“Our first priority is to secure the alliance of the Faeries of the Fen,” Osheen said, working easily in tandem with her. “I’d think those two would be more of a hindrance than a help.”
“Percival has been there before,” Cyara reminded him. “Besides, all we really need is Maisri.”
Osheen paused to quirk a brow.
Cyara bit back her sharp laugh, letting out a softer version in its place. For all his watchfulness, Osheen had missed one of the most important details from their time with the Faeries of the Fen. His paternal concerns clouding his observations, most likely. Cyara could admit freely that where her heart was involved, she struggled to be an objective observer.
But she was not even pretending to be objective anymore.
She had one goal on this journey—and it was not to secure allies.
Cyara’s voice was smooth and unruffled as her eyes drifted down the hill to where Maisri was busy making Diana laugh. “She made fast friends with the faerie children. Irritating though they might be, childrenaremore tenacious than adults. If anyone is going to wear down the parents, it will be the children. That is universal—human, fae, faerie. Children are our hope for a better future. Perhaps even a future where they do not have to hide in caves.”
Osheen followed her gaze. As they watched, Maisri grew comically large snowdrops up from the ground, big enough for them to drape the wet laundry over to dry.
Maisri would convince the faeries. Cyara entertained no doubts. The daisy fae was irresistible.
“Will you question them about the Sacred Trinity?”
She darted a glance at Osheen from beneath her lashes, under the guise of returning to the fire, where she tied a three-footed spit into place over the coals. She surreptitiously searched his face for any sign that he suspected her intentions. He was better at dissembling than most terrestrials; but what he’d implied…
But his face remained focused on his task. A single wrinkle indented between his dark brown brows; the tip of his tongue slipped out from between his lips. Her gaze lingered too long there on those lips. The ones whose shape she’d already memorized. Imagined. Dreamed of.
Ancestors. He still awaited an answer.
She rocked back on her heels. “I will not pass over any opportunity to find the grail.” Careful. She had to be so careful.
Powerful flora-gifted terrestrial that he was, Osheen could not contain the harpy. But Cyara needed Percival’s help as well, and he was a liability. She could not trust her harpy not to harm him or Diana.
But Osheen did not push her further. He hung the trussed-up bird from the tripod she’d created and walked down to the creek to wash his hands. Leaving Cyara alone.
Alone was better, she told herself. If Osheen crossed that bridge between them, it would make what she had to do even harder.
24
GUINEVERE
She’d stared at the map for so long, the shorelines and mountains had become indistinguishable from one another. The words blurred together, the tiny characters fracturing and then fading. The feeling was too familiar.
She sat curled in the wingback chair, all the lights in the palace doused except for the one candle at her side. Reading, again. If she read it enough times, she’d find out what was so damned important it had been worth dying for… he’d only left the safety of the library to find her, to share this text with her… it had to be important…
Gwen snapped back to the present, her spine crackling as she jerked upright. Spilt tea marred the southeastern corner of the map, obscuring the entrance to Wolf Bay. It was too far away to figure into any of her calculations anyway. She pressed her palm into her eye, trying to rub away the exhaustion.
Movement flickered in her periphery. Gwen reached for the knife she’d left on the table by rote, even though she doubted that any of the humans lodged in the house would even imagine harming her. They were all too busy being scared shitless.
“I beg your pardon,” Sylva said from the doorway. Her thin night rail billowed around her, catching the breeze from the window Gwen had left open. The mug in her hand steamed with freshly brewed tea. She arched one gray eyebrow at Gwen. “The solar is usually deserted at this hour.”
The house was packed to bursting with humans whose homes had been destroyed in the earthquake. Any structure still standing had been converted to housing, the business of shops and eateries happening around stowed bedrolls and piles of salvaged belongings.
The fae refugee camp was even worse.
As a village elder, Sylva had been among the first to offer her home. Gwen had accepted a bed in the pantry at the back of Sylva’s kitchen.
She’d considered lodging at the elemental camp. But while she’d become a familiar presence among the elemental courtiers who’d resided in the goldstone palace, to the commoners she was a strange, polarizing figure. A terrestrial—the one who had been in command of their city when it fell to the succubus.
It was all torture. She might as well be close to Sylva so she could seek her counsel in bringing the humans together.
Elora had left earlier in the day, her small band of elemental soldiers at her back. There were no more communication crystals to pass around. She would either return through the rift with the remains of the elemental army or she would disappear into the dunes along with their hopes.
