Chapter 19

‘Nothing odd about anyone’s emotions,’ Naxi merrily reported as they returned to the heart of the castle with a detour through the empty, and therefore safer, academy galleries. Lessons had been paused in the early days of the war, and with more than a few teachers dead and equally as many children left orphaned, they had only been partially resumed. ‘Would have been helpful if one of them had been evilly pleased with themselves! But alas, no such luck.’

Thysandra gave a joyless laugh. ‘So what did you find?’

‘Oh, I’m pretty sure Inga isn’t our leak.’ Naxi gave a wistful sigh. ‘She’s mostly frightened. And—’

‘She might be frightened she’ll be found out,’ Thysandra pointed out.

‘But if it was her, she’d feel guilty, wouldn’t she? She really loves her human friends.’ Naxi rolled her eyes, then shook her curls down her back without slowing down her springy steps. ‘So if she made a mistake and accidentally blathered about the plans to the wrong person, I would expect her to be brimming with self-reproach, which is very much not the case.’

Right .

That was a disconcertingly good point.

‘But the others …’

‘Nothing suspicious there, either.’ Naxi shrugged. ‘Gadyon is incredibly worried. So at least we know he’s sensible, but I don’t think it’s reason to suspect him of anything. Silas is barely holding himself together – not that he was even around to leak anything, of course, so I suppose it doesn’t really matter how miserable he’s feeling.’

Miserable .

Good gods. Perhaps she should have known, given his obvious reluctance to return to the court at all … but at the same time, what in the world was he doing, getting himself tied up in more and more complex politics if he hated every minute of it?

I might be able to help – but that couldn’t possibly be all of it, could it? Not if it was making him miserable ?

Through her confusion, it took a moment too long before she realised a pointed silence had fallen after Naxi’s last words. A little too pointed. As innocently as the demon was bouncing along by her side, they both knew one name had been very much omitted from that list.

‘And Nicanor?’ Thysandra ventured, feeling like she was ambling straight into a trap.

‘Oh, Nicanor .’ A blinding smile was her reward. ‘Nicanor is very interesting. He’s watchful, of course. Frustrated when he doesn’t fully understand what is going on around him. And then he’s also feeling a tad … hungry whenever he looks at you.’

There it was.

‘Right,’ Thysandra said, as evenly as she could manage.

Naxi’s smile was all sharp little teeth now. ‘Did you fuck him?’

Gods have mercy. ‘Before I answer any further questions, let me quickly remind you that you made a bargain to not willingly harm me and that you would very much harm me by killing or torturing the Lord Protector of—’

‘That’s a yes,’ Naxi blithely concluded. ‘Before or after you met me?’

It took a monumental effort not to lie. ‘Does it matter?’

‘After, then.’ Naxi huffed as she darted onwards through the corridor, her bare-footed steps twice as quick as Thysandra’s to keep up. Sunlight fell in through red stained windows, casting blood-coloured pools of light across the pale floor. ‘But you were still pining for me, so he can’t have been a great lay. I suppose that’s acceptable. Unless he tries something again, of course, in which case I’ll sadly have to pour every single one of his own poisons down his sorry throat.’

Thysandra knew she shouldn’t laugh. She really shouldn’t. They weren’t partners , for hell’s sake! They shared nothing but a history of betrayals and ill-advised mutual obsession, and she should know so, so much better than to let a circumstantial bribe and some fluttering lashes fool her into illusions of loyalty and love. Yet all the same …

When had anyone ever gone to battle just to keep her?

‘Pretty mild of you,’ she said, fighting to keep her face straight. ‘I’ve been told most of his creations kill swiftly.’

Naxi’s eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘Good point. I could poison a bunch of other fae one by one and transfer all of their pain to him?’

An unwanted, unstoppable burst of laughter escaped, too swift to catch. A sound of weakness, of stupid sentimentality, yet for one reckless moment she couldn’t give a damn – because it was so bloody easy , this game. Easy enough that it didn’t feel like surviving. Easy enough that every now and then, in these unguarded, unthinking moments, she could almost forget it was a game in the first place.

‘Anyway,’ Naxi cheerfully added, as if they had been discussing dinner and evening plans rather than ruthless torture, ‘the end of the matter is that we still don’t know anything about that stupid leak. Maybe Gadyon was right and someone really has been listening in on your meeting?’

‘Maybe?’ It took an almost physical effort to drag her mind back to the topic of scheming and intrigue. ‘Alternatively, someone made up a rumour to discredit me and accidentally came up with something close to the truth?’

Naxi snorted a laugh. ‘Welcome to the Crimson Court.’

‘It’s not impossible ,’ Thysandra said wryly. ‘Worrisome thought, though. If it happened once, it might happen again.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Naxi said vaguely, head tilting a fraction. ‘Absolutely terrible. You’re lucky to have me and my legendary devotion on your side. ’

That sounded like yet another trap.

‘Am I?’ Thysandra said cautiously.

‘Absolutely blessed.’ The flutter of those pink lashes was alarming. ‘Didn’t you see how loyal I was? I kept myself hidden like you said, even though I was frightfully bored! And I didn’t even bite Nicanor’s fingers off while he was ogling you! Not to mention—'

‘Alright, alright .’ Another unwilling laugh broke free. ‘You were immaculately loyal, and I’m beyond overjoyed to have you on my side – happy, now?’

Naxi beamed at her. ‘Can I sit on your face, then?’

Gods have mercy.

‘It is definitely not enough loyalty for face-sitting yet,’ Thysandra said, making desperate attempts to keep her expression under control and managing very poorly. She was supposed to be gathering allies, damn it. She needed to have a stern chat with her army commanders, worry about island defences, figure out what to do with a rogue uncle making bargains all over the place … but then there were the memories of last night, freedom and pleasure and pretty pink lips on hers, and suddenly courtly matters no longer seemed so urgent at all. ‘Honestly, I would say this earns you a single finger at best.’

The outrage in Naxi’s scoff was a work of art. ‘Oh, I deserve at least three fingers, Sashka. Do you have any idea how delicious Silas’s inner turmoil was? It took an effort not to say anything about it!’

‘Two?’ Thysandra suggested, struggling to maintain her businesslike voice as last night’s fire reignited at her core.

‘Hmm.’ A narrow-eyed glance. ‘If I’m supposed to stay loyal for two mere fingers, you’d better make sure I get them inside me at your earliest convenience.’

She had a busy day.

She was still surviving.

‘We have a deal, then,’ she heard herself say, stepping back from the stained-glass windows, away from any passing eyes. Her fingers tested the nearest doorhandle and found it unlocked. ‘And – entirely unrelated – don’t you agree this is an excellent moment to inspect these very private, very deserted classrooms? ’

A dirty bribe, yes … but as long as it lasted, would it be so bad if she enjoyed it, too?

‘Look, it was a misunderstanding ,’ Imbros of Imbrias’s house repeated for the fourth time, pacing back and forth across the soldiers’ barracks where Thysandra had found him. ‘Nicanor told us that the humans needed protection, alright? So we took a look at Rustvale and Greyside and a few other villages, didn’t see any trouble, and went back home. Of course, if we’d known what was truly going on at the archives …’

He plucked his glass of wine off the table, took a swig, and shook his head in silence like a male filled to the brim with regrets.

‘If you’d known?’ Thysandra prompted, unmoved by this dramatic show of remorse.

‘Well.’ He plopped down his wine again and turned towards her with guileless eyes, as if it was a joke to even ask the question. ‘Orders are orders, aren’t they?’

‘And I expect my commanders to show some common sense when interpreting said orders,’ she sharply retorted, keeping her eyes trained on his hands and the menacing cherry red of his shirt. He might attack. She had no doubt she would be faster, though. ‘If you’d rather return to your boozing than spend five minutes finding out what’s expected of you, I don’t—’

Two walls away, a door slammed.

Outside the room, Naxi’s voice erupted in vehement objections.

Thysandra spun around without thinking, a knife already in her hand. The barracks door burst open before she’d even completed the movement, and Nicanor swept inside in a storm of icy blue and black damask – out of breath, wings flaring wide, ignoring Naxi’s shrill protests behind him with almost suicidal disregard .

‘Thysandra!’

Only then did she realise his hands were covered in fresh, red blood.

‘What’s going on?’ She threw a wild look at the door, Imbros and his wine forgotten at once. ‘Did anyone attack the court? Are you—’

‘Not the court.’ He bent over, gasping for air. His trousers were bloodied too, she realised only then – his shirt as well, and yet he didn’t seem hurt himself. ‘It’s the ships. Fishermen. Think … think you’ll want to take a look.’

Her feet were already moving.

It was disconcerting how instinctively her hand wrapped around Naxi’s wrist in passing, how little thought it took for her to yank that lithe nymph-like body into her arms as her wings swept out. Naxi’s shocked cry barely reached her ears. A dive at the window and they were out and flying. To their left, the deserted training fields shot by; to their right, the gleaming red walls of the castle rose over them like a tidal wave about to crash down.

‘Entrance hall!’ Nicanor hollered behind them.

She slammed her wings against the breeze, climbing higher.

‘ Sashka !’ Naxi squeaked in her arms, little hands digging like claws into her forearm. Only then did Thysandra realise they’d never flown together before. Hell, that a demon without wings or a large number of winged friends may very well never have flown at all. ‘Sashka, if you drop me—’

‘I’m not dropping you,’ she said through gritted teeth, quickening her wingbeats as they soared past the first row of towers.

‘It feels like you’re dropping me!’

‘That’s called gravity.’ She scanned the blue horizon before them – where the hell were those ships Nicanor had mentioned? – then had to abruptly move her focus back to the warm weight in her arms when Naxi shifted without warning. ‘And don’t move. If you start wiggling, I actually might drop you, alright?’

Naxi wailed, squeezed her eyes shut, and wiggled harder.

‘For fuck’s sake.’ She barely managed to grab a thin knee before both the demon’s legs slid from her right arm’s grip. Yards and yards beneath them, the castle’s roofs slid by at dizzying speed. ‘Calm down . Think happy thoughts if you need to. Like poisoning Nicanor, or killing—’

Naxi’s fingers clawed into her shoulder.

Their lips slammed together.

This time Thysandra almost did plummet to the ground – her body too occupied, for just one moment, with the urgent press of that sweet mouth against hers to think of trivialities like moving her wings. Air rushed past them. Her stomach slammed into her throat, and still Naxi did not let go; with a small whimper, those soft pink lips parted, and somehow Thysandra’s did the same …

With desperate effort, her wings swept out.

Feet away from the roof beneath them, their freefall slowed.

And still Naxi was kissing her, both small hands clutching Thysandra’s neck, all of her soft, small body pressed perfectly against Thysandra’s hips, breasts, stomach. Her lips tasted of roses. They tasted like the sweet, wine-drenched figs she’d pilfered from the kitchens at lunchtime, hot and wet and utterly intoxicating, and gods have mercy, what was all this air doing around them? Why in the world weren’t they in a bed yet?

Something to do with emergencies. Something to do with ships.

Nicanor.

Oh, fuck. Nicanor .

Thysandra yanked back her head, gasping for air and sense.

The terrace of the court’s main gate stretched out beneath them, maybe two dozen yards below. A small crowd had gathered on the weathered granite, a bloodied fae shape at the centre, and thankfully that attraction appeared to receive more attention than anything happening overhead … but Nicanor had been just behind them. If he’d seen – if he’d caught even the slightest glimpse of this madness—

No, there he was.

Already far beneath them, descending to the terrace in a long, graceful slide.

‘Fuck,’ Thysandra breathed, voice shivery, limbs shivery, the full force of her panic hooking its claws into her chest only now. ‘ Fuck . Don’t you ever —’

‘Oh,’ Naxi feebly said, glancing at the ground below. ‘We’re almost there already? ’

The worst part was that it sounded genuine.

‘Keep your hands off me when we’ve landed,’ Thysandra forced herself to say in an even voice, because roaring out loud in frustration would draw attention from below, and she did not need a larger audience to see her clutching a frightened demon to her chest. ‘Don’t giggle at me, and don’t you dare call me anything but Your Majesty with anyone around to hear, do you understand?’

Another whimper. ‘Are you angry with me?’

Yes.

No.

Damn it all – what was she thinking? This was an alliance. Not a relationship. Which meant she only needed Naxi around as long as it advanced her goals. Which meant there was no reason, no reason at all , to make light of this situation or call that kiss anything else than an unforgivably stupid idea.

Wide blue eyes blinked up at her, filled with pleas and almost-tears.

‘We’ll talk later,’ Thysandra ground out as she swept into her final descent.

At least the gathered fae below only noticed her moments before she landed on the granite tiles. At least she managed to shove Naxi from her arms swiftly, and at least she could pretend her mussed hair was a result of her hurried flight rather than any more scandalous activities; she impatiently raked the black-and-gold curls into place as she marched towards the circle and loudly said, ‘Can anyone tell me what’s going on here?’

Better to fake authority than to still feel that kiss on her lips.

The crowd parted instantly around her, whispers and murmurs stilling at once. At the heart of the group, only a blood-stained fae male remained behind on the tiles – the worst of his injuries healed but healed poorly, the gleaming pink scars and tatters of his wings silent witnesses of whatever had befallen him. Nicanor stood mere feet away, knife in his hand, eyes glittering dangerously.

‘What happened?’ she repeated, more sharply now.

‘Your Majesty,’ the wounded fae groaned. ‘Your Majesty, I’m a sailor of the Zephyr – part of your fishing fleet, Your Majesty. We were ambushed this morning. Ship’s sunk. Half … half of the crew is dead. They attacked without warning, Your Majesty – clear blue skies one moment, and the next they were showering us in red—’

They .

Her thoughts stuttered.

Only one group he could be talking about … but that did not make sense, did it? Why would Bereas ever bother to harm the court’s fishing fleet, of all things? Even at the height of the Mother’s war preparations, those vessels had never been enlisted to assist the empire’s navy – small ships that had never been built to inflict or withstand any violence at all. They didn’t fight. They just—

They brought in food.

Cold dread rose in her.

‘Do you …’ She already knew the answer, and yet she had to ask – as if feigning ignorance might still change the inevitable facts. ‘Do you know who they were, exactly?’

Everyone knew, and yet the pulse of silence was heavy with anticipation.

‘Bereas,’ the wounded sailor rasped, hoarse and furious. ‘My daughter is obsessed with wing-racers, Your Majesty. I would recognise those fucking wings anywhere.’

So it was true.

Her foremost enemy, reappearing not to attack the heavily defended Crimson Court itself, but rather the vulnerable resources on which her peace depended.

It was clever. It was vicious. Most of all, it was an indication of more long-term thinking than she’d thought the bastard capable of – hell, had she been underestimating him? Was there an actual plan behind the seemingly random outbursts of violence she’d seen from him so far, a strategy she’d simply overlooked?

Then what was she to do now?

That age-old voice was still there in the back of her head – that voice that said, hide, hide, hide , that knew no words but the safe, stifling darkness of the world beneath her blankets. She knew what Old Thysandra would have done. Diplomacy. Compromise. Already she could see herself sitting at a table with Bereas, trying desperately to find some middle ground – fine, but you can kill no more than ten humans a year …

She’d probably have thought it a fairly reasonable deal, too.

Eyes, so many eyes watching her as she stood there on the smooth black tiles and tried to keep thinking straight … Hell, how many of these people were secretly glad for the attack? How many of them would support all violence as long as it did not harm their own skin? How many of them couldn’t wait for the rebels to return and take control of the court?

And if she didn’t let them … how long would she survive?

She swallowed and tasted roses.

And just like that the world was clear again, the lingering flavour on her tongue like a whack to the head – because she still wasn’t a fool, and damn it all, she still had her hard-won allies and her thought-out plans, didn’t she? She didn’t need to tell her audience that she was choosing the side of the rest of the world over theirs. There was no need to out herself as a traitor just yet.

She simply needed to act.

‘Nicanor?’ she said.

Her Lord Protector merely tilted his head.

‘It appears that our friend Bereas has forgotten it’s bad form to attack one’s own people.’ She stepped back, sending the flocks of fae a joyless, reassuring smile she was quite sure they did not need. ‘Please scale up the court’s defences to their highest level of alertness. We will need to stop him if he intends to make that same mistake again.’