There’s a silent communication that’s happening between them, an ability born from spending a lot of time together and being close. The Scorpions used to do the same—I’m in on it now that I know them—but in the beginning, I could identify it was happening, but I had no idea what was being said. I have the same sense now as I watch Lutyn and Neith eye each other pointedly.
Several robed figures start to push their way through the crowd, and I take a deep fortifying breath, ignoring the way the wound in my abdomen throbs and the drops of blood that start to dapple the floor. My heart is surprisingly steady, even though my mind feels like a jumbled mess of fury, hurt, and outrage. I want to go home and nurse my wounds both inside and out and never think about the Igeeyin, or princesses, or the rightful heirs to any of the corrupt useless kingdoms again. I also want to raze this fucking village to the ground and bleed out everyone in it. I’m undecided on which option feels more pressing and vital.
“What is the meaning of this?” a honeyed voice commands as a robed figure pushes to the front, her dark gray eyes shrewd and her lips pursed with vexation.
I’d wager everything I have—as little as it may be—that this is Faline.
There’s a flash of shock on her face that’s there and gone as fast as a lightning strike when she takes in the scene. She masterfully schools her features and squares her shoulders as though that’s enough to intimidate me. Her bright white hair is cropped close to her head, and several other robed figures take up position at her side but angled slightly back as though they don’t want to impose on this female’s authority.
I’m unimpressed.
“You want to rule the realms, and yet you can’t deduce what’s happening here.” I tsk and shake my head with exaggerated disappointment. “Not a promising start.”
The leader’s eyes narrow ever so slightly before she once again blanks her reaction. Her heavy robe sparkles in the remaining fairy light that illuminates the foyer, and there is an intricate pattern of knotted lines that decorate the neck, sleeves, and hem of the garment. I thought the princess’s dress was nice, but it’s rags compared to what this female is draped in. It reminds me of Tilleo and how he flaunted his riches and power in subtle and not so subtle ways.
“We do notwishto rule the realms. They are the Moon’s by right. We are simply helpingherrecover what was stolen. It is the dying wish of every Nalrora that’s come before her,” the female smoothly replies.
I chuckle, the sound hollow and jaded. “You don’t actually think I’ll believe that, do you?”
Neith presses back against me until she feels the sharp point of the bolt still embedded in my side, she stills, and I swallow down a hiss as she presses against my wound. It’s almost as though subconsciously she’s trying to get as far as she can from the robed leader.
“I don’t much care what you believe or not. What do you want?” the leader clips in return.
“Your name, to start. Eventually your lifeless body at my feet, but I’m in no rush.”
She laughs and looks pointedly around at the guards and gathered fae. “I’m Faline, First Crescent of the Moon and the Igeeyin ruler. I think you’ll find you’re outnumbered, Auset, and that we’re more than up to the task of dealing with your little tantrum.”
Shocked mumbles ripple through the crowd as my name leaves Faline’s imperious mouth. She shifts slightly from one foot to the other, the subtle fidget the only indication that she feels the weight of the many eyes that bear down on her, questions blazing in their depths. I don’t miss how Faline’s calculating gaze shifts to how Neith is pressing her hands against her stomach.
The air behind me shifts. It’s as though it thickens as the temperature of the shadows behind me grows cooler. The Igeeyin leader eyes me with scorn, but no one seems to notice what I’ve noticed. A slow smile stretches across my face, and I relax a little.
“Oh, did I forget to mention,” I taunt as I feel my Scorpions step out from the shadows behind me. “I’m not alone.”
The Scorpions spill from the dark depths like wraiths born from the shadows and dripping doom. They converge around me, comforting hands glancing across my back as they take up position at my side. Satisfaction surges through me when I see the Scorpions are shrouded in their skeletal glamour. Every inch of them is covered in armor and weapons. They look like wrath incarnate, and they’re here for me. Their tender touches and their powerful presence wrap me up in strength and fortify me in all the ways I desperately need right now.
I’ve been scraped raw by brutal truths, eroded by the ache I feel in the depths of who I am. Instead of being made whole by the answers I’ve yearned for, I’ve been flayed by them. But now the Scorpions are here. And though their presence doesn’t cleanse the anguish banding around me, it does remind me that I am more than these fucking Igeeyin ever thought I could be. I’m not a princess, but I’m sure as fuck not a decoy or a sacrifice either. I’m a survivor. A disciple of death. A purveyor of pain. I’m a Scorpion, the best of the fucking best, and it’s time to show these moon-blessed bastards exactly what that means.
Faline’s eyes go wide, and she starts to sputter objections about wards and how this is impossible. I survey the crowd of fae, taking in the robed leaders and guards dotted among them. Their fate is cradled in my hands, and I think it’s fitting that I repay thekindnessthey’ve shown me all these years. I glower at Faline, uninterested in anything else she could say to me. It will all be justifications and excuses, and I’ve had enough of that shit to last a lifetime. I tilt my head and offer the First Crescent and ruler of the Igeeyin a menacing smile before I turn to the Scorpions and order…
“Kill them all.”
ChapterFifty-Eight
Terrified screams and panicked screeching ricochet off the stone walls as Igeeyin scramble to escape. The Scorpions don’t question my command. They don’t even send an inquisitive glance my way as they pull weapons from their body and fan out. Chaos explodes everywhere, and I move to join my mates in the mayhem, but Neith stops me.
“Auset, no!” she pleads, and a hot slice of pain cuts across my throat as she spins in my hold and presses a knife to my neck.
Looks like the princess has a few tricks up her sleeve after all.
Blood beads at the nick she just gave herself, and my own throat throbs as though the injury is shared between us. I bark out a laugh, which seems to surprise her, and she watches me warily, clearly not expecting that reaction. I can’t help it. We’re standing here threatening to kill each other when we know we’d be hurting ourselves if we even tried.
Pain is the only thing that’s kept me company all these years. I’m certain I’d survive whatever happened if we went head-to-head, but I don’t think Neith could say the same. If there wasn’t the caveat that her lifeforce can feed off mine, I’d test my theory right now.
“There are good people here, Auset,” she snaps at me, bringing my focus back to the foyer and the fight raging within. “You can’t just slaughter them because you’re pissed.”
“Can’t I?”
“How can you be such a monster?” she snarls. “What is wrong with you?”
