Calm. They were all so infernally calm. As if it was not the High King of Annwyn we were discussing. A tremor shook down my arm to my hand.
“The Lady of the Lake does notletme do anything,” I said sharply, staring into the fire. It did not need wood to burn, not with fire-wielders in abundance. But the act of splitting the wood, the perspiration and distraction, would hold the pain at bay.
As I looked around us for probable trees to fell, I caught Lyrena sliding her gaze to Cyara, who did not glance up from her mending to receive it.
“Morgyn can try to issue edicts, but I am the High Queen of Annwyn. I will do what I deem best for my kingdom.” My kingdom. Another weight upon my shoulders. Another responsibility pressing down on my chest and threatening to crush me.
“Including sneaking into Avalon?” This time, Cyara did glance up. She pinned me with her commanding turquoise eyes, her white wings fluttering behind her.
I uncrossed my legs, straightening on that stupid fucking stump. “I need to assess Arran’s wellbeing for myself. We cannot do anything else, make any other moves, if he is not safe.”
Not we.I.
I was making a show of it, but the thought of statecraft, of ruling and making decisions without him, made my stomach turn. Ironic, considering how irritated I’d been only a few months ago, after our Joining, when I’d had to defer every impulse to his agreement.
But decisions did have to be made.
Taliya, still closeted below in the safety of the caves with the rest of the faeries, had said the succubus would come to Annwyn. I might personally detest her, but I had no reason to doubt her truth. The Faeries of the Fen remembered their history better than the fae.
Another thing that needed to be done—research. Parys’ laughing grin flashed across my mind. He’d enjoy the new list of topics I had for him to research in the library of the goldstone palace. Likely, he’d use it as an excuse to never leave those winding stacks.
Succubus, nightwalker, the Great War, the Faeries of the Fen, who the Ethereal Prophecy did apply to, since we now knew it was not me…
“Eilean Gayl is not far.”
Cyara’s clear, confident voice stabbed into my thoughts with all the force of one of my daggers.
A dozen thoughts coalesced at once. Eilean Gayl. Arran. The rifts. Annwyn. More.
I blinked, my mind unable to sort through the torrent even as my mouth formed words. “Eilean Gayl is in Annwyn.”
I didn’t say the rest. We’d have to go through a rift. We’d have to leave Arran.
I shouldn’t need to.
“What is Eilean Gayl?” Isolde asked around the claw she’d lifted to her mouth to taste her concoction.
“It is Arran’s ancestral home,” I said, wishing that raging flame of the campfire could do something to warm the ice spreading inside of me. The cold that had been growing ever since I’d plunged Excalibur into my mate’s chest. “I am not leaving Arran.”
Cyara did not waver as she stared right at me, the leggings in her lap seemingly forgotten. “You could open a rift to Annwyn.”
And maybe I was more messed up than even I understood. Because instead of shutting the entire conversation down, I actually responded.
“I’ve never done that.” I blinked again. My universal sign for overwhelm. “I’ve only been able to move between nearby places inthisrealm.”
There were no feigned expressions of disinterest or sideways glances now. Lyrena and Isolde were watching us, eyes sparkling, the latter stirring the pot absently with one clawed finger.
“But you did it before, after the Joining,” Lyrena said, leaning forward noticeably.
A beat of silence.
They probably thought I needed it to think.
Wrong.
I was trying to tame the terror clawing its way up from the pits of my stomach, through my chest and up my throat like bile. I remembered it, as stark and clear as if it had happened yesterday. The feeling of being ripping apart. Of falling headfirst, without a shred of control. The terrible cold that dug its claws into me.
Ihaddone it at the Joining. And I never, ever wanted to do it again.
