Chapter 25

CHAPTER 25

A guard follows Talan and me as we walk up the sweeping stone stairs to the High Council's chamber. We're arm in arm, the perfect picture of romantic love. Through his finely tailored black suit, I can feel his muscles flex as we walk. I try to think about anything other than his body and survey the hall as we approach the chamber of the High Council.

The stone walls are engraved with vinelike patterns and sigils—the raven and moon of Morgan, my grandmother. His insignia marks the stones, too—the Fey runes for an A and an M, for Auberon, House of Morgan . Auberon's great lie carved into the castle's stones.

But there are other symbols on the wall that were struck off the stone at some point, dashed from history. They left one, just over the large, arched door to the High Council Chamber—an E and an S entwined. Elaine of Shalott . And around it, her name and her willow branch sigil.

Talan glances at me as we approach the heavy oak door and brushes his fingertips over my arm, like he's reassuring me. The door swings open, and we cross into a great hall.

A long table sits in the center of the hall, and the Fey rise from their ornate chairs as we walk in. There are about twenty of them, and all eyes locked on me.

Nervously, I gaze around the room. Banners with crests hang between towering windows, and torches affixed to the walls cast dancing light over the hall.

The council is comprised of Fey nobles I recognize—all men, except Arwenna. Her pale blond waves are draped over a silver gossamer dress, and she keeps her eyes steadily on the table before her.

King Auberon sits at the head of the table, glaring at us as we enter. With a brisk gesture, he motions to the foot of the table, where two chairs sit empty. "You're late."

I feel the metallic Fey eyes burning on me as we take our seats.

I wear a serene, slightly stupid smile, but inwardly, I'm scanning everything . This is a fucking incredible opportunity. The intel I'll gather here will be invaluable for Avalon Tower. This is where they will be discussing military strategies. My report from this meeting could tip the balance of the battle raging in Scotland.

Auberon's crown gleams in the torchlight, the points looking sharp as daggers. "The first order on the agenda is the war," he says. "It is going much slower than we anticipated. The human armies, though inferior, are like cockroaches. We stamp out one battalion, two crop up somewhere else. Humans are not difficult to kill, but there are so many of them. Scuttling around like bugs."

Arwenna stands. "We need to send the dragons in. We need to end this with fire, once and for all. Why are we using our dragons so sparingly? Send the entire fleet. Scorch the earth. We can fight a pestilence with the heat of dragon fire."

A man in a black cap—Lord Sorchelle, I believe he's called—clears his throat. "The humans have already demonstrated that they can maim and even kill our dragons when they put their best efforts to it. We can't afford to keep losing?—"

"Are you scared of losing, Lord Sorchelle? And they say women don't have the mettle to win a war," Arwenna shouts.

The council explodes with shouting, nobles screaming over each other. Chin in hand, Talan watches it with amusement twinkling in his eyes. Finally, the king slams his palm onto the table, and the council members grow quiet.

"Your Majesty," Lord Sorchelle says, giving Auberon a pointed look.

"We can send three dragons on a single assault," Auberon says. "Scorch one strategic target and see how the humans handle it. If it works, we send more."

I can't believe my luck that I'm overhearing all of this, and my heart races. The nobles start arguing about the best strategic target. In my head, I'm compiling a list of the locations suggested.

"What about Glasgow?" someone shouts. "One of the largest cities in the country. Burn it to the ground. The humans will capitulate immediately."

Arwenna's eyes gleam. "Exactly."

Talan sighs. He looks absolutely bored with this discussion. "We can always burn more cities," he says with a shrug. "The fewer humans, the better. But if we want to pick one strategic target, it should be a military base. We should target the largest supply base the humans have. It's stationed in southern Scotland. Demolish it, and their forces will be cut off from supplies." He gives a laid-back smile. " Then we can burn cities at our leisure."

"I agree with Prince Talan," Arwenna says quickly. "Strategically, that's much better."

"I disagree!" someone shouts.

I look toward the speaker, surprised to see that it's none other than Ker-Ys. I thought he was in Talan's pocket, so what's he doing arguing?

"We need to destroy the humans' morale, not their supplies," he goes on. "We need to crush their spirits."

More shouting erupts, and Auberon slams his hand down again. "Silence. I will not have you squabbling like peasants in the High Council. I have heard your ideas, and I am ordering an attack on a strategic target. The military base."

Why am I not surprised that Talan's idea wins out?

I'm desperate to get this information to Nivene. She needs to carry it back immediately to Camelot. They need to set extra ADGs in the supply base—the anti-dragon guns we used when the Fey attacked Dover. Back then, we managed to wound one of the dragons severely. If they can take one of the dragons out this time, the Fey might be wary of using them again. That could change the tide of the war.

I listen to every detail as they talk about the logistics and the funding of the Fey army, frantically committing as much as I can to memory. Every piece of information is crucial.

Each time Talan speaks, Arwenna hurriedly agrees with him. And in each and every case, Ker-Ys votes against Talan's suggestions. Talan seems to be amused by the entire thing. It takes me a while, but I finally figure out what's going on. For whatever reason, Talan has instructed Ker-Ys to disagree with him. Talan seems to want to cement the idea that Ker-Ys is opposed to him, though I don't yet have any idea why.

I tune out a little as the discussion moves from war strategy to domestic matters that don't concern me, arguments about estate borders, a law about dungeon security, and the planning of a large banquet that's supposed to take place soon. Mentally, I'm still reviewing the details concerning the war, making sure I got every important fact. Avalon Tower doesn't really need to know how many roasted ducks will be served during the banquet.

Talan has an opinion on everything, but often, he seems to choose the opinion that would infuriate as many council members as possible. He relishes spreading mayhem in the council, pitting the nobles against each other. He delights in making people nervous. I suspect this is some kind of game to him, and maybe that's what all of this is about after all. Does he really want to avenge his mother against the humans, or is this just the way a bored, clever man amuses himself?

Now they're discussing a forest that one of the nobles wants to cut for logs. Lord Sorchelle hangs a large map of Brocéliande so they can determine the exact area that's to be cut.

Talan leans forward. "The southern forest would make more sense. Logistically, the logs would be easier to move."

He has the same expression of boredom on his face. However, whether it's because I've been hearing his thoughts all my life or because I've grown to know him a bit during the past weeks, I notice a shift. This is one of the first times I've heard him sound like he actually cares about something. There's an almost invisible tension in his body, his jaw clenching just a bit too tightly. Why on earth would he care about some forest in some random baron's territory?

I squint at the map. It's just a small forest, nothing special about?—

Holy shit.

A river runs through this forest, and the river has a strangely sharp bend in it—one that looks just like the sharp curve I saw on the map connected to the Blue Dragon Project.

The fortress doesn't appear on this map, though. They don't know about the fortress.

I would never have noticed it if it weren't for this discussion; Brocéliande has thousands of rivers. But now that I'm focused, I can't unsee it. It's almost certainly the same river.

Talan doesn't want woodcutters there because he's keeping a secret military base in that very location.

The king doesn't seem to give a fuck about the forest, and he puts it to a vote. As they vote, Talan clenches one hand into a fist.

Ker-Ys votes against Talan's suggestion, and this time, the prince doesn't look amused.

It's close, but Talan wins by just two votes. He drops back into his seat, slouching again, like he's barely paying attention.

The meeting keeps going, but my mind is still buzzing, ignited by this new information.

As soon as I get a chance, I'm going to make a foray to Talan's secret base. I'm certain that this is a secret at the heart of his plans.

The council debates different items for almost six hours, and by the time Auberon calls the meeting adjourned, I'm desperate to get to a pen and paper so I can write down everything about the planned attack in Scotland while the details are still fresh in my mind. I also need to fill in Nivene on everything about the Blue Dragon Project.

But, of course, this being a Fey event, no meeting ends without a lavish, wine-and-mead-soaked banquet. The moment the meeting concludes, we move to another hall nearby where long tables are set with food and wine and lit by glowing chandeliers. A string quartet plays a hauntingly melodic tune.

Talan lounges in a chair, and the colored lights from the stained-glass windows gleam off his ringed fingers.

I stand near him, trying to look like a relaxed, simple farm girl. But mentally, I'm reviewing everything I've just learned, gleaning every detail that could be useful.

I hang back behind Talan's chair and glance at the wall. A few feet behind him, there's an alcove with a bench and cushions partially hidden by a velvet curtain, a cozy little nook that offers a view of the gardens. It's the perfect place to hide while I'm committing things to memory.

I drop onto the bench, but it's not long until a dark-haired Fey saunters over, wine sloshing out of his glass. He reminds me of Jasper with his black hair, rings, sleek, dark clothes, and studied air of indifference. Another Talan imitator, but there's something vaguely familiar about him.

He looks over me with a faint smile, dragging his eyes down my dress, then up again to my face. "Nia, is it? I've heard so much about you. I'm Lumos de Morgan, Marquis of Klarvel. I heard you were at the High Council. Is that right? I don't even have an invitation."

My heart skips a beat. Of course he's familiar. I've been inside his head, and when I first broke into Perillos, I pretended to know him. "Hello, Lumos. We have met, you know."

His eyes widen. "Have we?"

"I was told that you charm so many women that you don't remember most of them, so I guess it's true."

He gives me a devilish smile. "Did we, you know…?"

"No, nothing like that." I glance at Talan. A red-haired woman is draped over his chair, laughing hysterically at his joke, just ten feet away. I turn back to his cousin. "It was business. I have eyes for only one man."

Lumos leans against the side of the alcove. "Is that right? Because you don't seem particularly interested in the prince." The contents of his wine glass spill on the floor. "The rumors are he doesn't even visit you at night. Very strange, considering who he is. And you know, usually the women he's with throw themselves at him, but you're over here in the shadows, almost like you wish you were somewhere else."

Fuck.