Chapter 3

If someone had pushed a whetted dagger to her throat, her body could not have reacted more vehemently.

It was that sharp-toothed smile. The brush of golden sunlight over pink-blonde hair. Most of all, the sound of that gods-damned nickname from those gods-damned rosebud lips, savoured with a sweetness that glossed over a century and a half of hostility – a sound that after all these years still filled her with a maddening echo of softness, of pleasure, of safety .

Her heart leapt into her throat. At once, her hands were clammy, not with fear but rather with the certainty that came one step beyond fear – the knowledge of imminent trouble.

Which Naxi had to know.

Those demon senses could register every goosebump, every prickle of cold sweat … and yet the deadly little creature on her couch was still smiling that same bubbly smile. As if her appearance was the happy surprise of the century. As if she hadn’t pulled out all solid ground from beneath Thysandra’s feet two days ago, then left her to rot in that prison cell as soon as her games had led to the betrayal she needed .

As if her pretence of kindness had ever meant anything .

It was that thought that broke the paralysis, a much-needed flare of anger that had Thysandra turn on her heel, slam the door shut, and snap, ‘How did you get in here?’

‘Oh, don’t be so alarmed,’ Naxi breezily said, draping herself over an armrest and tucking her chin into the palm of a small, rosy hand. Her blonde-and-pink curls bounced around her slender shoulders, the result a fraction tousled in the most deliberate of ways. ‘Your newly appointed subjects don’t know how to open your door, I promise. Creon helped me get in.’

Subjects .

Gods help her.

And only then did the next sentence land, impossibly more alarming than the disastrous title of High Lady of the Crimson Court that had just been dumped onto her shoulders – because what in the world was Creon doing, helping people get into her rooms? Since when did the bastard even know how to open her door? And what in the world had made him think that this was the company she needed right now, some treacherous little half demon beaming at her when all she wanted was to take a bath and hide beneath her blankets for the rest of the day …

Had Emelin known?

Really, what were the chances she hadn’t known, when her lover and foremost ally had colluded on the plan? Perhaps even Agenor had been aware. Tared, chuckling behind her. All of the Alliance, laughing themselves to stitches over the next curveball about to hit her in the face.

‘Get out,’ she numbly said.

Naxi snorted a laugh. ‘No.’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake .’ It took all she had not to drain the last reserve of colour from her now dark pink dress and obliterate both the couch and the unwelcome visitor on it. As tempting as the impulse might be, she’d likely be too slow to surprise her sort-of-nemesis, and she knew how their last fight had ended. Instead, she clenched her fists and bit out, ‘What do you need from me this time, then? More secrets? More treason? More heartfelt confessions you can use against me whenever the time comes?’

‘Oh, you wound me,’ Naxi drawled, not looking particularly wounded at all as she dreamily twisted a pink curl around her finger. ‘Is it that unthinkable that I might just want to keep you company? Now that the Mother has helpfully kicked the bucket and we’re technically no longer enemies, I figured—’

‘Technically?’ A razor-sharp laugh burst from Thysandra’s throat. ‘You’re turning this thing between us into a matter of technicality ? Never mind the fact that we don’t even like each other? That we’ve never spoken an amicable word to each other? That—’

If Naxi hadn’t been so gods-damned deadly, the abrupt shift of her expression might have been amusing – from mirthful carelessness to the shocked, indignant pout of an innocent accused. ‘I comforted you!’

‘Yes, until I fucking talked! And then you vanished!’

‘Because you told me to!’ A newborn lamb could not have looked more blamelessly aggrieved; those wide blue eyes, more nymph than demon, suddenly gleamed dangerously. ‘You screamed at me to get out of your sight! So I thought I’d mercifully give you some time alone, even though of course I’d rather have stayed with you – I even told the rest of the Alliance not to disturb you while you were coming to terms with yourself …’

Her voice died away, wobbling with perfectly calculated emotion. Or perhaps there was no calculation behind it at all, and that was an even more disconcerting thought – because fine, there had been some mention of being left alone in peace in that cell, and admittedly, the volume of the conversation had reached a point that some might hypothetically describe as shouting …

Oh, fuck.

How did the little terror always manage to twist these interactions into the same tangled arguments, into the constant, inevitable conclusion that Thysandra had no one to blame for her troubles but herself?

‘I didn’t expect you to give a damn about my requests,’ she ground out, unable to think of anything better but similarly unable to back down. ‘I told you to leave me alone every single time you visited me these past weeks, and you always came back.’

Naxi’s eyes narrowed abruptly – a keen, almost hungry motion, like a predator catching sight of its prey. ‘Are you saying you wanted me to come back?’

‘Not at all! I just—’

‘That you were counting on me to come back, then?’

‘There was a pattern,’ Thysandra snapped, her wings whooshing against the air as she whipped around and strode into her bedroom to snatch a hairbrush off her dressing table. Tears sprang into her eyes as she yanked it through her tangled black locks – but at least that simple, physical pain was a much, much better reason to cry than the manipulative games of a female who could by her very nature not be trusted to ever care about anyone else. ‘And you didn’t break the habit until I’d served my purpose, at which point you dropped me like a hot coal – so excuse me for assuming—’

An unexpected giggle followed her from the living room. ‘You’re angry, aren’t you?’

‘Don’t know how you fucking noticed it!’ she bit back, clenching her brush even more tightly. It didn’t stop her hand from trembling. ‘One would almost think you could magically sense emotions, with those subtle clues you’re picking up.’

There was a suspicious undertone of amusement in Naxi’s hum. ‘If you’re angry I didn’t come back, that suggests you did want me to come back, doesn’t it?’

‘It suggests I’m sick of being manipulated and lied to!’ Thysandra burst out, striding back into the living room and only barely suppressing the urge to fling her hairbrush at the infuriatingly dainty face waiting for her on the couch. ‘Weren’t you the one who told me the Mother didn’t deserve my loyalty? Who told me I might as well abandon her since she had abandoned me first? So how are thing different when it’s your vile little games we’re talking about, exactly? How are we suddenly technically former enemies when all you’ve ever done is exploit my feelings and weaknesses for your own bloody benefit?’

A resounding silence fell.

Only then did she realise she had once again nudged dangerously close to the point of shouting; an uncharitable listener might even argue she had already arrived there. The distance between herself and the couch had somehow shrunk to a mere few steps. Even worse, the target of her ire hadn’t moved at all – as if this was nothing but a cosy chat between friends, a matter of routine among old acquaintances.

Of course, they technically were old acquaintances. If one didn’t mind that they hadn’t exchanged so much as a word for most of that time, it had been a hundred and thirty years since their meeting at the Last Battle – since the day Thysandra had cut her own wings to shreds to fight that torturous demon magic, the day they ought to have been killing each other but instead had—

A most unwelcome flare of heat ran through her.

Naxi giggled again. ‘I’m pretty sure I did some other things to you, too, Sashka. You seem to remember.’

For fuck’s sake.

‘Get out,’ she said through clenched teeth. ‘I don’t have the patience for this nonsense.’

‘That’s a shame,’ Naxi cheerfully admitted, tilting her head in an unnecessarily inviting manner as she nestled her lithe body more comfortably between the velvet cushions. ‘I was just getting started. And honestly, if you did not actually want me to leave the last time you yelled at me, then why should I trust you to actually mean it this time? For all I know you’ll scold me in two days for—’

‘I just want some time to sleep,’ Thysandra hissed, realising her mistake only when she saw the radiant grin beaming back at her in response.

‘Alone?’

‘Yes, alone!’ The heated twist of her heart really did not help. ‘I don’t have time for these bloody games, alright? They just named me High Lady of this gods-damned court, and the first rivals will probably be knocking at my door the moment the Alliance leaves – so the least I need before then is a few hours of—’

‘Ah, yes,’ Naxi interrupted, lashes fluttering innocently against her soft, rosy cheeks. ‘Rivals. Intrigue. Backstabbing courtiers. You could probably use someone you can trust on your side, then, couldn’t you?’

It took an inhuman effort not to scoff or to throw that hairbrush after all. ‘And I’m supposed to believe that I would be able to trust you?’

‘Why not?’ Again that pout, plump and petulant and so pointedly innocent it was almost aggressive in its harmlessness. ‘Have I ever done anything to hurt you?’

‘You’re a demon !’ Thysandra sputtered, which was perhaps not as persuasive a point as remember that time you almost strangled me during the Last Battle? or how about when you crushed my every goal and motivation in life by showing me a single short letter? but seemed more than sufficient all the same. ‘You’re incapable of feeling empathy! Which means you’re incapable of love and loyalty, too! If you haven’t harmed me yet, it’s because I haven’t been in your way enough, and the moment I do end up between you and some greater goal …’

Naxi shrugged. ‘What if you are my greater goal?’

Oh, fuck.

It was infuriating, the way that simple question – wide-eyed and light-hearted – still managed to make her heart skip a beat. As if she hadn’t spent almost a century and a half attempting to squash this reckless, senseless longing. As if she didn’t know damn well that a demon’s infatuation never reached any further than one’s use to them, that as soon as the novelty wore off, she’d be cast aside all over …

Again.

Something inside her shrivelled, a feeling so dark it hurt to even glimpse it.

‘You’re being utterly ridiculous.’ Her voice cracked. ‘Just because we fucked once doesn’t mean you know anything about me, let alone that I mean anything to you – so for the very last time, get out of —’

‘Do you need me to prove it?’ Naxi suggested, pulling up her knees so that her flowery skirt fell around her hips, revealing far, far too much of her pale, silky thighs. It had to be deliberate, that guileless gleam in her blue eyes – as if her demon senses had gone conveniently blind at this worst possible moment. ‘That I really won’t betray you to any aspirant High Lords or Ladies if you decide to trust me?’

‘I need you to fucking leave! How many more times do I—'

‘You see,’ Naxi continued, unperturbed, ‘the core of the matter is that keeping you alive and healthy is in my own best interests, considering that you—’

It wasn’t even a plan.

It was a desperate hunch, her only way to save herself from this all too tempting trap drawing shut around her – from those cornflower eyes promising a loyalty she knew did not and would never exist. Three steps and she’d reached the potted begonia by the window. It had been years since she’d hidden that particular dagger, yet her fingers wrapped around the leather hilt as if it had been yesterday, and she pulled it from between the bright red flowers without hesitation.

The blade settled against her own throat the next moment.

On the couch, Naxi froze mid-word.

‘There.’ Thysandra barely recognised her own voice, so shrill and garbled were the words that escaped. ‘That’s your chance to prove how much you care. Either you leave, or I cut myself. So if you truly want to keep me alive and well …’

Naxi’s laugh was low and razor-sharp. ‘That’s a little crude, isn’t it?’

‘Five,’ Thysandra spat out, trying not to notice the thin steel edge trembling against her skin. No time to feel doubt. If she felt doubt, those fucking demon senses would know. ‘Four. Three—’

‘Oh, fine ,’ Naxi interrupted on a drawn-out wail, rolling her eyes as she hauled herself off the couch and shook her curls down her back. She skipped to the unlocked door like some modest village maiden, her dress fluttering after her. ‘Have it your way, Sashka. I’ll find myself something else to do in the meantime. Let me know when you realise you’re going to need my help around this place.’

When.

Thysandra didn’t dare to lower the knife as she hoarsely said, ‘I think you mean if .’

‘Oh, no.’ There was nothing but wickedness in that sharp-toothed grin, not a glimmer of rosy innocence to be found. ‘No, I certainly mean when .’

And with that prediction, or warning, or possibly threat, the door slammed shut behind her slender back.

It did not matter how tired Thysandra was. It didn’t matter that her knees kept shaking uncontrollably long after Naxi’s light footsteps had danced down the stairs and out of hearing distance, or that her heart wouldn’t settle even after she’d lowered the dagger from her throat and chucked it into the far end of the room.

Before she sat down, she checked her defences.

She had never failed to do so in the four-hundred-and-thirteen years of her life.

First the door, the ingenious lock system and the russet wood, treated with a sprinkle of the Mother’s godsworn powers to prevent anyone from breaking through with red magic. Then the windows, reinforced in the same way. Then the daggers hidden around the room, over a dozen of them, in drawers and books and vases, ready to be grabbed at the slightest alarm. Each blade was where it ought to be, at least; nothing seemed to have been moved.

Creon helped me get in.

She’d just have to hope the Mother’s traitor son had satisfied his thirst for revenge with that little surprise. Against powers like his, there was no preparing; if he was able to force himself into the sanctuary of her rooms, she would be done for if he decided he’d rather see her dead after all.

A shiver trailed down her spine. Bastard.

But he’d let Emelin name her High Lady of the Crimson Court, and so she had to assume he was planning to keep her alive for now – she clung to that thought as she checked the locks on the doors and windows one last time and shut the curtains. Only then, finally , did she strip the grimy red dress off her body. The once-flowy fabric was stiff with mud and sweat and blood, as if the garment had tried to shape itself into armour against her skin.

She dropped it to the floor, then swung a burst of red magic at it. The dress vanished as if it had never existed.

It didn’t erase the memory of that cell from her mind.

She staggered into the bathroom and turned the tap fully open, inhaling the smell of lavender salts and clean towels as she waited for the tub to fill. Even that couldn’t slow her heartbeat. The minutes were ticking themselves away around her, bringing her closer and closer to the moment the Alliance would leave the court and she would be left to save herself from the viper’s den. If she wanted to flee, she’d have to do it before that time … but then again, where in the world would she flee to?

Shreds of voices reached her from outside the room. She held her breath as she lowered her naked body into the warm water, prepared for whoever was out there to break through the walls any moment.

Nothing happened.

Yet , she corrected her own thoughts.

By the time she’d scrubbed all the dirt from her hair and limbs, the bath water was as dark as her skin. She rinsed off and dried herself quickly, shot into her nightclothes, then checked the space beneath her bed and the dagger under her pillow one last time. No attackers were lying in wait for her. Her weapons were still where they ought to be.

Fists banged on her door just as she curled up beneath her blankets.

She pulled the sheets up to her ears as if they could protect her from those violent sounds, from the voices yelling her name, the unmistakable thuds of punches thrown between whoever were trying to reach her. Like the little girl who’d been all alone at this treacherous court, the little girl who’d just seen her father torn to bloody shreds, she squeezed her eyes shut and wrapped her wings tightly around herself, willing the world to disappear.

Willing herself to become invisible .

She shouldn’t have been able to sleep as the hubbub grew louder around her tower. Centuries and centuries of training, of habitual alertness, should not have allowed her to. But she’d spent too many nights on that hard, narrow bench bed in the Alliance’s hideaway, and even her heart had grown exhausted of its own rattling and pounding. Now, hidden between the warm, downy blankets of her own familiar bed, her body pulled her into slumber within minutes, forcing her into a semblance of rest that her mind could not find.

The world had gone dark and quiet when she woke up, the fists and voices vanished. No holes in the walls and doors. No knives against her throat. No demons by her bedside, smiling sweet smiles and spinning tempting fairytales of commitments that she could never, never afford to believe in.

Her thoughts, miraculously, had gone equally still.

She felt as if she was still dreaming when she slipped out of bed and made her way back to the living room through the eerie, mournful silence, the floorboards cold beneath her bare feet. But her damp towel was there, proof she truly had taken that much-needed bath. Her tangled, black-and-gold hairs still stuck in her hairbrush. Her dagger still lay where she’d chucked it away after chasing Naxi out of her rooms.

Which meant the rest of it still had to be true as well.

High Lady of the Crimson Court.

There was no more disbelief left inside her. No more anger and grief. She sank into the plush velvet of her couch, hollow and cold, and let the words play through her mind again and again, breathing them, exploring their ragged edges under her fingertips.

Thysandra Thenessa. Traitor’s daughter. Demonbane. High Lady of the Crimson Court.

In the world she knew and understood, there was not a single way for that sequence of titles to make sense. But the world she knew and understood was gone … and soon, very soon, the consequences would arrive at this court, not nearly as heroic as bloody battles or trials for traitors, but potentially far more deadly. No more human tributes delivering food. No more servants working to clean, to build, to organise. If no one took up the reins, the court would descend into violent chaos within weeks – and the rest of the archipelago would be all too glad for an excuse to sweep in again and burn the whole place to the ground.

So if the island she called her home was to be saved, someone would have to step up and save it.

Could she do it?

It seemed unlikely, when, for all her cunning and godsworn magic, even the Mother had lost the battle in the end. Yet the fear wouldn’t stir, even as she rose and padded quietly to the arched windows – the wary movements of her limbs not enough to ripple the flat, almost lifeless surface of her emotions.

The island stretched out below her when she nudged aside the curtains, the familiar landscape serene and strangely unchanged in the silvery moonlight. There was the rugged mountain range at the heart of the territory, running westward from the castle. The spiderwebs of light on the north coast, drawing the outlines of fae and human settlements. The darkness of Faewood in the south and the single brighter blot of Creon’s home. She knew every single inch of the view like the palm of her hand, yet tonight, it looked as still and lifeless as the void inside her – as if even the cliffs and the trees were holding their breath, waiting for the world to finish shifting around them.

She could make it stop.

All she had to do was accept it.

It might kill her within weeks, taking the throne … but then, what alternative did she have? If she ran, the revelation of her treason would end her just as quickly. Falling on her sword to avoid the choice would merely be a swifter path to the same outcome. So if she had no better option either way, she might as well try. She might as well fight.

And if she did …

The glass was pleasantly cold against her skin as she rested her forehead against the window, drawing in the crisp air of the night – deeper and deeper, until she felt her lungs might explode with it. If she was going to try …

Damn it all, then she was going to do it well .

Because she might be a traitor's daughter, she might be a turncoat set up to fail – but she did know how to play this game. She had never played anything else. So she would forge the right alliances and make the right bargains and fight the right battles … and who knew? Perhaps that would save her for a while.

If she was careful, if she stayed far away from meddling demons and their pretty promises, she might even make it to the end of the year alive.

It was as if her thoughts had been in shackles, too, and hadn’t been unchained until this moment – until finally, finally , the mist and the noise lifted from around her. For the very first time since Agenor had pulled her from her cell, the pieces were moving across her mind again. Not yet playing the game but finding their places on the board – getting ready to strike and strategize.

Tonight, she would think.

Tonight, she would rest.

And tomorrow …

Damn it all. Tomorrow, she’d be Thysandra Demonbane, High Lady of the Crimson Court, and reap the fruits of her treason.