Diana cried out behind us. I ignored it, pressing my blade tighter against Percival’s jugular as his head snapped up, trying to see past me to his sister.
“If you behave, we have no reason to hurt her,” I said reasonably. Really, I was being very reasonable. I had not executed them on sight, which was my due for the part he’d played in Gorlois’ plot. For what it had meant for Arran.
“Do whatever you want to me. But leave her alone,” he ground out.
Yes, Percival would do anything for his sister. Even betraying those who had helped him.
“Lucky for you, I have decided to be merciful,” I said, not bothering to loosen my stance or the tension of my blade at his throat.
“Merciful?” Cyara echoed behind me. I swung my gaze around, just to let myself savor the disbelief on her face. It was so rare that I managed to surprise my crafty friend.
Anger contorted her lovely face, filling her turquoise eyes. For a moment, I thought we might meet the harpy once again. Messy, but it would scare Diana and Percival shitless. However, she managed to master herself. Her eyes flared, wings twitched, but no talons appeared.
“This isn’t mercy,” Percival spat, earning back my attention.
I rolled my eyes. “Would you rather I killed you?”
His entire face screwed up, trying to hold his mouth closed. Pain arched his body—magic. Different than the terrestrial or elemental or even the void power inside of me. This was ancient, part of his very essence. As old as our world itself.
“No.” He scowled at the word, passing involuntarily from his lips.
I laughed aloud. Not at his will to live. But at how beautifully it worked. A witch at your mercy must answer three questions. Percival wanted to live. That was certainly something I could use against him.
He realized it as well, glaring at me with an impressive amount of bravado. “You would have done it already,” he added of his own free will.
I shrugged. “Fine. I will kill her, then.”
Lyrena was ready. She pulled her sword in one long, graceful motion, without disturbing the knife she pressed to Diana’s throat.
True terror flashed in Percival’s eyes. Tears bubbled out of Diana’s.
I knew it was cruel. I had spent twenty years being tortured by the same monster who had held Diana hostage.
But my heart was encased in ice. I had a kingdom to protect.
I pinned my attention back to Percival. His eyes remained on his sister. Good—he ought to remember the stakes.
“How do the communication crystals work?” I asked.
His dark eyes flared—not the question he’d expected. I had plenty of others. But I’d enjoy torturing them out of him later.
For once, though, his response was not pained. He was compelled to give it, but he did not fight the command in his blood.
“They work on intention. You must know who you wish to speak to, and they must be open to receiving your messages. Otherwise, you are just talking to a rock.”
I compared that against what I’d seen so far, checking the veracity of it. The priestesses in Avalon wore them. That made sense, since to become an acolyte or priestess involved taking vows. Surely that would cover the intention necessary to make the crystals function.
It also fit with Percival stealing the crystal during the festival at the Crossing. He knew Diana had one, and hoped she would be willing to receive his message even while in Gorlois’ clutches. Or Percival had used it to communicate with Gorlois himself.
My stomach tightened, my muscles as well. I fought to keep my breath steady, my heartbeat even. Even as a half-witch, Percival could not perceive those changes. But I hid them nonetheless. Let no one see my struggle, my weakness. Even my friends.
I was the High Queen of Annwyn. I could handle it.
For all that Percival had given the answer about the communication crystals freely, there was plenty he’d left out. He’d answered the bare minimum; given no details about how the mechanics of sending and receiving messages actually worked. Another question, for another time, then.
I tucked the knife that was not pressed to Percival’s throat into the crevice between my breasts. With my now free hand, I casually slid my palm along the side of Percival’s face. Down, until I cupped his chin firmly. My other knife still pressed to his throat. One jerk of my hand, my fae strength combined with themuscles I’d built from years of training, and I would snap his neck.
As a human, there would be no healing.
