Chapter 21

The spark came even sooner than expected.

Not during her inspection of the forces Nicanor had posted along most of the coast of the island – her soldiers were grim but calm as they waited for the inevitable confrontation to come. Not even during the hours she spent hurrying around the court afterwards, answering questions, fielding thinly veiled attacks, bracing herself for accusations of treason that never came. But when she returned to her rooms for lunch halfway through the afternoon – overwhelmed, exhausted, and ready to commit bloody murder if a single person mentioned Bereas’s name ever again – Naxi sat waiting before the redwood door, two dead fae by her feet, and a sealed and folded piece of parchment in her hands.

‘Sashka!’

It would have been sensible, presumably, to ask some questions about the corpses first.

But the poor sods were dead anyway – they had probably done plenty to deserve it – and even the grisliest corpse couldn’t have been as shocking as the dazzling brightness of Naxi’s smile, an almost aggressive cheer that suggested the previous day’s gloominess had never even existed. It was that surprise that had Thysandra jerking to a standstill on the stairs, the world stuttering and rearranging itself around her – because the little menace would be leaving soon, wouldn’t she?

That smile didn’t look like she was leaving.

It looked like she was about to burrow into Thysandra’s skin and live there.

‘I’ve got news!’ Her voice was merry like a midwinter celebration – forced brightness, anxiously ignoring the looming dark on the edges. ‘Tared just visited and left a letter for you, Sashka!’

A single letter.

For the five she’d sent out.

Which should be a crushing disappointment, and yet she barely felt that emotion beneath the far more urgent, far more ominous suspicion swelling in her. What in the world was going on? Naxi’s grin was too broad. Her eyes too wide. There was something she wasn’t saying, and few things were as utterly terrifying as a demon with secrets – had Tared given her any new information? Hell, had the Labyrinth ?

‘Sashka?’ Naxi repeated, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.

‘Right,’ Thysandra managed, forcing herself to move, to step forward. Her thoughts swam, and so did the sound of her voice in her own ears. ‘Yes, very good. Is there … is there anything else we should talk about?’

Blue eyes blinked back at her, guilelessly. ‘Talk?’

‘Yes.’ It felt surreal, the entire conversation, and the dead fae lying between them did not help matters in the slightest, their bodies grotesque props on the stage of some bittersweet comedy. ‘You— Yesterday, you said—’

‘Oh!’ Naxi’s peal of laughter was like bells, sharp and bright. ‘I was just tired. I said things I didn’t mean. Don’t you want to read Tared’s letter?’

Gods help her.

She didn’t care about gods-damned Tared’s letter. She wanted to know what the hell was going on, with an urgency that felt like a hand around her throat. This wasn’t Naxi , the stilted, artificial little creature sitting against that door before her. This was some unnerving parody of the demon she knew, and how was she supposed to think about politics when something was obviously, mysteriously wrong with … well, her foremost ally?

It made sense, didn’t it, to be worried about the person who presented such an exceptional strategic advantage for your cause?

‘Sashka.’ A flutter of slightly bloodstained, buttery yellow and then Naxi was standing, the strained smile gone from her face at last. Her impatient glower was a relief, somehow. At least it looked like hers . ‘I really am fine. Let us into your rooms and read the stupid letter. Tared said you should probably sit down before you look at it.’

That did not soothe her worries in the slightest. It did kick her back into motion, though, so abruptly that even her own mind was surprised to find her walking again, past the fae who’d slit their own throat, to the door with its secret lock. Only after she’d sparked red magic at the right spot did she remember she should have asked Naxi to look away.

Damn it all. It wasn’t like a demon without fae magic could do much to open the door by herself.

She let herself collapse onto the couch, unthinkingly wiping vines off the cushions as she held out a hand for Tared’s letter. Naxi passed it on, then hopped on to the heartleaf-covered kitchen counter to make tea – her humming close enough to her usual quiet sounds that Thysandra almost, almost managed to loosen her shoulders as she unfolded the parchment.

Thysandra, it began.

After lengthy deliberation, we have concluded it is to our own benefit not to drive the Crimson Court to violence again. We are therefore open to discussing trade agreements. Prices would conform to market, although we would appreciate your assistance repairing some of the material damage the war has done.

There is one additional condition:

Crimes have been committed against our peoples for the century and a half we were ruled by the empire. Some of these were the direct consequences of the Mother’s orders, and with her death, we consider justice done. However, others were committed by individual fae, of their own volition, and we do not want to see their actions go unpunished.

Attached, you will find a provisional list. We ask that you deliver these individuals to the Alliance so they can be tried and, if found guilty, penalised.

With regards,

Delwin of Khonna, interim senator of the White City

Helenka of Tolya, on behalf of all nymph queens

Bakaru Sefistrim, King of Kings

Yndrusillitha, acting Eldest of Phurys

Tared Thorgedson, hersir of Skeire, on behalf of all alves

Four sheets of parchment followed, every single inch of them covered in names.

For a full minute, all she could think was no .

No.

No.

An impossibility. An unthinkability. Not in the way a spectacular, heroic feat was impossible, like facing a demon in battle and walking out of the encounter alive – rather, impossible in the way of flying without wings. They couldn’t ask this of her. They were mad to ask this of her. Didn’t they realise what the response would be – that most fae would rather fight a losing war for another decade than allow themselves to be handed over so easily? A downfall devoid of all glory, and surely she couldn’t—

Do better .

Her mind went still.

These … these were Old Thysandra’s thoughts again, weren’t they ?

This was her thinking about fae again, most of all, about the court’s wishes and opinions – hell, this was her thinking like the Mother’s loyal servant again. She didn’t need to do that. She needed to not do that. If she wanted to make things right … what would she do?

She read the letter again.

Closed her eyes for a few heartbeats, then unfolded the name lists attached to the message, and scanned them, too.

Names she knew, belonging to warriors she knew. Allies , part of her still whispered. Your own damn people . And then she thought again, and the sight of those ink-scribbled lines shifted – because gods, of course the Alliance wanted Lycaon after the fortune he’d amassed embezzling tribute payments. Aethra was undeniably guilty of flogging those rebelling phoenixes to death a few decades ago. And she’d had heard whispers about Chimalon before, suggesting he made a habit of stealing human girls away from their homes; why in the world would she let him get away with such crimes? Hell, why hadn’t she throttled the bastard herself long before she’d even received this letter?

Her head spun.

She forced herself to keep reading.

The more names she recognised, the more reasonable the Alliance’s conditions became. They didn’t even demand a punishment of all fae, the way the Mother would have entire villages wiped out for an individual’s rebellion. They asked only for the ones who did harm. Even better, only the ones who went out of their way to do harm – and really, what justification could she present for the fae who had stolen, maimed, and killed for nothing but their own pleasure and gain?

She did not serve them anymore. She didn’t owe them any fucking protection against the consequences of their own fucking actions.

She’d just have to be very, very careful.

One last time, she read the letter accompanying the lists. Then she firmly folded it in four, slipped it into the hidden sheath in her skirt, and looked up to find Naxi by the stove, a bunch of verbena in one hand and two mugs in the other. The demon’s rosy, knowing smile was entirely her own again.

‘Glad you sat down first?’ she asked brightly .

‘Yes.’ Thysandra straightened her dress, then rose, absently ruffling her tense wings. It was baffling, truly, how easy matters became when she was doing what she wanted to do. With caution, of course. She was a traitor. Not a fool. But all the same …

‘Never mind about the tea for now,’ she added, making for the door. ‘Let’s go see Nicanor.’

‘Ah,’ her Lord Protector airily said as he opened the door for her mere minutes later, dressed this afternoon in a midnight-blue ensemble that was outrageously decadent even by his own, already fairly outrageous standards. The silver embroidery on his coat alone must have taken a handful of seamstresses months to complete. ‘Even more guests? Do come in – I suppose we could all use a party these days.’

‘A … party?’ And only then did she hear the voices emerging from the other side of the door – voices so unexpected that it took her a moment to convince herself she’d identified the timbres correctly.

Silas?

Inga ?

After her uncle’s almost-accusations of that same morning? After … good gods, after every furious glare Inga had levelled at the Lord Protector over the course of their meetings?

Ridiculous, and yet the two of them were sitting at the worktable in Nicanor’s living room-turned-laboratory as if they felt perfectly at home between the bubbling fluids and ominously coloured vials – sipping glasses of cold white wine as if the room wasn’t stocked to the ceiling with every poison known to history and then some. Silas’s arms rested loosely on the wooden tabletop, his wings relaxed. Inga, more bewilderingly, wasn’t even glowering at anyone, her timid half-grin and fidgety hands suggesting she was no longer quite sure what to do with herself when she wasn’t hiding behind the shield of her fury .

What in the world was going on?

What had changed so abruptly? Had anything even changed abruptly? Had the three of them been cosily getting along behind her back all this time, and had she fallen for some crafty performance for her eyes only, for—

‘Oh!’ Naxi exclaimed beside her, rushing into the room. ‘So many friends!’

Friends .

Was that a hint? A subtle signal that this wasn’t some malicious conspiracy coming together? Not that she should need any subtle signals, of course, because Nicanor’s bargain was still in place and Silas must have spoken the truth when he said he didn’t want to hurt her … Besides, what did they have to gain by getting rid of her? Truly, she—

‘Thysandra?’ Nicanor dryly interrupted her thoughts, gesturing at the table with an elegant flourish. ‘Were you planning on coming in?’

Right.

‘Yes,’ she said, forcing something akin to a smile as she followed Naxi inside. ‘Yes, of course. Thank you.’

Inga was already helping Naxi climb up onto the high stools; Naxi was all fluttering gratitude and hiccups of laughter, her most disarming act. Silas turned towards Thysandra – and no matter how leisurely his faint smile, no matter how casually he’d rolled up his sleeves over his bargain-covered arms, something subdued in his golden eyes told her that carefree relaxation was the last thing on his mind.

Not cosily getting along, then.

Which made everything even odder.

‘Afternoon, Thys,’ he said, sending her a quick nod. She couldn’t tell if it was intended to be a reassurance. ‘Just catching up on a few centuries of courtly matters. If there’s anything you and Nicanor need to discuss in private, we can get out of here, of course.’

We .

He was speaking for Inga, then? What for the gods’ sakes had he told the girl during that mysterious conversation of theirs – how had he persuaded her to suddenly start smiling ?

It would be wise to make them leave, presumably. The letter burned in her pocket, making her all jittery with an odd mixture of nervousness and determination; every extra pair of eyes on it only increased the chance of trouble. On the other hand …

Sooner or later, the news would reach them anyway. Silas knew the court. Inga knew the court’s opponents. They might be able to assist her in dealing with the backlash; if they were sitting here anyway, perhaps it wasn’t too bad an idea to hear their thoughts before things came to pass.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ she said, and Nicanor quietly shut the door behind her. ‘Might be good to discuss this together.’

‘Excellent.’ Her uncle reached for the bottle of wine on the table. ‘A glass, then, if I’m allowed to hand out Nicanor’s supply on his behalf?’

She grimaced. ‘I take it you’ve been drinking it without side effects?’

‘As a matter of fact,’ Nicanor said, feigning indignation, ‘I have already been asked on a bargain of truth whether there is anything harmful in that bottle. Which there isn’t. Nothing but the usual sort of harm a bottle of wine can do, that is, but I take it you’re not planning to guzzle down a gallon of it?’

She did admittedly feel tempted but said, ‘A glass should do, thank you.’

Silas poured two glasses. Around them, poison ingredients soaked, simmered, and steamed on the shelves; a faint smell of sulphur lingered in the room, although the sweeter, fresher scent of lily perfume was far more prominent.

The windows were closed, Thysandra noted. No chance of accidental eavesdroppers here, then.

‘Alright,’ Nicanor said, easily taking a seat at Silas’s side. He picked up his own glass without taking his gaze off the company, swirling the crystal back and forth in his long fingers. ‘Let us get down to business, then. To what do we owe this pleasant surprise, Your Majesty?’

She braced herself.

Do better .

‘I’ve been corresponding with the Alliance,’ she said. ‘About the possibility of setting up new trade agreements.’

Had she pulled a maimed corpse from beneath the table, she could not have ruined the amiable atmosphere more thoroughly.

Nicanor stiffened in his seat, wine halfway to his lips. Inga’s eyes went wide like saucers. Even Silas – who could not have heard of the topic before – didn’t need more than a blink to grasp the implications of what she was saying; his fingers went tight enough to pale the skin around his gleaming bargain marks.

You’re living in a tinderbox …

Only Naxi was snickering soundlessly on the other side of the table, slender hands pressed over her mouth.

‘What?’ Nicanor said after a beat of silence.

‘I reached out to them a while ago. Figured there was no use discussing it with you when they might ignore us entirely.’ Thysandra drew in a breath and pulled the folded letter from her skirt, not yet opening it before she tossed it onto the table. ‘But here we are.’

Three pairs of eyes watched the parchment as if it was a snake about to uncoil.

‘And?’ Nicanor said tightly.

‘They are willing to trade with us for grain and other necessities. At standard market prices, even.’ She managed a smile. ‘Seems they aren’t too eager to deal with the consequences of starving the court.’

He sagged a fraction on his stool, lowering his glass to the table. ‘Good gods.’

That was shock, genuine shock in his eyes. What had he thought, all this time – that she was planning to let the court starve in a few months? Or was it rather her secrecy itself that had unnerved him so?

‘What’s the catch?’ Inga demanded, her glower returning as she leaned over the table and frowned at the folded letter.

‘What catch?’ Nicanor asked, sounding bewildered.

‘To their offer.’ Inga glared at him as if he had personally insulted her. ‘You all stole their food for centuries. Did you really think they’d just continue to hand it over, no questions asked?’

He blinked, then turned. ‘Thysandra?’

‘There is a catch,’ she admitted, closing her eyes for the briefest of moments. ‘They’re asking for extradition of … well, a number of fae. ’

Outside her eyelids, the word remained alarmingly quiet for an alarmingly long moment.

Then Nicanor slowly, pointedly said, ‘A … number.’

She drew in a deep breath, looking up despite every instinct in her body screaming at her to try and make herself invisible. ‘Yes.’

‘And …’ His frost-coloured eyes were piercingly sharp on her face; on the edge of her sight, even Silas was watching her closely, his frown growing deeper and deeper. ‘And what sort of number are we talking about exactly, Your Majesty?’

Thysandra was sure of herself.

She was really, very sure of herself. She really, truly knew what she was doing. And yet it took way too much effort to hold his burrowing gaze, to keep her shoulders straight and her wings in place as they ached to curl protectively around her – way too much effort, too, to part her lips and get the words out. ‘A … a few hundred.’

Nicanor blinked.

Next to him, Silas let out the quietest curse beneath his breath.

‘That’s hardly unreasonable, is it?’ Inga brusquely said, glancing back and forth between the two of them so fiercely that blonde strands of hair fluttered around her fae ears. ‘Gods know the empire has killed rather more than a few hundred of their people, and—’

Nicanor groaned. ‘Thysandra.’

‘I know ,’ she said, voice too loud, pulse quickening. Fuck. He was the one who needed to act on her decision, the one who could whip the army into obedience if necessary, and she really, really did not want to know what would happen if he bluntly refused to follow her orders. ‘I know, but the alternative—’

‘The alternative can hardly be worse than this!’ He plunked his silk-clad elbows onto the table, buried his face in his hands, then desperately added from between his fingers, ‘You’re proposing to actively abandon our own people for the Alliance’s benefit? To not just stop fighting them but to start helping them? You know damn well that not a single inhabitant of this court will accept—'

‘Not a single inhabitant?’ Inga coldly interrupted.

Nicanor froze, then cursed and hauled himself straight again, rubbing his temple. ‘Fine. Not a single fae inhabitant.’

‘Even then.’ The girl scoffed, glancing at Silas as if to look for support. ‘I don’t know much about the bastards in the army, but from what I’ve seen of my archivist colleagues, I doubt any of them will care if a bunch of murderers get their just desserts. They’ll be happy to avoid another war, if anything.’

Would they be?

Thysandra had to admit, in the slightly baffled silence that fell, that she’d never thought that much about the thousands of court members who weren’t either in the army or part of the Mother’s inner circle of courtiers. They had never been a danger to her, and so they had never been worth considering. But of course they were here all the same: the cooks, the teachers, the traders and craftspeople …

Did they care?

Their names surely weren’t on the Alliance’s list.

‘The problem,’ Nicanor said, fingers digging into the poison-stained table surface, ‘is that the archivists aren’t going to be the ones feeding Thysandra to the hounds, alright?’

Every other thought fell away.

For a single, night-black moment, there was nothing in her mind but snarling.

‘ Nicanor ,’ Silas snapped somewhere far, far away, his voice sharper than she’d ever heard it. Her Lord Protector’s answer, unwillingly apologetic, barely reached her conscious mind. Not trying to dredge up bad memories … just making sure the stakes are clear …

Thysandra! her father had screamed as jaws sank into his chest, snapping his ribs like dry twigs.

And only then did it hit her – that the Mother had lied all those years ago, claiming Echion had never had her best interests in mind. That her father had tried to save her. That he had done everything he could not to drag her down with him, and then he’d died his torturous death while watching her stand on that precipice, the Mother’s hand a heavy claim on her shoulder – then he’d died knowing —

A vicious twinge of pain shot through her arm.

She jolted from the pits of her memories with almost physical effort, barely suppressing a yelp of shock. Had someone pinched her? But no one was even looking at her, the attention focused instead on the fervent discussion before her, and the pain had vanished far too soon for physical touch …

Her eyes met Naxi’s across the table.

The demon gave a small, cunning wink.

‘All I’m trying to say,’ Nicanor was saying to her left, sounding like he was repeating himself for the fifth time, ‘is that we’re not going to make friends by handing fae over to the same Alliance that caused our trouble in the first place. That—’

Inga snorted. ‘I’d argue the court mostly caused its own trouble.’

‘Yes, but that’s not how they will take it, is it?’ Nicanor shot back. ‘All they’re going to see is—’

A traitor.

Thysandra knew what he’d been about to say even as he snapped his mouth shut just in time, casting a wary look at Silas’s widening nostrils.

‘So …’ Her voice was too hoarse. ‘What do you propose we do, then?’

‘Tell the Alliance you can’t do this,’ Nicanor said in exasperation, before either of the others could speak up. ‘Ask them for another way to pay for that food.’

‘Oh, that’s not going to work,’ Naxi piped up. ‘Tared told me when he delivered the letter that they wouldn’t negotiate on their proposal.’

Traitor. Traitor. Traitor .

‘So let me get this straight,’ Thysandra managed to grind out. Her chest was constricting, her sight blurring a little on the edges. ‘Our choices are to either start raiding islands for food, start another war, likely lose it after wasting a few thousand lives on both sides, and be punished even more severely … or to let a few hundred people suffer the consequences of their own cruelty and allow the rest of the court to prosper. Do I have that right?’

Nicanor groaned. ‘Yes, assuming that for the second option the rest of the court doesn’t unite against you and cause you to die a senseless death. ’

By hound.

They were still snarling in the back of her mind.

It would be so very easy to retreat. To try and find compromise, to let herself be cowed into supporting the goals of others … but she was New Thysandra now, and New Thysandra did better than that. She knew what the right decision was, didn’t she?

So if she didn’t want to die …

She could still be a traitor. She just had to do it quietly.

‘Let’s not tell them, then,’ she said, making her decision in a single, brilliant heartbeat.

Even Silas blinked in surprise. ‘Beg your pardon?’

‘Let’s arrest them and not tell the court why.’ Relief came rushing in as she spoke – a fresh breeze filling her chest, driving back the stifling dark. ‘Just … just say they’re suspected of conspiring against the crown. Everyone and their mother is conspiring against the crown these days, so that’s a perfectly believable explanation. And then we can quietly hand them over to the Alliance after all and be done with it.’

Four pairs of eyes were staring at her now.

‘The alves can take them from here without a whisper,’ she added, a fraction more defensively. ‘And I’m sure the Alliance will agree not to make too much noise about the trials themselves if we ask them. Then when that’s all over—’

‘Thys,’ Silas interrupted, rubbing his temple as if to soothe a headache. ‘You do realise that the truth will come out sooner or later, don’t you?’

Sooner would be bad.

Later … she could survive later.

‘All I know is that it shouldn’t come out now .’ She gave a joyless laugh. ‘The tinderbox can do without this particular spark. If it spreads by the time we have trade figured out – well, this is the bloody Crimson Court, yes? As long as there’s food and wine, does anyone really care about their fellow fae enough to make a fuss?’

‘They do care about pride,’ Nicanor murmured below his breath.

Silas quietly grimaced beside him. Inga showed her unwilling agreement by not disagreeing at all. Even Naxi was looking a touch doubtful as she toyed absently with her own pink curls – but then, of course Naxi was doubtful about this development if it meant she wouldn’t have any fae to kill soon …

And damn it all, it was easy for them to doubt, wasn’t it? None of them were the one whose head was on the line here.

‘We’re keeping it quiet,’ Thysandra repeated, more firmly now, or at least she hoped firmness was the impression she managed to convey. ‘That’s my final decision, and you can take it as an order. Do we need bargains to ensure secrecy, or—’

‘Already got mine,’ Nicanor wryly interrupted, raising his wrist to show the pale purple mark. For a single moment she was sure he would object again, that he would argue or even refuse to obey … and then the moment was over, and his blue wings slackened abruptly as he dropped his hand back to the table. All he said was, ‘As you wish, Your Majesty. Can I see the list?’

‘We’re going to need copies,’ Inga muttered as she shoved the letter towards him. Not a word of protest from her, either. ‘Should I make a start on those, then?’

Should she?

Without a bargain to keep her in check?

But then again … this was Inga , who had plenty of reason to wish a gruesome death upon every single fae mentioned on these sheets. She wouldn’t be warning the bastards, would she? She wouldn’t be causing trouble – trouble which would surely impact the humans, too – by spreading the explosive news?

‘Please do,’ Thysandra said, taking the leap. ‘One for Nicanor, please, and one for Gadyon as well. We need to know how many individuals on the list are already dead and which of the survivors are living on other fae isles at the moment.’

Inga nodded and picked up one of the pages. On the other side of the table, Nicanor was already reading through another, eyebrow climbing higher and higher up his forehead even though he did not speak a word.

‘Well,’ Silas said on a long exhale, shoving back his stool to rise to his feet. ‘I’ll just go make a few more bargains, then, shall I?’