Chapter 67

The second convoy from the Havens finally arrived, the city was fed, and like a fucking miracle from the gods, some magic wielders from Southwell ventured out of their shops to help at the temporary hospital, tending the injured who were still coming in.

Despite our warnings, that wave had killed and maimed plenty of Fae, but the casualties could have been so much worse. I didn't allow myself to dwell too much on how much worse, but both Tavion and I had gone down to the hospital every morning since.

Both to check on the injured and see if any were covered in black, thorny growths.

So far, nothing.

Nor was there any sign of the Oracle.

None of our debates had turned up any answers, so for today, at least, I was content to leave that monster wherever she was, hopefully still trapped in her dreams.

This morning, five days after we'd killed the king, we were making our first, and only, formal court appearance.

Anaria was radiant, dressed in a pale green gown with silver stitching that caught the light, no crown on her head, but she didn't need one. She wore her power like a mantle, her hair hanging to her waist, glimmering like forged platinum in the light spilling from the still-broken windows.

The throne had been cleaned, the floors mopped enough times there wasn't so much as a hint of blood in the air, the glass swept up.

But erasing the past wasn't so easy, Anaria's eyes darkened the closer she got to the dais.

Raziel and Zor walked by her side, deadly, loyal protectors, Tavion and I bringing up the rear, followed by Torin, Cosimo, Zeph, and Simon. Lyrae waited beside the throne and everything inside me tensed at how close she'd be to Anaria.

I didn't trust her, not even when Torin and Anaria vouched for her. A Howler never changes its stripes, my sire always said. Lyrae betrayed the king, the Oracle, and Crux. She'd betray us twice as fast.

We were almost there when Anaria stopped dead, her feet rooted to the floor.

Her eyes flared wide, face a mask of pure white as if she saw something the rest of us didn't.

Up on the dais, Lyrae glanced behind her before she drew her sword, the shriek of metal sending a ripple of silence through the room, the front row Fae royals cringing back.

Zorander shook his head angrily.

That sound…violence had no place here. Not today. Not in Anaria's kingdom. Not as long as we had anything to say about it.

Zor gently gripped her wrists. "Just…for a few minutes, Anaria. This is only for show, and we're not hearing petitions today, only long enough to let these people know there's someone in charge, that they are not adrift."

But her face had gone white as she stood there staring, breath sawing in and out of her lungs. "I can't. I can't do this."

Zorander frowned as more Fae—regular shopkeepers, some farmers—filed in through the doors, taking seats along the back wall, nervous conversation filling the air. Too late to stop this, but maybe we could make some excuse…

Then I lifted my gaze.

Overhead, courtiers were draped over the ornate, metal railing, eyes gleaming with malice. If Anaria showed any hint of weakness today, they'd scheme and murder until one of them sat up there, and then gods help us all.

Raz brushed his hand up her arm, keeping his voice low. "None of us want to be here. Not a single one of us. But we have to get through today. Look at them, Anaria," Raz urged softly, squeezing her fingers gently when her gaze lifted to the courtiers.

"No," he ordered sternly. "Not them. Forget those vultures. Look at your people. They are here because you give them hope. Because you replaced a monster with something—someone—better. Let them see that you are better. Let them go home tonight and sleep sounder for it. Let them hug their children and tell them they will have a future more promising than any that's come before."

He pressed a kiss to her cheek. "They're scared, like you are. But you can give them the hope they've been dreaming of for centuries. And hope is what they need right now."

Anaria swallowed, staring at that throne as if it were a prison cell.

"I can do this," she whispered to herself, straightening her spine through sheer will alone, and my heart squeezed at how fucking young she was, how completely unprepared for what was coming.

Anaria was good and kind and brave. All things I'd given up on centuries ago, and now…now this perfect female was right in front of me. Poised to lead us into a better age, to a better future.

Wonder struck me as true as the light hitting her beautiful face.

I'd lost my heart to her, and I'd lost it for good.

Lost myself to her innate kindness, her endless devotion to us, that inner strength that never faltered, not even under the most intense pressure. For so long I'd existed on the fringes. No more. I wanted to be part of this.

I ached to give myself to her, to become hers, heart and soul.

I wouldn't be complete until I did.

Raziel guided her up the dais and we followed, Zorander's hand resting on his pommel, head bowed to hide the tears lining his eyes. "Fucking hell, I swore I wasn't going to get emotional," he muttered. "Now I want to go and stab something."

"We could head into the mountains tonight. Surely there's something you can stab there," I muttered, throwing my shoulders back and widening my stance, trying to look…fucking important, I supposed.

Her maid—Sophie—took a seat in the front row, an older, elegant female beside her, and Anaria's expression softened, her smile genuine as she looked at the two of them. Then she lifted her gaze to the room beyond.

Anaria waited until there was no more room. Until the crowd flowed out through the doors, into the corridor. Into the streets and beyond.

Then my queen rose, her spine unfurling as she drew on every last bit of strength to face these people.