Chapter 42

Iknew how we must appear to this poor, frightened girl.

Remembered how petrified I'd been when Solok stepped from the forest, dark magic twining around him, the air tightening with that strange, otherworldly power. I'd wanted to vomit.

"We only came for Lord Eirik and the other Descendants," I told the poor girl kindly. "We are not here to harm you."

"You are Fae, from across the wall." She bowed her head, but her eyes scanned my face, wary curiosity sparking in them. "You're not like the refugees, though."

"No, we're not refugees. I lived in Ravenshade Castle until the Scything a few months ago when everyone there was killed."

Her eyes widened. "We heard the rumors of what happened at Lady Evangeline's betrothal party, and that castle…it's forbidden for anyone to trespass there. They say the estate is haunted."

"The truth is, Ravenshade Castle is no more haunted than this place, packed full of dead bodies. The Fae King and the Shadow King are both dead, and the magic has been freed in both Caladrius and Solarys." I tried to sound encouraging.

"We are here to drop the wall between our two realms and release the magic in Varitus as well. But a blight is coming. Before the ward falls, you should take your family and head to the Western Wall."

Her eyes lifted over my shoulder, and I turned to find Lord Rivière crawling away across the grass before Raz dragged him back, Tristan crouching down beside him, his face hard.

I told her quietly, "Like I said, we're not here for you."

The girl smiled—a slash of vicious glee—looking down at her former master. "You are truly here to drop the ward?" She looked me up and down again. "You?"

"Me." I grinned at her confusion. "A slave to the Ravenshades, a female nobody, I've claimed the Fae King's magic and freed two realms. And if I can do these things, you can get your family to safety."

"If you were one of us, you know I can't," she whispered, her shoulders sagging. "Even if we left, we wouldn't make it off Descendant lands before we were dragged back here and executed."

"You're not a slave anymore," I told her fiercely, glancing at the guards scrambling around at the foot of the stairs, attempting to organize themselves into some semblance of resistance. "I take it Lady Rivière is upstairs? In her chambers, I am assuming?"

"Most likely cowering under the bed." She smirked before her expression went flat. "But she has fire magic, milady, and she is not afraid to use it." She tugged her sleeves down over her hands, but not before I saw the burns, shiny and white, marking her arms.

I shoved to my feet, anger burning a hole in my belly.

I'd met Lady Rivière on many occasions, and if she'd passed down anything to her son, it was her cruelty.

"Don't worry. I have magic too, and I'm not afraid to use mine either."

Sometimes all it took for people to discover they were powerful was to watch their oppressors fall.

"I remember you well, Lady Gloriana."

I eyed the soles of the gold slippers sticking out beneath the satin bed cover.

"I often served you and Eirik during the balls the duke gave at Ravenshade." I crouched down. "You are a petty, shallow woman, and your days of hurting others are over. Now come out or I will drag you out. Make up your mind quickly; my patience is wearing thin, and frankly, I'm tired of playing games."

"You're going to want to listen to her, madame." Tavion's chuckle filled the bedchamber, the four-poster shaking as Lady Rivière attempted to worm deeper beneath the bed.

"Big mistake," I warned, not one bit sorry as my darkling spun across the floor like liquid night.

Lady Rivière burst free, sending out weak puffs of fire as she stumbled for the door. My darklings got there first, wrapping around her until she was encased in a nest of writhing black.

"Get out of my house, you foul creatures." She spat, a mouthful of saliva landing on my boots. "My husband will kill you all and send you back to the Pit where you belong."

"Look, darling," Tavion teased, though his eyes remained cold as ice. "She thinks we're monsters from the Pit."

"I hate to disappoint, but you couldn't be more wrong."

"Is she though?" Tavion tapped his finger on his chin, debating. "Technically, she could be right, you know. Depending on how you want to look at this."

I rolled my eyes. "We can do this outside or in here," I told her, my darklings wrapping tighter around her until her face blanched and she stopped squirming.

I scanned the sumptuous bedchamber, everything draped liberally in white satin and gold trim. I felt like I was standing ankle deep in the center of a coming-of-age cake.

"Actually, I'll bet it's in here somewhere." Tavion hummed in agreement as I nodded toward the door. "Go fetch Lord Rivière. That way I don't have to bother dragging her outside."

Tavion returned gripping the struggling, red-faced lord by an arm. He dropped Eirik beside his wife, my darklings uncurling themselves from Gloriana's body while he looked on in horror. When she reached for him, he shoved her away. "Do not touch me. You reek of dark magic." The devastation on her face almost made me feel sorry for her.

Almost.

Because I still felt Gloriana's fire magic searing my arms as I served her during one of the duke's parties. Had, on more than one occasion, bandaged Ember's burns while she'd sobbed.

"What do you foul creatures want? The Scything is over. We are safe for the next hundred years." Lord Rivière was an older, more bloated version of his son Estienne, with all the same cold arrogance and the same weak underbite.

Eirik's narrowed gaze skated over us, but by the time he'd finished, his resolve had crumbled.

We were no magicless slaves to be bullied, no Descendant hangers-on to be impressed by his boasting and paltry magic tricks.

But that didn't mean he was smart enough to know when to stop. Fire flared at his fingertips, sweat beading on his top lip before he lobbed a flaming ball of magic straight at me.

Big fucking mistake.

Both because his pathetic fire fizzled harmlessly against my shield, and because Raziel crossed the bedroom in two strides and grabbed the bastard by his throat.

"That's enough," I scolded mildly when Rivière's eyes bulged out of his head. Raz dropped him to the floor and the bastard's legs collapsed beneath him, his wife sidling out of the way.

"We are here to reclaim something that was stolen from us. A stone. Cream colored, small enough to fit into the palm of your hand. You would have, perhaps, inherited this relic from an ancestor who brought it here when Varitus was first settled."

"I've stolen nothing. I am a Descendant. You can't?—"

"Yeah, we can't touch you because you're the chosen ones with magic gifted by the Fae King to rule over Varitus. Have you been to Ravenshade Castle lately? The duke would beg to differ."

Tavion squatted down, fangs on full display. "We could squash you without even trying. Where is the stone? Hand over the artifact, and we might not kill you today, though given my temper, I can't make any promises."

Sweat ran down the sides of Eirik's face in rivulets. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Tristan tracked the lord's gaze straight to the closed door on the side of the bedchamber. His hand, like mine, was in his pocket, fingers wrapped around his stone. My keystone was humming, so another keystone was close by.

"Your office, I assume?" Tavion rose with his usual careless, elegant grace, striding to the door and flinging it open. A small library stuffed with books and stacks of paintings against one wall, and a desk completely covered with scrolls and broken ink pens. One small window overlooked the gravel drive we'd come up.

"You think you can come here like thieves and steal from me?" Lord Rivière blustered with all the bravado of a male who knew his time was up. "We will hunt you down. You cannot stand against the might of the Descendants. Of King Vandran."

Tavion burst out laughing. "King Vandran? And where can we find him?" He looked to me, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Perhaps we should have started there and worked our way down."

I shrugged, sorting through the debris strew across the desk. "Rivière was closer. Vandran's in Arcadia, a full day away."

"Not if we fly there." Tristan's smile turned speculative.

"We will execute you like the other rabble that trespassed on our lands." Rivière's cold gaze raked me up and down. "We have long protected our borders, and after what happened to Duke Edric, we took precautions. Bolstered our guards and made preparations."

We all went still, five pairs of eyes pinning Rivière down to his bedroom floor like a bug. "What do you mean you executed them?" Raziel hissed, looming over the lord. "There were thousands of refugees. Thousands. They had nowhere else to go but west."

Rivière lifted his chin petulantly. "This is our realm. Gifted to us by the Fae King himself?—"

"I'll search the grounds and see what I can find." Tavion moved toward the outer hallway. "You'd better be bluffing, you piece of shite, or I'll make sure you join them. I'll make damn sure you never see the Great Beyond, but the darkest corners of the Pit."

I watched him stalk out with a swirl of cloak, forcing myself to bring my temper to heel.

What Rivière claimed wasn't outside the realm of possibility. The Descendants ruled through fear and might, and the Scything had claimed members from a great many royal houses. After Solok's visit, the power structure of Varitus would have been rattled to its foundations, and the king would have taken measures.

"I will make this simple for you?—"

"Some of them weren't even Fae." His lips twisted into a sneer of disgust. "Blackened and twisted and ruined, it was a mercy to put them out of their misery."

Beside me, Raziel went perfectly still. Tristan, too, as if they were debating snapping Eirik's neck. "Twisted how?" I asked through numb lips.

"Like they'd been corrupted by wickedness. Beasts. Covered in black spines and veins, some only by half, but some were altogether changed, not a shred of mortality left. We did them a mercy," he muttered, wrapping his arms around his middle.

I glanced at Raz. His expression was stone, but fury burned in his eyes. Fury that changed to concern when his gaze fell on me, that place beneath my heart tightening.

He already knew.

The realization hit me out of nowhere. Raz knew my magic had transformed—corrupted—innocent people. And while now was not the time to get into this, my soul ached with the knowledge he'd withheld the information, even though I understood his reasons.

But…I turned my attention back to Rivière. I was done playing with this pompous fuck.

"The stone," I said coldly. "Give us the stone and we will be gone." My lips quirked, and not in amusement.

"My friend will find the truth about the Fae refugees, and depending on what he discovers, we may or may not be burning this place to the ground behind us. If you mean to survive this, Rivière, you will cooperate."

"Why come here first?" he asked obstinately. "Why not go to the king first?"

"Because, while Duke Edric was the wealthiest of the royal houses, you have the most influence over the king, which means you possess one of the stones. That is the only explanation for your rather formidable grip on power given your weak, paltry magic."

His eyes narrowed. "And who are you, exactly?" His gaze raked down my travel-worn leathers, my scuffed boots and tangled braid.

"My name is Anaria Centaria, and by blood, I am the Fae King's daughter. But before Solok took me to Caladrius, I was one of Duke Ravenshade's slaves. Your son Estienne tried to rape me the night of the Scything."

My voice…was a raspy snarling thing, so primally Fae I didn't even recognize myself.

"He and Berenger were the first to die that night, beneath a storm of fangs and talons, and I was glad—fucking glad—to watch them perish at Solok's hands. Glad a monster came out of the shadows and saved me that night no matter what came after."

I didn't think Raz or Tristan were breathing.

The Rivière's stared at me like they were seeing a ghost.

I didn't mean to say all of that, for them to hear the ugly details of what happened that night, but I couldn't stop the words from coming. "Your son was a monster. You are monsters. Your son meant to kill me that night, do you know that? Use me and kill me and leave me broken, like he had so many before me."

Power turned the air to soup, brimming with shadows and the scent of freshly struck lightning.

Varitus was cursed. This place deserved to burn.

I'd nearly died here a hundred times over in my short eighteen years.

At the hands of the Mistress and the duke and Berenger and Estienne. I was hyperventilating, my chest aching from the force of my breaths until Raz put his hand on my back and my blood slowed, my head clearing enough for me to lean into him. I closed my eyes and forced myself to look into Rivière's pale, gaping face.

To show him I was no longer afraid.

"I killed the Fae King and took his magic. Then I killed the Shadow King." I grit my teeth. "I will kill you, too, if you don't give me that stone. Now."