I leaned in, whispering the question into his ear like a lover. “Will you betray us again?”
Percival swallowed, his throat bobbing against my hand, the stubble of his unshaved chin rough against my callouses. But he did not appear to resist the answer he gave— “No.”
I released him. Sheathed my knife. Lifted my eyebrows at Lyrena, who had not shifted a fraction from where she held Diana.
“He is telling the truth now. But he could change his mind in the future,” Lyrena argued.
“Then we’ll make a habit of tying him to a tree and torturing him for answers,” I said. I checked him for weapons as we spoke, but found none other than the knife I’d already taken back.
Lyrena was right, of course.
He spoke the truth of his intentions now, but those intentions could change. Cyara was watching me, her protest silent. I could not see the struggle on her face; she was too skilled of an elemental to allow that. But I knew the twitch of her wings. She was considering all the angles. Understood my decision, but did not like it.
“Arran will remain in Avalon indefinitely. Isolde is with him.” The words hurt, threatened to shatter me. But I pushed past them. Cold, ice, unbreakable. “The priestess who made the Void and Ethereal Prophecies may be dead now, but she dwelt on the blasted island for seven thousand years before that. At some point, these two did as well.” I jerked my head between the pair.
“Until I am confident I’ve leeched every bit of useful information from their brains, they live.” I smiled at Percival, in case he’d entertained any doubts about what happened next. “They are coming with us.”
15
CYARA
She understood her Queen’s motivations, she truly did. But that did not quell the rancor swirling in her stomach or the harpy lurking beneath her skin from trying to tear her way out. There were about a thousand more questions they needed Percival and Diana to answer.
How did one actually use the communication crystals to send a message? How had Gorlois used Diana to open rifts and travel through the void when neither of them possessed the void power? What were the Lady of the Lake’s true motivations?
But wringing answers from Percival was torturous.
Veyka had sent Percival to the front of the group, where she could keep watch on him herself. She had not even bothered to bind his hands with rope. Cyara recognized the tactic—ensuring his good behavior through threats rather than tethers.
The motivation walked between Cyara and Lyrena. Lyrena held the leash—ten feet of rope that trailed from her belt back to Diana’s bound hands. Cyara scanned from the rear, eyes examining every angle and step. She knew Lyrena would have preferred this position. But she would not leave Veyka’s side.
Missing Osheen and Maisri had been one thing. Leaving them in the faerie caves had reorganized their structure of guarding and chores. But Arran’s absence was something else entirely. It changed the way Veyka walked, breathed, spoke.
She did not smile.
Sure, she had flashed a wicked, intimidating grin here and there. She pretended to laugh at Lyrena’s jokes. But something had shuttered inside of the Queen.
To have found her mate, accepted the bond… only to lose him so quickly. Cyara shivered.
She knew, perhaps better than anyone, what it had cost Veyka to accept Arran as her mate. So much had been taken from her. Loss after loss after loss punctuated with torture and betrayal. To commit to Arran, to love him, meant to risk the pain of his loss. The pain she was experiencing right now.
If half of the things Cyara’s father had told her about mates were true… it was a miracle that Veyka was standing. Let alone leading them—or trying to.
Cyara shook her head, her wings heavier than usual, twitching more as well. Worry was a physical weight. She would watch Veyka, care for her, and push her as best she could.
Caring meant helping—lessening the burdens that the Queen carried. Cyara could do that, starting with the woman stumbling through the forest in front of her.
She increased her speed, one flap of her wings, until she stood nearly at Diana’s side.
“Are you cold?” Cyara asked, infusing her voice with the careful gentleness she had used when speaking to Maisri the first few times.
Diana lurched, her matted dark hair swaying as one thick sheet when she shook her head. “No.”
The rich red-brown of her skin made it difficult to detect any flush, but a thin veneer of sweat coated her face even in the frigidmorning air. Cyara had noticed it earlier, but attributed it to nerves rather than exertion.
Her stature was similar to Veyka’s, though the acolyte lacked all of the latter’s easy predatory grace. As Cyara watched, Diana stumbled over a log, barely preventing herself from splaying face down in the pine needles.
She lacked the Queen’s endurance as well. However Gorlois had been using her, it had not required physical stamina. From what she had seen, Cyara doubted Diana had been treated well. Which suggested mental exhaustion instead—and would account for the tears that had been running down Diana’s face off and on since they had taken her and her brother prisoner the day before.
