Chapter 6

They barely saw a single living soul on their way up through the castle. All that moved was the occasional flash of wings around a corner as yet another fae managed to get out of the way just in time; other than those lucky survivors, there were just the corpses on the marble floors, curled up in their never-ending agony.

Naxi’s cheerful humming didn’t falter as she passed them by.

It felt like a terrible idea, giving this ruthless creature access to her only safe haven at the court … but by the time they’d reached the familiar redwood door, Thysandra still hadn’t come up with any better solutions. So she opened the locks and gestured for her unwelcome visitor to go first, wincing at the sight of Naxi’s bloodied feet against her spotless wooden floor.

A temporary solution, she reminded herself. A few days, maybe, and she’d have her home to herself again – she could handle that, couldn’t she?

‘Just to be clear,’ she said nonetheless, waiting by the doorstep, ‘you will harm me by destroying anything in my rooms. I’m fond of this place.’

There. That should at least keep the bargain active.

Naxi whirled around, eyes narrowing. ‘You’re not saying you’ll let me roam around on my own here, are you?’

‘Did you think I was planning to join you in that bath?’ Thysandra sharply retorted, realising a moment too late that that had been entirely the wrong thing to say. It conjured up mental images she truly should not be thinking about – that lithe body in her bathtub, willowy limbs and small, foam-covered breasts, wet skin gleaming like mother-of-pearl in the faelights … She hastily pushed the vision away with a panicked stutter of her heart and added, voice choked, ‘I still have a bloody court to rule. Which won’t have gotten any easier after your antics of last night, either.’

‘Oh, it probably hasn’t,’ Naxi admitted in that breezy, careless way of hers. Her smile grew broader, then more wicked. ‘You’ll manage, though. And of course, if you need a reward for your hard work—’

‘I’m good, thank you,’ Thysandra interrupted tightly. ‘Enjoy your bath.’

No matter how swiftly she slammed the door shut, it didn’t block out the subsequent melodious peal of laughter, or the way it sent her heart jumping alarmingly in her chest.

Fuck.

A hundred-and-thirty years and a series of betrayals should have been more than enough to purge this madness from her veins … yet here she stood, High Lady of the Crimson Court itself, battling the urge to yank the door open again and kiss the gods-damned little menace on those gods-damned silky lips until she was no longer capable of laughing at anything.

‘I can still feel you!’ Naxi yelled from within the room, sounding delighted.

Fuck .

She forced herself into motion with a shuddering jerk – down the winding stairs, away from those demon senses picking up on every spark of senseless lust burning inside her. Perhaps she would be more rational with a few more walls between them. Perhaps she would manage to stop thinking of all that delicate prettiness, of that bloodstained fragility so very different from the swaggering and the posturing of—

‘Well, well,’ a male voice drawled, far too close. ‘No more demons with you, I see?’

She swept around so fast her left wing slammed into the balustrade.

He’d taken up position in a shallow alcove a few steps back – Bereas of Bereon’s house, prize-fighter and sixty-something-time champion of the yearly wing-racing tournament. With his flaming red hair and wings to match, he’d inspired more than a few joking comparisons to the phoenixes living on the east side of the archipelago … except the phoenixes were known for their poise and prudence, of course, and the male slouching smugly on that marble seat didn’t possess a crumb of either quality.

How in the world had she overlooked him? If he’d snuck up on her with malicious intent, she’d already be dead.

‘Is anything the matter?’ she bit out, all the more coldly to cover up the shock.

‘The demon.’ He crossed his ankle over his knee as he leaned back, his wings filling almost all of the alcove. ‘She’s no longer with you. Do I understand correctly that you put her in your bedroom , of all places?’

The smirk on his face was alarming. Admittedly, this was Bereas, who could turn even a brutal battle into a vulgar joke … but on the other hand, if he continued to do so often enough, someone with a little more cunning would sooner or later start asking questions.

Best to nip it in the bud as soon as possible. She folded her arms, chin raised a fraction, and flatly said, ‘Would you rather have me put her in yours?’

‘I’d rather see her dead,’ Bereas retorted, thrusting out his chest like a bird puffing itself up for a fight. ‘Why the hell isn’t she yet?’

None of your fucking business , she wanted to inform him. Or alternatively, Because I still need her to kill you if you make a fuss , which was not even that far from the truth. But the bastard was popular at the court, and among the ranks of the army in particular. Pissing him off in such an unnecessary way was just asking for trouble .

‘The demon alleges she’s here on behalf of the Alliance,’ she said instead, aiming for just the right note of disapproval – that tone that would hopefully tell the male before her that she was just as unhappy about the meddling as he would be. ‘I need to look into that claim before I make any further decisions. I’m not itching to anger Emelin to the point where she returns to destroy the castle after all.’

‘Emelin?’ His cocky grin showed his unnaturally white teeth. ‘Oh, don’t you worry about her , Thys. We’ve spent all night feeding traitors to the hounds and preparing for the next battle, so if the little mongrel thinks she can—’

‘Beg your pardon?’ Thysandra sharply cut in, and it took the greatest of efforts to keep her voice from soaring as the memories flashed by. Father. Hounds. Agonised screams. ‘The next battle? What next battle are we talking about, exactly?’

‘The one to take back our islands?’ He leaned forward so that his sleeveless shirt fell open at the collar – that shirt she was quite sure he wore for the sole purpose of displaying his bulky, tanned shoulders to as many eyes as possible. ‘What else would we be doing?’

Gods help her.

It was reckless, overconfident madness, of course – the brash strategy of a male so used to winning that the notion of defeat didn’t even occur to him. Which didn’t need to be her problem, technically speaking. Had it been only him and his circle of equally brazen friends, she might have happily let them fly to their death.

The problem, though …

Emelin would take note of the attack. And possibly, quite possibly, she would find it enough of a reason to spread those damning secrets among the court, the traitor’s daughter following in her traitor father’s footsteps – as close to murder as simple words could come.

Fed to the hounds …

Her pulse was quickening.

Her mouth had suddenly gone dry.

‘And who gave you permission to do any of that, may I ask?’ she bit out. ‘I don’t recall saying anything about—'

‘Why the hell should I care about your permission, Thys?’ Another blinding white grin. ‘If you’re afraid of a bunch of rebels, I don’t see why I ought to be afraid of you. Just because some bratty child handed you a title for no fucking reason at all?’

‘That bunch of rebels,’ she said through gritted teeth, ‘are the same people who defeated you in battle three days ago. Who are currently wielding godsworn magic. Who are no longer held back by the Mother’s bindings, either. I’m not afraid of them, but I sure as hell know what we’re up against, and it isn’t pretty – so whatever our plans are, don’t you think we ought to be going about them with a little more circumspection?’

Bereas emphatically yawned, planting his feet back onto the ground. ‘Lovely speech, Thys. Are you going to let us into your bedroom to slit the demon’s throat, then?’

‘What? No .’ The bargain mark on her wrist likely wouldn’t even let her – and surely that was the reason her stomach knotted so abruptly at the idea, wasn’t it? ‘You wouldn’t survive the attempt in the first place, and even if—’

‘Alright.’ He shrugged and rose, raking a hand through his wine-red locks as he smirked at her one last time. ‘I’ll go find some friends to break down the walls, then. Enjoy that title as long as you manage to keep it, love.’

And with two slaps of those famous, prize-winning wings, he elbowed past her as if she was no more than a powerless inconvenience.

***

Her flight to the north-west tower was, objectively speaking, more of a free fall.

Her heart thrummed frantically in her chest – a panic that had to be bargain-born, the pink mark on her chest reminding her that she’d taken on a life-and-death obligation to protect the little demon currently taking a bath in her chambers. Even though Naxi surely would be able to handle a handful of musclehead fae. Even though walls could be repaired and doors could be replaced. Reassurances she could repeat to herself as often as she wanted …

And yet.

What if she returned to her tower to find the bathroom stained with blood and strewn with pink hairs, some leftover shreds of a flowery dress, and not even a body to be found?

Fed to the hounds.

She slammed down onto the wrought-iron balcony she’d aimed for, all but yanking open the door that gave access to the room beyond. To her surprise, it was unlocked. Which seemed too good to be true, on this hell of a morning … but as she staggered to a halt in the familiar office-turned-laboratory, looking around wildly for attackers in wait for her, Nicanor’s voice emerged from the adjoining room as if he’d been expecting visitors.

‘Thysandra?’ He sounded so unhurried she wanted to shake something. ‘Is that you?’

‘How’d you fucking guess?’ she snapped, out of breath, as she slammed the door behind her and wilted against the glass and wood.

A soft laugh, and he ambled into the room – having changed out of his bloodstained clothes and into a pale lilac ensemble with lacy sleeves and intricate silver embroidery. She should have known that would be his first priority after alerting her to the murders of the night: restoring his usual faultless appearance.

‘I figured you might be in need of some assistance,’ he said, which told her all she needed to know about the state of her appearance. ‘A drink?’

She glared at the wall-filling brass-and-glass construction to her right, where a plethora of crystal flasks and beakers stood gleaming in the morning sunlight – some of them bubbling, some of them steaming slightly, most of them corked and waiting patiently for their contents to be used. There was always a certain risk involved with accepting this particular male’s drinks. Even if the large table at the heart of the room was mostly empty at the present moment, the lack of notes and formulas was all but a guarantee he wasn’t looking to test any revolutionary new potions on unsuspecting suspects.

‘Don’t worry,’ Nicanor dryly added, following her gaze. ‘We’re in the middle of a war. I’ve paused my experiments for the moment. ’

That made enough sense for her to believe him. ‘Could use a drink, in that case.’

He poured her a glass of elderflower juice. Their fingers didn’t touch as he pressed the crystal into her hand – no attempts at seduction, then, or at least not yet. Thank the gods. She didn’t want to know what Naxi would do if he made an earnest attempt.

Would Bereas have gathered his friends yet?

Hell, should she have returned to her bedroom to warn Naxi first, before running off to look for allies?

‘Handled matters with the demon?’ Nicanor said, interrupting her frantic thoughts.

‘More or less.’ She sank onto one of the high stools at his table and gulped down a swig of juice – winning time to think rather than quenching her thirst. How much information was enough to answer his questions, but too little for him to draw any dangerous conclusions? ‘I had a word with her. She isn’t going to kill anyone else for now, assuming no one attacks her.’

He seated himself on the other side of the table, lips pursed, his own glass hanging askew between his long fingers. ‘Made a bargain on it, I see.’

‘You and those eyes of yours,’ she muttered.

Another of those faint laughs. ‘Why isn’t she dead yet?’

‘Because killing a demon isn’t what one would call a pleasant affair,’ Thysandra said tightly, trying to make herself believe it. Surely gods-damned Bereas wouldn’t manage so easily, either? ‘Also, she claims she’s here with the Alliance’s approval, which suggests there’s some risk involved in killing her. And I’ve been thinking …’

She hesitated, unsure if the next thought was too close to treason, close enough to make him wonder what other disloyal ideas she might be hiding. Nicanor smiled before she could come to a decision, though.

‘And she might be useful, under certain circumstances?’ he suggested.

Thank the gods for his particular brand of ruthless pragmatism. ‘Yes. That too.’

‘Hmm.’ He sipped from his drink. ‘Bold.’

‘I once heard you argue that safe decisions don’t lead to victory,’ she shot back, and he granted her that point with a small grin and a swift lift of his glass. ‘Look, the trouble is I currently don’t have any military force to back my decisions. As unpleasant as Naxi’s magic may be …’

‘She certainly does have an advantage in battle, yes,’ he dryly admitted. ‘The lack of military support might be solvable, though.’

Her heart skipped a beat. ‘Might it?’

‘The third is technically still under my command.’ He tilted his head, two snow-white locks of hair falling out from behind a pointed ear. ‘I’m quite sure most of them will still follow me even without the Mother to back me. And several other regiments have lost their commander – we could likely convince some of their members to join us as well. In either case, there wouldn’t be any organised opposition for at least a while.’

All the words she hadn’t even dared to hope he’d speak.

The hairs were rising on her neck.

This was too easy. Much, much too easy. She had expected to argue, barter, plead – and here he was, offering her exactly what she needed on a shining silver plate? Which didn’t make sense. Life was not a charity, and Nicanor certainly wasn’t one to hand out favours for nothing … so if he wasn’t going to point out what he wanted from her in return right from the start, what game was he playing?

Was he hoping to make her dependent on his support so that he would be able to demand some outrageous price later, when she was no longer capable of refusing at all?

She kept her face carefully expressionless, her fingers loose around her glass, as she slowly, deliberately said, ‘Why?’

He raised a white-blond eyebrow. ‘Why what?’

‘Why would you risk your head like that, when you don’t even know what plans and strategies I’m thinking of? Whether we stand any chance of surviving?’ She grimaced. ‘Or whether you’ll even agree with my decisions, for that matter?’

Even his shrugs were oddly elegant. ‘We’re old friends, aren’t we?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Nicanor.’

He gave her one of his sardonic half-grins. ‘Yes? ’

‘I’m well aware we’re old friends.’ A little more than that, even – she could have done without the reminder. ‘I’m also well aware you poisoned another old friend of yours two summers ago, so forgive me for not being terribly impressed with that particular argument. You don’t like me enough to choose the losing side for me.’

‘I do like you more than most people,’ he countered, looking wryly amused at worst by the entire conversation.

‘So you’d pick a painless poison for me. I’m glad to hear that.’ She raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him. ‘Don’t offend me by pretending I might fall for this nonsense, Commander. I’m happy to work with you, but you can’t expect me to trust you if I don’t have the faintest clue of what you want in the first place.’

He considered her for a moment, then smiled and nodded – a small gesture, but the way his wings relaxed a fraction was a clear sign she’d won. ‘Fair enough, Your Majesty.’

She glared at him.

‘Here’s the thing,’ he said, putting down his glass and planting his palms flat on the table as he shifted straighter on his stool. Gone was the mocking tone, the silver-tongued flattery. They were talking business now. ‘I’ve spent the last few centuries playing mid-level commander to the Mother. Useful enough to be trusted with a regiment, not useful enough to have any hopes of promotion. What I want is a decent position, and so far, my estimate is that you might be willing to give it to me. I have no reason to assume the same of anyone else.’

There. That was more like it.

And if it was true – which was not unlikely, at least – then that meant she would be able to trust him as long as no one else offered him an easier path to fulfil his ambitions. That seemed doable. She could make things pretty damn easy for him, if she wanted.

‘And you want that position badly enough to get involved with this madness?’ she said, keeping her expression pointedly blank. ‘Enough to risk losing a potential civil war for it?’

His grin returned, more genuine now. ‘Safe decisions don’t lead to victory, I’ve been told.’

Damn him – but she couldn’t help but laugh, his unabashed opportunism far more tolerable than Naxi’s fickle claims of almost-altruism. This might still be quicksand, but it was quicksand she knew like the back of her hand. It felt more reliable, somehow, than the notion of safe ground beneath her feet.

‘So what exactly does victory look like to you?’ she inquired.

He didn’t hesitate for even a moment. ‘Did you already have anyone in mind for the post of Lord Protector?’

Bold start. One of the most powerful offices at the court, the Lord Protector was responsible for managing both internal threats and external defences; it was a position that came not just with great influence but with great risk, too. Agenor had held the title as long as she could remember under the Mother’s rule, and now that he was gone, she had trouble even imagining anyone else in his place.

Then again …

She would need someone to oversee the military on her behalf, and she did not have anyone else in mind.

‘Would you agree to a trial period?’ she said slowly.

Nicanor’s smile was full of sharp angles. ‘Depends on how long you wish to make it.’

‘A year?’ If she was still alive after a year, he would most certainly deserve some credit for the achievement. ‘I’m willing to make a bargain for that duration. Once it expires, we can reconsider and tweak the agreement if necessary.’

He held out a slender hand without further commentary.

‘Wonderful.’ She grasped his fingers without hesitation, the motion so familiar it made even this hurried decision feel like a reassurance. ‘I’m guaranteeing you the position of Lord Protector of the Crimson Court for exactly one year, in exchange for …’

‘… my loyalty to the crown and the best of my abilities to get this court under control,’ he filled her expectant silence. ‘Do we have a bargain?’

She drew in a deep breath. ‘We have a bargain.’

The surge of magic was blindingly bright, blazing whiter and whiter between their palms until she could see the outlines of bones through the skin and flesh of their fingers. Hours seemed to pass before finally, finally , the familiar sting of pain shot through her wrist. The light receded in the same moment, as if swallowed by her skin.

The bargain mark it left behind was a dark purple. Red for destruction, blue for healing – she could see the sense of it.

‘Congratulations to me,’ Nicanor said, face deadpan, as he swung his legs to the ground and finished his drink in a single gulp. ‘To you, too, for that matter. Time to get to work, then, Your Majesty?’

‘First order,’ she said, throwing him a death glare, ‘is to stop calling me Your Majesty. Second order …’ She rose as well. The unmistakable relief was so strong she feared for a moment her knees would buckle. ‘Make sure someone finds Bereas and stops him from breaking into my rooms. If you need to chop off his head to calm him down, so be it. Everything else can wait until the afternoon.’