“You cannot buy our allegiance. We are past caring for such things.” It started with a sneer, but the councilman’s words ended in a desolation that Gwen recognized in her soul.
Her voice was gentler than it should have been, dealing with humans. There was no accounting for it. She still blamed them for their part in Arthur’s death.Didn’t she?She’d agreed to helpSylva when she came as a supplicant to Baylaur. But on Veyka’s orders.
“Amorite is the only thing that will stop the succubus from invading a male’s body and mind,” Gwen explained. “The High King and Queen will give you enough to pierce the flesh of every man and male child in your village.”
“You will save us,” Sylva breathed. She, better than either of her two companions, understood what those words meant coming from Gwen.
Gwen swallowed. “In exchange for sheltering the refugees.”
“And if we refuse?” the man barked.
Lyrena responded before Gwen could, her grin back in place. “The Queen will pull back her guards. She will need them to protect the survivors from Baylaur, wherever she can find to lodge them.”
Gwen had not been surprised to hear Veyka’s order back in Eilean Gayl, nor was she surprised to hear Lyrena wield it with such evident vindictiveness. The wounds between their realms would take more than a few months of tentative cooperation to heal.
Without an explanation, the three humans stepped back toward their ruined guildhall. Gwen could not tell if the damage was from the earthquake or some other dire event. There were tree branches twisted up with the ruins. They did not go back inside, merely lowered their voices. Gwen knew that if she strained hard enough, she would still be able to make out their words. But the echoes in her own head were too difficult to silence.
They did not take long to decide.
“The Council of Elders gives our agreement. Eldermist is open to you,” Sylva said, the two council members flanking her on either side.
Lyrena’s smile widened. “Good. Because the queen is about to open a rift in the middle of your village.” Then she held out her hand. “We’ll need our weapons.”
What few humans there were retreated with screams when the portal rift opened.
It was a terrifying sight. At first, it looked like a star had dropped from the heavens into the center of the village square. Except that it was daytime, and if it that was a star, it was about to explode.
The edges pushed outward, their rippling white edges expanding inch by inch to reveal a world beyond. Annwyn. Gwen knew it was coming, understood that this was an expansion of the queen’s void power, but still it took her breath away. The queen that had left Baylaur was scared of her power, denied its very nature. But this… Veyka had embraced the darkness and the light and shaped them into something wholly new and utterly terrifying.
The three councilmembers stood with their backs pressed against the wrecked front façade of their guildhall. There had been no time for planning or organizing. No sooner had Gwen and Lyrena received their weapons had the rift appeared. No time for explanations. Not even for a few hasty words using the communication crystal that the woman guard had finally returned.
After what felt like a lifetime but she knew to only be seconds, the glowing edges of the portal rift stopped expanding. They revealed a mountainous landscape, not unlike the one surrounding Eldermist. Though where the human realmmanaged to grow trees and a bit of long grass, the mountains of Baylaur were barren and orange-gold.
But the landscape was not what elicited gasps from the Council of Elders. It was Veyka Pendragon, standing at the center of the rift, her white hair lifting off her shoulders with the force of her magic, her blue eyes shining with an unearthly glow. And at her side, dark as she was light, was her mate and consort Arran Earthborn.
She’d done exactly what they’d planned—found the elemental survivors, convinced them to follow her, and then brought Arran and his warriors to their encampment to escort them to safety.
For a moment, Veyka’s feet seemed to lift off the ground. She looked like she was floating, suspended in the space between worlds.
Then in the next, her booted foot hit the ground and she stepped through to Eldermist. She turned back to the rift, her eyes still glowing and intent. Arran stepped through behind her, and behind him a river of refugees.
Guilt clawed up Gwen’s throat, its talons sinking deeper into her soul with every fae who passed through into Eldermist. Every survivor represented dozens of dead. And every single one of those dead left their blood on her hands. She’d sent soldiers into the city of Baylaur. But it hadn’t been enough. And when the goldstone palace itself descended into gruesome black chaos, she’d done nothing to help those trapped in the city below.
These survivors—families, orphans, males and females—they were alivedespiteher. Not because of her.
Yet no one looked at her with blame.
Lyrena rushed forward, helping those who limped or carried heavy burdens. Veyka held the rift open. Arran ushered them through, more a High King than a Brutal Prince. Behind her, Sylva had managed to come forward and begin issuing orders.To whom, Gwen could not see. Humans, presumably, though where she’d conjured them from Gwen could not have said.
No one noticed Gwen at all.
She counted every body that passed through the portal rift. Two hundred and seventy females. Eighty-four males. One hundred and ninety-nine children. All that remained of a city of thousands.
Gwen was going to be sick.
But she did not get the chance.
The last of the refugees passed through. Veyka closed the portal. Arran went to her side immediately, slipping an arm around her waist and pressing a fierce kiss to her head. The queen leaned into him for a few seconds, then straightened and walked to meet the Council of Elders under her own steam, her mate at her side.
