34. Finnian

THIRTY-FOUR

FINNIAN

I couldn’t understand a word being said in Faerish between Taryn and the guards, but once she revealed who she was, those two bent over so far they were nearly kissing their own assholes. I know she isn’t big on flaunting her title as Princess, but damn did she look hot doing it.

But that was hours ago. Now she’s agitated and pacing in front of the dais like a lioness prowling her cage.

Aine hasn’t deigned to meet with us yet, despite Taryn sending messages with multiple servants that we bring news of imminent danger to her crown and the realm. It’s a power move, making us wait. We all know it. But it doesn’t make the waiting any easier, especially for Taryn who’s dealing with a whole host of emotions being back here. We’ve been giving her space, choosing to sit on the chairs along one of the walls while we wait.

The interior of the palace is as impressive as the outside. The floor of the throne room is made of Ember, shimmering under the glow of floating chandeliers dripping with crystals that feature a tiny flame flickering in the center of each gem.

Vibrant tapestries decorate the walls, from the palest lilac to the deepest plum and every shade in between, all woven with golden threads depicting fiery landscapes and stories of the gods.

On the firestone dais, is the most striking decor in the room. An Ember throne, imposing in size and embellished with polished stones the colors of amethysts and sapphires of the mortal realm, and a plush violet cushion.

When Taryn saw it, she froze and swallowed hard. A wave of sadness hit her so hard I could practically feel it as my own. Then she’d whispered, “There used to be four.”

That was the only time she let the storm of emotions raging inside her show. Since then she’s been composed and all-business. Also all-pissed once we reached the second hour mark, and I don’t blame her. My natural instinct is to try and fix the problem, but this isn’t my court or my mother, so I’m deferring to Taryn.

A sound comes from the back of the room. The four of us shoot to our feet and step in front of a giant pillar blocking our view. Taryn joins us just as the ornate double doors swing open on their own, revealing the One True Queen of Faerie, Aine Emory.

Her beauty is ethereal with dark brown skin that appears to almost glow with an inner radiance and ebony corkscrew curls that frame her elegant face. She wears an Ember crown with the points shaped like flames. Her strapless gown matches her lavender eyes perfectly, the bodice a flawless fit with the bottom of the full skirt glowing in pulses like burning embers in a dying fire.

Still unused to seeing them on everyone here, I’m mesmerized by the sight of her wings. They appear larger than others, possibly a sign of her position among her people. As she glides down the center of the chamber, streams of light in deep greens and purples trail behind her before dissipating.

Seeing her now, I realize why Taryn needed to glamour herself as we neared Ildathach. Taryn’s skin tone is lighter—a mix of her mother’s darker complexion and her father’s fair coloring—but other than that, she could be the queen’s own doppelganger. She’d be easily recognizable, and news of the princess’s return would’ve spread rapidly.

As Aine passes us and climbs the steps of the firestone dais, we fall into a line facing the throne. At the last second, Taryn whispers, “Remember what I said. Let me do the talking, okay?”

I nod, the twins answer with their customary “copy that” but Dmitri doesn’t acknowledge his sister said anything. “Dmitri,” she hisses in warning, but he merely arches a brow in response. The vampire is obviously not willing to agree to anything he might not want to uphold, but it’s too late for them to quibble about it now.

Aine lowers herself onto her throne. Her poise is one of elegance and grace that contradicts the icy barrier she keeps up that hides her emotions, if she indeed has any. As her gaze flicks over her estranged daughter with a cool detachment, I’m not sure she does. There’s no warmth in her eyes at all. She barely even acknowledges Taryn’s presence before regarding the rest of us, and the obvious snub has my blood pressure rising.

Finally, she addresses her own flesh and blood. “ Iníon ,” Aine says as stiffly as her posture.

I recognize that word as daughter from what Garyth called Taryn. She meets her mother’s frigid look with one of her own, replying with a steely, “ Máthair .” Not hard to guess what that means.

Aine’s brows raise on her forehead, appraising Taryn again as though reevaluating her initial impression of her prodigal daughter. She says something in Faerish, and I suddenly wish I thought to request a translator.

As though reading my mind, Taryn responds in English. “Before we start, I’d like to request we speak in the human language the Darks were forced to adopt after their exile. As they’ve had no use for the old language in the mortal realm, it’s disrespectful to speak it while in their presence.”

Aine opens her mouth, but Taryn cuts her off. “And, no, they are not leaving. They stay with me.”

Clearly unhappy her daughter predicted her solution, Aine sighs. “As you wish,” she says in English. “But I find it disrespectful that you brought exiled Darks here to begin with. And who is the other other in your little party?”

Dmitri steps forward, regarding the queen with a shrewd eye. “I am Dmitri Romanov, Lord of the Romanov Clan of Vampir . Taryn and I have been compatriots for more than four human centuries. She is my sister in every way that counts. Out of respect for your relation to her, I tell you this only once. I will eviscerate anyone who harms her. Even if that person is you .”

I step in line with him. “That goes double for me.”

“And us,” the Woulfes say, moving up.

Taryn huffs as she joins us. “What part of ‘let me talk’ did you guys not understand?”

“Enough,” Aine booms, her strong voice echoing in the large room. “Tell me of this supposed danger, and then you will all go back to your own realm where you belong .”

Her verbal barb hits her mark, slicing open the festering wound deep in my heart from being banned from my homeland. A lifetime of resentment bubbles to the surface, and I’m about to let her know what I really think of her, dungeons be damned, when my grandmother’s words flash in my mind.

The path to victory is not in combatting the darkness but in melding it with the brightest of flames. Only then will you be able to vanquish the oppressive light.

Translation: don’t make an enemy of the one ally we need.

Remembering that releases some of the steam in my head, so I bite my fucking tongue. Taryn looks over at me, her eyebrows rising to silently ask if I’m okay. I nod and tip my head toward her mother, signaling to go ahead and do what we came for.

“Talek Edevane, the reigning king of the Light Fae in the human realm, seeks revenge against you. Using Lugh’s legendary Spear of Assal, he plans to usurp your power and destroy the longstanding peace you’ve maintained in Faerie. We must act now if we are to stop him.”

“Tell me where this Edevane is now,” the queen demands, stoic as ever.

I speak up. “We think he’s already here, preparing to descend on the Summer Palace even as we speak.”

Aine’s icy barrier melts just enough to reveal a hint of surprise. Taryn told us that her mother can sense whenever anyone crosses the veil into Faerie. We assumed she was watching us and choosing not to intervene to see what we did. But now she seems as though she’s not aware of Edevane’s presence either. Come to think of it, he admitted to making multiple trips on his search for the spear, so she should’ve sensed him a long time ago.

Something else Edevane said to Taryn in the cavern keeps scratching on the back of my brain. You really should touch base with your mother more often, Princess. It’s amazing how much things can change over time.

Narrowing my eyes to study her, I ask, “Why isn’t anyone allowed an audience with you anymore?”

She visibly takes offense, her lavender eyes sparking with violet. “Do not speak to me as though you know our customs, banished prince . Yes, I know who you are. You reek of Verran arrogance and look just like your grandfather, Domnall.”

Speaking through clenched teeth, I reply, “Thank you, Your Majesty, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Hey, don’t talk to him like that,” Taryn shouts, her hands fisted at her sides. “He doesn’t deserve your disrespect, none of them do. We didn’t have to come here, you know. Where we live isn’t in danger, Faerie is. But none of us want to see this realm or her people destroyed, and that’s exactly what’s going to happen if you don’t take this seriously.”

Aine doesn’t respond, merely continues studying her daughter, as though waiting for her to say something that matters.

Taryn crosses her arms and settles on one hip, and I get the sense this battle of wills is a familiar game to them. “Okay, fine. If it isn’t enough to know that he has Lugh’s spear and knows how to use it, he’s also siphoned enough of my blood to bring an entire army across the veil, and he’s able to wield my Mystic powers as expertly as though he was born with them. Does that have your attention?”

The queen’s back snaps more rigid, if that’s even possible, and I can almost see the wheels turning in her head as she calculates her odds against the coming threat. Finally, she calls out for an aid who flies into the room so fast, she’s a blur of purple and green until she’s kneeling at the bottom of the dais.

Aine switches to Faerish, so Taryn translates quietly for the rest of us. “She’s sending scouts to every region with instructions to search for any male with a spear or staff, traveling alone or with others, then report back.”

When the fae zips off to do the queen’s bidding, Aine returns her focus to us as though deciding what to do with what her cat dragged in. “We’ll know more when they return. Until then, I suppose I should put you up for the night.”

Her daughter scoffs. “You couldn’t pay us to?—”

“We accept,” I say firmly, then force myself to tack on the diplomatic pleasantries. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Taryn whips her gaze up at me in surprise. “We do?”

I have several reasons for accepting the OTQ’s reluctant hospitality. First, we can’t afford to insult her. Second, most of us could use a proper meal after subsisting only on beef jerky and power bars since crossing the veil (no idea what Dmitri’s been doing, and I don’t plan on asking). And third, though she’s hiding it well, I know Taryn’s nerves are shot, and to help her with that, we need privacy.

Taking her hand in mine, I thread our fingers together and hold firm. “We do.”