“Return him,” Dyfri says coldly.
A shiver runs down my spine. He must want Silas to hand me over so he can kill me. But wait a minute, that doesn’t make any sense. He didn’t have to disclose his secret just now. I’m so confused. Nothing makes any sense anymore.
“No,” says Silas with a proud toss of his head.
Dyfri’s expression is utterly blank. He stares at the necromancer for a moment. Then he turns back into a raven and flies away.
Oh fuck. If Dyfri is helping Tristan, then I am as good as saved. If he still hates me and is secretly Tristan’s enemy, then I am so very fucked. And not in a good way.
Now what the hell am I going to do?
Chapter thirty-nine
Another groggy morning after another uncomfortable night sleeping on the cold flagstone floor of the crypt. Another cup of black coffee in a large tin mug.
“You can’t keep me here forever,” I grumble.
“Of course not,” agrees Silas easily. “Just long enough to make sure they aren’t coming after you.”
I scowl, “Dyfri found me.”
Dyfri is on my side, isn’t he? Even if he is in cahoots with Silas, he clearly doesn’t want the necromancer to be keeping me.
Silas says nothing. He is probably also wondering where Dyfri’s true loyalties lie.
Does the dark-haired prince really want his people to leave Earth? Or is the plan to overthrow Rhydian and take over himself and, in return, give paranormal people more of what they want? Or perhaps Dyfri is merely playing Silas, and his loyalty lies with the fey. His own people. People who have treated him awfully.
Holy smokes. Court intrigue and politics are too much. My tiny brain can’t cope. I crave simplicity. Food, shelter, naps. Tea. And dick. Mustn’t forget dick. My newfoundfavourite thing. It definitely has to be added to my list of must-haves. Which leads me to a sobering thought.
“You know I’m a vessel, right?” I blurt.
“Yes.”
“So what’s the plan for when I’ll become ripe?”
Silas glares at me. “I’ll deal with it.”
“You’lldeal with it?” I snark.
“In your dreams,” he snaps. “I’m married,” and just for a moment, his face softens and his dark eyes light up.
Oh my. That’s interesting. Maybe the love angle will sway him. I can try to appeal to his romantic side.
But before I can start to formulate a plan, Silas jumps to his feet and rushes out of the crypt. Is Dyfri back? Hurriedly, I scramble after him.
It is cold and foggy outside. Eerie and unnerving as hell. I scurry after Silas as quickly as I can. Being next to a necromancer seems like a safe bet.
This time, I find him standing at the gated entrance. Crumbling stone pillars are clinging on to once-fancy iron gates. This place was grand, a long time ago.
On the other side of the boundary, a figure strides through the mist. I blink as the man emerges. It is Llywelyn. Fully clothed, thank goodness, but the sight of his short, choppy hair is shocking. With his regal white silk robes and majestic antlers, the hacked off hair is discordant. Fey don’t have short hair. They just don’t. It looks wrong.
“Change of plan,” Llywelyn says to Silas. “Give the pet back.”
Llywelyn being in league with Silas is not at all shocking. Even my slow mind put the dots together on that one. But I don’t understand why he is asking for me to begiven back. I guess it points towards his motivations having nothing to do with saving me from Tristan? Which honestly, is a huge relief.
Silas slowly crosses his arms over his slender chest. “Oh Sweetie,” he drawls. “Did big brother say he’d love you if you brought his toy back?”
Llywelyn stiffens, ramrod straight and his fists clench by his side.
