Isolde and Morgyn exchanged more words. I only half heard them. My mind lent just enough focus to determine they were non-threatening. But not a fraction more. They came and went. None of the other priestesses approached. If they had, I would have stabbed first and asked questions later.
Or maybe I would not have even bothered with a knife.
Maybe I would have ripped their throats out with my teeth for daring to approach my mate.
The sun beat down on the back of my neck, no mists left to provide cover as it tracked across the sky. I did nothing to cover it. Felt my pale skin burning, and healing, and burning again. I savored the pain. Pain was the least that I deserved after what I’d done to my mate.
My fault.
That gaping hole in his chest?
My fault.
The once strong golden thread of our mating bond, now reduced to a tenuous frayed remnant?
My fault.
Arran’s closed eyes.
I had been so focused on my vengeance, on killing Gorlois, that I did not even consider the possibility. Arran wore the scabbard. He was safe.
Safe from everyone but me.
The ice inside of me spread, turning brittle. One well-placed blow, and I would shatter.
You cannot shatter.
I wanted it to be Arran’s voice offering that reassurance. But it was my own sad internal monologue whispering to me.
You have a kingdom to protect.
And the Faeries of the Fen. A kingdom in Annwyn, an entire race trapped in the human realm. At least they were safe—for now. Taliya believed that their hidden cave refuge would hide them, that with the amulets of amorite around their necks, the faeries would be safe from the succubus.
But the succubus already knew where they were. What else could explain the mass of them in the forest right above the entrance to the faerie caves? Eventually, the succubus would come. They may not take over the faerie’s minds and bodies, but they would rip them apart. There were no warriors among the fierce but peaceful faerie colony. Osheen and Arran had verified that.
Arran.
The granite where I rested my head had turned warm from the contact with my skin. Strange, that my skin still radiated warmth when my insides were cold and frozen.
Folly. It had been such folly to allow myself to care about the world beyond myself. Had I left before the Joining, like I’d always planned, none of this would have happened. My void power would never have awoken. The succubus would not have found the entry they needed into Annwyn and the human realm. My friends and my kingdom would be safe. So would Arran. Theguilt rose up in my chest, threatening to melt the ice, to burn me from the inside out.My fault.
No. No, no, no, no, no.
I shoved it back down. Guilt wasn’t useful, not now. It would not save my kingdom, or my friends, or my mate. Guilt was a private luxury. I could cry alone in my tent, in the cold, empty bedroll. The ice protecting my heart had to remain in place. Without it, I would never get up from this grass. I would stay here at Arran’s side forever.
Which is when I realized I’d already made my decision.
Voices floated through the mist. Morgyn and Isolde, approaching. The latter was chattering endlessly. The Lady of the Lake hardly spoke at all. But I could feel her presence. If magic flowed through the very air of the sacred isle, it centered on her.
She’d been a disappointment to Igraine and Gorlois. Abandoned—how had she come to live here? Not just a priestess, butthepriestess. The Lady of the Lake.
Morgyn had spent two weeks evading my questions and denying me access to Avalon and my mate. Yet when Isolde and I appeared, she was neither surprised nor angry.
Why?
Though, she could have been both of those things and I wouldn’t have known it. Not with her perfectly neutral face. On her perfectly neutral island. Which meant that attempting to convince her to aid us in the fight against the succubus was a total and complete waste of my time. Even if it would keep me here at my mate’s side for longer.
But still… she was allowing me access now. Why?
