard in the corner and its waiting bottle of wine. She was lifting the rim to her lush lips for her first sip when the exterior door opened to admit Osheen, Lyrena at his heels.

"Where is Maisri?" Veyka asked by way of greeting—and holding out the bottle of wine. Lyrena grinned and took a swig directly from the narrow neck.

"Running wild with the other children, telling tales about the faeries. She's very popular at the moment." Osheen shook his head at Lyrena's antics before fixing me with a long look.

He would not let me avoid the words traded between us. I'd have expected nothing less. I inclined my head. When Lyrena stopped chugging wine, I took the bottle, poured a glass, and handed it to my friend.

Lyrena's eyes danced with mischief, jumping between me and Osheen. Veyka elbowed her before she could say something indecorous.

A second later, and the door opened again. Cyara, with the two human prisoners in tow. I had not taken a good look at either of them before this moment. Matching deep ochre skin and black hair, the sibling bond between them was apparent. The woman kept her eyes downcast, hurrying past. The man—Percival, I recalled—fixed me with a look halfway between disgust and disbelief.

My beast snarled back.

I jerked at the impulse—only to find Veyka grinning at me from the other side of the room, where she'd arranged herself in a chair at a small rectangular table. She crossed her legs, exposing a long, fully-healed, and deliciously muscled calf. You may growl at Percival any time you like.

My beast made a sound I'd never heard before. A growl so low, it was almost like a purr. And it was all for Veyka.

This female did things to me on levels I could not even begin to comprehend.

Veyka's smile was absolutely feline. She knew it, too.

A final, timid knock sounded at the door and drew my queen's glowing blue eyes away from me. Thank the Ancestors. I used the moments as we all turned to gather myself. Veyka knew I wanted her. What she did not know is if I could be the king she needed to stand at her side.

In truth, I did not know either.

Cyara opened the door to the tiny white faerie. She gave me a small smile as she moved to stand beside Lyrena. "You tended to the Queen's leg quiet well, Your Majesty."

Your Majesty.She meant me. I cleared my throat awkwardly. "Thank you."

I turned back just in time to see Veyka rolling her eyes. Minx.

She waved a hand at the chairs—a mix of styles that had clearly been drawn from wherever Cyara or Lyrena could muster.

"Cyara and Lyrena are Knights of the Round Table," she began. "As are Parys and Gwen." Parys—an elemental courtier and Veyka's closest friend, Osheen had told me. Guinevere I did not need explained.

Veyka continued around the room. "Osheen and Isolde have earned my trust."

She was doing this for me. We could not regain the months of memory that had been lost between us, but if we were to move into the future, I needed to know the shape of things. Cyara had known without a word of explanation from Veyka who she wanted in this room.

Still, I had questions. How had she, or we, decided the Knights of the Round Table? How had she ended up with the Round Table at all? It was an heirloom of Gwen's family. A thousand more sprang to mind. I said none of them.

"So they will have mine, as well," I said, nodding to Osheen and then Isolde, who vibrated with something like embarrassment. Could a white faerie blush? Which left the humans clinging to the stone wall. "What about these two?"

"Diana is not so bad," Veyka said slowly.

Percival was the one who had betrayed her—us. Shoved a knife into Lyrena's back. Yet, Veyka kept them with her. A thousand more questions rose to compete with the first thousand.

Veyka stood with slow, methodical grace. A warrior in command of every muscle, even in the guise of rest and respite. A flick of her hand, and a blade graced her palm. Where she'd hidden it in those flowing layers…

Swift as an adder, she pressed the blade to Percival's throat. Diana flinched, but did not back away, holding her ground directly beside her brother. The man's throat bobbed, but he gave nothing else.

"You are at my mercy," Veyka purred.

Percival's eyes were thick with hate. That would be a problem soon, if it was not already. And this male was sleeping a door away from my mate. That was a question I would not wait to have answered.

"As always," Percival ground out.

Veyka swiped her tongue over her lower lip, as if she could taste his fear. Enjoying it. But her words were cold when she spoke again. "Why were Arran's memories taken?"

Percival's face did not shift an inch. "I cannot answer that."

"How can we get them back?"

"I don't know."

To all the rest of the room, she must have appeared calm.

Veyka did not have any tells. She chose what and when to show her feelings. But she could not hide from the bond between us. I felt her agony and frustration as if it were my own. Because it is, I realized. One soul, two bodies.

My hand closed around the back of the chair so hard the wood groaned.

Cyara stepped forward, white wings flaring behind her. "He cannot be lying," she said with quiet force.

Veyka did not care. She wanted answers, and she was ready to slaughter Percival for them. In a breath, the mood had shifted from casual to deadly. Because of me—because of what Veyka needed and wanted. I had underestimated her, and the depth of what she felt. Her love.

My other hand joined the first. The chair would not survive the night.

"We are only half-witch," Diana said softly, her voice trembling. But she continued. "The witch curse in our blood compels us to answer your questions truthfully. But we only have knowledge about what we have personally experienced or witnessed."

"That is not how it happened in the Tower of Myda," Veyka bit back. Even with Cyara at her side now, she had not eased her blade from Percival's throat.

"You encountered a true witch," Diana breathed.

"Yes."

Witches had been hunted down by the Ancestors after the Great War, at the same time the priestesses had been stripped of their power. Avalon only remained because it was in the human realm, rather than Annwyn. And even so, I'd thought it little more than a legend until I'd woke up on the sacred isle.

But according to legend, two witches survived. Hidden by the Ancestors, in case some future generation needed to call upon their power. One, in the Tower of Myda. According to the sketchy details Osheen had been able to give me, Veyka had killed that one. The other was said to dwell somewhere in the icy caves of the Spine.

"A witch—a full witch—is not tethered to her body," Diana explained, still trembling. "Their minds can unfurl, travel to the past and the future, to other realms. Just their minds. But it is how they can answer any question, no matter the topic." She was a second away from bursting into tears, but she managed to get the last few words out. "Can you take that away from his throat?"

Veyka narrowed her eyes at the woman, but gave no other hint of what calculations she made behind those swirling blue orbs. Whatever it was, she was not feeling strongly enough for my beast to sense it.

As suddenly as she'd advanced, Veyka stepped back. "Fine."

She dropped into her chair, set the knife on the table—a reminder for Percival and Diana, and turned to her handmaiden. "What have you found out about the Sacred Trinity?"

Lyrena stole the question from mouth. "You had them looking into the Sacred Trinity? I thought we were trying to find a way to banish the succubus back to their own realm for good."

Veyka very pointedly did not look at her golden knight. "Arthur thought it was important."

Lyrena gnashed her teeth, gold flashing. "Arthur lied."

The dynamic was strange. Not like the council at the terrestrial court, nor any war council I'd ever led. Those she'd assembled in this room—aside from the prisoners—spoke with no reservation.

Veyka pursed her lips, eyes still averted. Lyrena was having none of that. She planted herself directly in the Veyka's line of sight.

The queen did not look away. "Why?" No response. "Why would Arthur have lied if it was not tied to this, to the succubus? Why would he give me amorite weapons, the one thing that can defeat them? Why set you, Lyrena, a Goldstone Guard sworn to protect the king, with your fire that can hold the succubus at bay, as my protector when such a thing had never been done before?"

Lyrena did not back down. "Because he loved you."

"I do not accept that." Veyka's throat bobbed before she added, "That it's a coincidence."

She'd loved her brother fiercely. That much was easy to read. And the feeling had been returned. Loved him, only to see him murdered before her eyes. Taken from her. As I had nearly been. Sorrow filled my gut—but it was not my mate's. It was my own.

Veyka.

Cyara stepped around Lyrena, hands folded before her and wings now steady. "We have found nothing to indicate otherwise. No mention of the Sacred Trinity at all. From what Percival says, it is a human legend. Not a fae one."

Behind her, Percival straightened. "Yes, but—"

Cyara ignored him. "In Baylaur, there may be clues to what Arthur was thinking. Blacksmiths who made your blades, servants who waited on Arthur. But we are not in Baylaur."

Lyrena and Cyara stood shoulder to shoulder—Veyka's Knights of the Round Table. Her most trusted friends and advisors.

"You have to let it go," Lyrena said, more gently.

"I will not."

The room fell silent. Veyka's stubbornness was unmatched.

"I think she is right," Percival said.

Lyrena and Cyara parted like a set of twin doors, both fixing the man with their own incredulous looks. Behind me, Osheen swallowed a laugh.

Veyka threw her hands up in the air. "Someone save me. Percival is the one who agrees with me."

But Percival continued, much steadier than his sister, even if every word dripped with distaste for those he spoke them to. "The sacred trinity was made in Avalon. Avalon is where the priestess who made the Void Prophecy dwelt for thousands of years. Our legend says that the bearer of the Sacred Trinity will be the master of death. She commands the depths of the voids of darkness. Sounds pretty similar to death."

It was a fair point.

But a distraction.

I felt the shift in the too-small room. And Veyka, caressing my wolf through the bond. Will you challenge me too?

It was no different from any war council I'd ever commanded, with egos and opinions competing and conflicting. Except I was not in command—we were.

What if I do?

Veyka had no inner beast, but I could have sworn I felt her low growl in response. Then I will punish you.

There was enough heat in that promise that I let myself say, "We focus on what is before us. What we can do here, concrete actions we can take to push back the succubus. For now."

For a second, Veyka's eyes glowed with desire. I knew mine burned with black fire.

But then she shrugged her shoulders and turned back to her handmaiden, who'd positioned herself slightly in front of the two humans.

"What have you found?"

Cyara's wing twitched. "There are no direct mentions of the succubus. But there are many records of the Great War. Even some information which does not align with our own history."

Veyka sighed. "History or legends?"

"It seems that the former has become the latter," Cyara said slowly.

"Tell us."

"In the absence of information about the succubus, we have spent many hours looking into the Great War itself," Cyara continued. "The elemental histories tell us that Accolon and Nimue's joining ended the Great War between our two territories and created the united fae kingdom of Annwyn."

Veyka nodded; so did Lyrena.

"That is the story I am familiar with as well," I said, finally able to loosen my grip on the back of the chair. Legends and histories seemed safer territory.

From over my shoulder, Osheen inclined his head in agreement. He hadn't contributed anything thus far, but I knew from centuries of having him under my command that he'd internalized every minute detail.

Cyara glanced over her shoulder, toward Diana. A subtle warning, but to who?

"It matches the official record as well, in the histories kept by the priestesses. But in addition to the official record, the priestess here at Eilean Gayl maintains a collection of journals."

Veyka cocked her head to the side. "Journals?"

"A passion project of her predecessor that she has continued." Cyara paused, drawing in a long and careful breath. I did not reach for the chair again, but I knew in a few moments, I'd wish I had something to crush beneath my fingers. "There is one recollection—not of the story itself. But an entry written by a terrestrial soldier who was stationed at the entrance to Wolf Bay."

"There is a rift at the entrance to Wolf Bay." Veyka was sitting straight up now.

Cyara's turquoise eyes drifted to mine. "It is also the location of Accolon's ancestral home."

I held her gaze. "And what does this entry say?"

"It mentions another story, an alternative to the widely known version of Accolon and Nimue. In which, they were mated on the eve of the Great War, rather than at its conclusion."

"What else?"

"We do not know."

Veyka sighed heavily, throwing herself back hard enough the chair creaked beneath her. "So it is a dead end."

But Cyara stepped forward, eyes back on Veyka and bright. "No. The writer mentions carvings, which told the story in full. Carvings which may still exist."

"So, we visit our Ancestor's old homeland," Veyka said slowly.

Cyara's wings twitched, catching Veyka's attention. Her eyes clouded with confusion. She did not understand—but I did.

"What is the problem?" Veyka asked.

"It is lost. Hidden, destroyed. No one has been there in thousands of years," I said. Osheen made a low noise of agreement. That was one of our legends.

Veyka swiped the half-full glass of wine off the table and drained it. "Great."

Behind me, Isolde murmured something to Osheen. Lyrena paced to the window, one hand on the pommel of her broadsword. Veyka was halfway across the room, aiming for the next bottle of wine, when Diana spoke.

"There is a spell."

"Diana," Percival warned. He was at his sister's side, grabbing her hand tightly, imploring her not to speak. But her dark eyes darted between me and Veyka.

"There is an old witch spell. He…" Her voice broke. She pressed her eyes closed, fighting internal demons none of us could see. At the table, Veyka had gone deadly still. Diana mastered herself enough to open her eyes, then her mouth. "G... Gorlois forced me to use it, to help him travel between realms."

Veyka was silent.

So I asked—"What does the spell do?"

Cyara answered, one eye on Diana and the other on Veyka. Dangerous. This conversation walked a tenuous line that I did not understand. Gorlois—the one who had attacked in the Battle of Avalon. But Veyka's stillness… Gorlois had hurt her, before. Gorlois and the Dowager.

"The spell untethers her mind, like a true witch. It allows her mind to travel through space, through realms. Even through time," Cyara explained. "To the past."

"To find out where Accolon's home is," I finished.

It was not a guarantee, but it was a real plan, at least. A tangible action we could take toward finding out about the Great War, and how they had defeated the succubus seven thousand years ago.

"It is dangerous," Percival growled, his voice an impressive match for my own beast. "She could become permanently untethered, her mind lost while her body remains."

"Like being lost in the void without the tether of a mate," Veyka said softly.

What in the Ancestors' living hell did that mean?

"Which is why she is not going to do it," Percival said sharply.

Diana tugged her hand from his. "You are not my master. No one is."

Wrong. She was held at the mercy of Veyka, me, and an entire castle of terrestrials. An untrained human, she had no defense here. My beast would snap her neck in a second.

But I was not thinking about Diana.

Lost in the void without the tether of a mate.

Veyka's power… was it tied to me?

I stared at my mate, but she did not look back. She was watching Diana struggle to draw in breath after ragged breath. The wine was forgotten. So was the dagger. Veyka's hand was flat against the tabletop, and I could hardly tell if she was breathing.

"He," Diana breathed, looking straight at her brother. "Gorlois forced me. Before that, I was bound to the Lady of the Lake. Even you, shouting at me through the communication crystals whenever Gorlois was not speaking to Baylaur, were always telling me what to do. I can choose for myself. I can choose this."

Cyara's wings fluttered. Her hand was pale against Diana's bare arm as she offered comfort.

But Veyka's voice sliced through the room. A cold, frozen thing sharper than any blade. "There is a communication crystal in Baylaur?"