“The mark is real,” he said, glancing at Kiegan. He was clearly unwilling to speak freely in front of him and perhaps unwilling to say too much even in front of me. “I can’t tell you the rest until you’re fully protected from the queen’s enchantments. You’ve figured out far too much on your own.”
“I’m sorry I’m not as stupid as you hoped,” I said crisply.
“Far from it. I’m delighted by how clever you are. I just wish this revelation had waited until you could protect it from her.”
I couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible was bound up in this marriage vow. Something to do with Lightbringer. “Why are all these pages torn out?”
“To protect my plans,” he said simply. “Clearly, that hasn’t been enough when it comes to you.”
The knowledge that I couldn’t hold back the queen from whateverI’d uncovered—and Fieran’s evident fear that I might unravel all his schemes—set something uneasy burning in my chest. “I just need a moment to think. And then…we should go through with it.”
He nodded, clearly understanding my reluctance to say the wordwedding. “I didn’t want it to be like this.”
“I just need a moment,” I repeated.
Whatever anxiety was written across my face, I saw it mirrored in Kiegan’s.
A wild hammering at the door, accompanied by a shout, made us all jump. Fieran headed for the door like a bolt shot cross from a crossbow, touching his shoulder; he drew his sword at the same time as he threw open the door.
Ander strode through without waiting for an invitation, chest heaving like he’d run the whole way from the palace. His dark hair was damp, eyes too bright, taking us all in at a glance until they locked on me.
“The queen has ordered us all to the arena,” Ander said shortly, voice rough. The words crashed through the room like another blow on the door. “Dress for court.”
Fifty-Five
Three enormous thrones had been conjured into the arena. They were glittering monstrosities of carved bone and gold, and their presence warped the space, turning the battlefield into a stage. The air hummed with leftover magic, sharp as ozone on my tongue.
“Steady,” Ander told me quietly, though his eyes studied me. That gaze saidwhat have you done?
He nodded toward Clan Amber. “Keep walking. We’ll deal with this together.”
“I can’t.” I dared a glance at Fieran, only to realize Anayla had fallen into step at my side. Asrael and Dairen were joining us, and the rest of Clan Bismyth fell behind.
Ander’s mouth tightened. “Cara.”
“I’ll explain later. Please trust me.”
He was so tense that he looked as if his beautiful face might shatter. But his gaze swept up, taking in the situation in a glance: the queen coming to her dais and that center throne, the stands crowding with spectators, the clans taking the field.
“Go,” he said impatiently. “If that’s what you need.”
I felt a sudden well of gratitude for his patient friendship that Icould never have expressed. I nodded instead and broke away, moving at the center of a sudden knot of Clan Bismyth shifters.
Anayla nudged me with her shoulder as the two of us came to a stop, the rest of them fanning out around me. Fear stood at the front, as if he could be a shield between us all and the queen.
Fear’s friends were clearly prepared to protect me if this were an attack.
That thought sank into me like a stone. What had Fieran told them? How much had he arranged long before he gave me his earnest-sounding vows and his mouth against mine?
The fact that I had to doubt him like that was exactly what made me hesitate to slip the ring back onto my finger, even as I touched it through the fabric at my throat. I wore one of Anayla’s dresses I’d hastily thrown on while all but running to the arena.
The arena had never felt so enormous. The sky above seemed farther away, swallowed by the height of the stands. All of us—mortals, shifters, Fae—were reduced to tiny specks beneath the towering crowd. Magic shimmered faintly in the air, distorting faces into a blur of jewel-bright eyes and eager mouths.
I squinted toward the highest dais. The queen’s face was a pale smear framed in a white-gold crown that shimmered with the reflected light that clung to her. She looked like a goddess, which was surely how she wished to be seen. But she certainly did not deserve the worship she craved.
A trumpet blared, cutting through the murmurs like a blade. “The queen calls her son to her side,” a herald cried, voice magically amplified.
Fieran turned. His gaze snared mine across the distance.
