Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Zenith

Queen Aurielle's arrival gives me no time to think.

By the time I posted guards at Anash's door—not Nola and Rolan but new guards who he hasn't spent weeks making friends with—a commotion among the queen's troops in the courtyard alerts me to her imminent presence.

Holding on to my anger to shield me from the hurt of being betrayed by my love, I wait for her. An eerie purple light flares to life. It starts small, the size of an apple, but surges to an oval big enough for Queen Aurielle to step through.

The portal snaps closed behind her.

From my vantage point on the second-floor landing, I have a bird's-eye view. Her soldiers avert their gazes, bowing low while she scans the courtyard. Her pink hair is braided back. Rubies glisten from where they dot the braid. She wears a gold dress, belted at the waist and hanging to her ankles.

Lord Warner greets her with a dainty kiss on her manicured fingers. They don't speak. Aurielle glances at him as if he's below her, and I suppose, as consort, he is, but it's an odd look. Not one I'd expect between lovers.

Anash. His gaze always falls on me with adoration dancing in his eyes despite my lower station. Or at least it did. Before.

My heart hurts.

I shake my head and cast thoughts of him aside. Can't afford them now. I don't know when I'll get the time and space I need to sort out my mind, but this isn't it.

"Rise," says the queen, and her troops stand stiffly at attention. More rigid than the soldiers under my command, almost as if they're afraid.

Lord Warner whispers something to her, and she smiles.

"Oh really?" The gleam in her eyes hints at malice. "Have Hup bring a few of them to me, and someone fetch me Zenith and Randal."

People scurry to do her bidding.

I descend the stairs. "No need to have anyone look for me. I'm at your service, Your Majesty."

"Ah, High General, excellent. I heard you brought me prisoners for execution."

My jaw clenches, followed by my gut. If I'd known she'd execute them, I would have released them myself rather than march them to their doom.

Perhaps if Anash had spoken to me sooner, we could've…

"Come." She beckons me closer, flicks her wrist, fingers twirling, and a brown leather whip appears in her tiny claw-like hand. "You may do the honors."

She couldn't possibly mean…

"Let's see if we can get some useful information out of them, shall we?"

She does. Torture. Talus considered torture to be a war crime. He'd never tolerate such treatment, and I agree. "I'm not very good with a whip."

"Precision isn't required, but if you'd rather watch"—she lifts a shoulder in a nonchalant half shrug—"I'm sure I can find another."

"That would probably be best." I won't whip helpless men. I'd rather not even watch, but I don't see a way out that won't reveal my horror.

My mind reels as ten men are brought up from the dungeon and thrown at the queen's feet. They're half-naked, half-starved, and desperate to be anywhere but here.

I think on what Anash said. These men don't deserve this. I'll never condone raising arms against fae rule, but stripping the skin from their backs in exchange for information is cruelty. It's beneath us.

Or it should be.

At some point Captain Randal arrives. His expression remains blank, as if he doesn't approve either but is smart enough not to show it.

Over and over, the lash strikes. The prisoners scream. The queen asks them her questions. And we get nowhere.

What's the point?

I avert my gaze and hope she doesn't notice.

She does, and the glower thrown my way says I'm skating on thin ice. "Zenith, if you're shy of a little blood, how do you fare in battle?"

"Battle is different, Your Majesty." The men can fight back. "I assure you I have no qualms in"— a fair fight —"war."

"Pfft." She scoffs and turns her back to me. "Go make yourself useful elsewhere. Dismissed."

Relief washes over me. I'm tempted to run straight to Anash, but I won't let myself. Not without a proper think.

I leave the salty, metallic scent of spilled blood behind. Those men are beyond my help, but maybe I can prevent others from sharing their fate.

Up three flights of stairs, through a metal door that sticks on hinges, and to the roof where space might exist for clarity. I need a roof beneath my feet and the sky overhead. I need stillness. I need my stone form.

Calling forth the rock, I let its strength encase me. Muscle and flesh hardens in a crouch, my stance set to watch over the landscape as the sun makes its journey across the sky.

A flock of white water birds in a V-shaped formation pass by in the distance. Headed south, like us, but for less complicated reasons. At the end of their journey is a feast of fish and the comfort of their nesting grounds.

At the end of ours is only more bloodshed.

Time seeps by. The shadows grow long.

I must face this crisis head on.

I let loose my thoughts, giving them free rein. They race to the surface like hunting dogs, barking and yapping anything lesser up a tree, leaving me alone with the essence of my dilemma.

Forged to protect those of royal blood.

Forged to protect those of royal blood.

Forged to protect those of royal blood .

No matter how I try to square that circle, gaps exist for interpretation. Must I obey Queen Aurielle in all things? Must I obey her even when doing so will cause harm to others? Harm to both those of royal blood and those who lack it because of no fault of their own.

Or rather, is it my duty to disobey?

To choose another line over hers, the Tierney line. Possibly to choose the daughter over the mother.

Is the decision mine to make?

And is this me actively deciding? Or am I simply allowing another member of the royal bloodline to take control of my destiny?

But no, Anash isn't like that. He doesn't relish giving orders. He doesn't want to control me.

Anash wants an equal. He wants a partner. He deserves a partner.

And so he shall have one.

I find Captain Randal and let him know I have a mission and will be gone for a bit. I ask him to cover for me as much as he's able. He agrees.

Next, I dismiss the guards at Anash's room and send them back to camp. I rap a soft knock of warning, then open the door.

Anash glances up with wide, red-rimmed eyes. His cheeks are streaked with tears, his nose wet.

My heart sinks. I shouldn't have left him alone. "I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I never should have agreed to lie to you," he says from his spot in the center of our messy bed. The words jumble over each other. "I just wanted to go with you, and being sent as a spy was the only way. But I should have?—"

"Ssh, no, no, no." I go to him and place gentle hands on his shoulders. "It's all right."

He searches my face. "Did you tell them?"

"No. I told no one. It's our secret."

He slumps with relief. "Oh, thank the stars. I'm so sorry."

"We are neither of us free from guilt." I rub his arms. He deserves all the comfort I can give him. "I knew something was wrong, and I wasn't there for you. Looking back, I made it impossible for you to tell me."

"It's my fault. I could have insisted. I was afraid you'd leave me."

Guilt swims in my stomach. That's exactly what I did. Learned the truth and promptly left Anash alone in this room. "I am sorry, but listen, we can't stay here apologizing to each other and stewing over it. I came to get you. Will you come with me?"

"Always. Where?"

"I haven't made up my mind, but I have an idea."

"Take me. Let's go."

We leave Lord Warner's estate on swift feet, sneaking as much as possible. The fewer people see us leave, the better.

As soon as we're outside the gate, I lift Anash into my arms, stretch my wings, and take flight, headed anywhere but here.