“Of course he did,” said Oleander, who had put her gloves back on and clasped hands with an exhausted-looking Luca. “De Veres don’t break their promises.”
But sudden panic gripped me. The army closed in on the chaos of what had once been a coronation, and I saw Husterri nervously lift lowered weapons even as the disguised Loup-Garou hoisted their own black swords and cheered for their comrades. Red Masks backed away, hemmed in on all sides by potential enemies. Ambers looked for quick exits that didn’t exist. The shaky peace my speech had forged seemed on the verge of breaking. Violence still simmered in the crowd.
“But I promised to keep him from bloodshed,” I protested.
“You did.” A frost of pride rimed her chilly eyes. “Surely there’s no harm in letting him help clean up the mess?”
“Who’s that with him?” Lullaby asked.
“His wolves, I assume.”
“No,” she said, pointing. “Look.”
I looked. Riding alongside the Loup-Garou was a smaller force—two dozen men, perhaps, or slightly more. They were clad in shining dristic armor, a streak of bright moonlight at the edge of night. I frowned at them as they drew near. Those bright helms looked familiar, the cloaks almost like—
“Are thoseSkyclad?”
“Looks like,” Luca confirmed. “But why would they be riding with Sunder?”
I didn’t have an answer. I picked up my joined Relics with one hand, my skirts with another, and dashed down the steps. Pushing through the crowd toward the oncoming militia, I shouted for them to stop. Confusion burst across Sunder’s thunderous face. He didn’t recognize me.
Idiot.I cursed myself. Ofcoursehe didn’t recognize me—I was disguised in diamonds and illusion and wielding a giant tri-metal sword.
I skidded to a halt. Sunder reined in his snorting stallion, who stamped and frothed. I reached for the horse’s bridle, trying on a smile as I looked up. Confusion and aggression gave way to a creeping recognition as his eyes lit upon my face—he took in the dristic in my hair, the diamonds studding my throat, the confection of midnight and starshine spilling from my waist, tattered now with violence and spattered in Gavin’s blood. He reached down and swiftly cupped the side of my face, making sure I was flesh and blood and not an illusion wrought from moonlight. His gloves came away silver.
“Mirage?” he whispered. “What in the Scion’s hell is going on?”
“It’s over,” I said. “Tell your wolves to stand down.”
He didn’t question me. He sat tall, raised his arm, and gestured to the army at his back. Swords slid away into scabbards, hoods were pushed back over light hair, pale faces softened toward peace. Around us, the crowd relaxed.
He dismounted from his destrier.
“I came here expecting a coronation, demoiselle.” He looked around with bewilderment. “I’m not sure what you’ve given me instead.”
“A different kind of coronation, I think.” Impulsively, I squeezed his hand. Surprise registered on his features. “I’ll tell you everything later.”
I was about to say something more, but a shriek of noise twisted my head and raised the hairs on the back of my neck. A blur of blue and black sped by me—Lullaby.She launched herself at a man on a grey steed—the leader of the Skyclad contingent. Horror pulsed through me—why was sheattackinghim? I had declared an armistice, I had told Sunder’s men to stand down.
But Lullaby wasn’t screaming in pain or anger or fear—she was screaming injoy.She flung herself at the man on the horse, grabbing the pommel of his saddle and hoisting herself into his arms. He caught her around the waist with a grunt, laughing in surprise. And it was then—in that flash of perfect white teeth, that glimmer of mirth in an otherwise unfamiliar face—that I recognized him.
I turned wide eyes to Sunder. He smiled, and nodded.
I took two halting steps toward the boy, staring in wonder at his face. There was so much different about him. His tan had faded, and his freckles with it. His bronze curls had been cropped brutally short. He’d lost weight, carving out the hollows beneath his cheekbones. But he was perfectly, exquisitely, undeniably—
“Thibo!” I cried out.
He grinned at me around Lullaby’s death grip, and winked. “In every inch of glorious flesh.”
“Scion, I saw you—” I choked on words I couldn’t say. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
“Please.” His face softened. “I have every intention of aging like a very fine wine.”
“But you’re not—” I was about to saySkyclad, but already I knew he wasn’t.
No—the phalanx of soldats he’d brought with him wore Skyclad colors and armor, but without the grim rigidity of Severine’s garde. Silvery cloaks draped over insouciant bare arms, painted faces laughed, breastplates gleamed with personal sigils. Confusion hazed my thoughts.
“No,” he chuckled, releasing Lullaby to the ground and dismounting behind her. “But word of your coup d’état made poorly paid Skyclad soldats very persuadable. And I am nothing if not persuasive.”
