She’d never envied the terrestrials’ elongated canines before. But she’d have liked to gnash her teeth and have it mean something just then.
“Sneaking up on a harpy,” she hissed through her straight, flat teeth. “Foolhardy, even for you.”
Percival lingered in the shadows.
“I had the impression you’d rather have this conversation in private.”
“You think I am keeping secrets.” Cyara’s wings stayed tight, their curved tips nearly touching. If Percival was able to read her, then she’d no hope of deceiving Osheen.
“I was there on the hilltop in Eldermist. The Queen does not believe the grail is worth her time.”
The Queen is afraid to hope again.
Cyara kept the thought locked safely inside her mind. Percival was not as terrible as Veyka believed. But that did not mean he deserved to be privy to Veyka’s confidences, spoken or unspoken.
“It will not take all of us to convince the Faeries of the Fen,” Cyara said.
She slipped one near-frozen hand inside her heavy fur-lined parka, searching for the weight of the communication crystal. They possessed three—the two used by Igraine and Gorlois and the one Percival had stolen from the festival.
Gwen kept one in Eldermist. Cyara had been given another. Veyka and Arran possessed the third.
She wanted to hear her friend’s voice. To remind herself that this was not a betrayal.
But there was nothing to report. Nothing to do but plan.
“Where do we begin looking for the grail?” Cyara asked, eyes fully open now.
“You guess is as good as—”
“No,” she said sharply. Snow crunched beneath Percival’s feet again as he shifted his weight. “Where?” she repeated.
“How long was Merlin unaccounted for?”
“Months.” Cyara’s mind had already traveled this path. “She made it all the way from Baylaur to Eilean Gayl. She possesses water magic, but no other powers that would have hastened her journey. Still, it is more than enough time, even if she detoured to hide the grail.”
Percival exhaled slowly behind her. Too slowly to be insignificant.
“You have an idea,” Cyara breathed.
Below them, a peal of laughter announced Maisri’s arrival. Diana stumbled out of the thicket behind her, blowing out rapid puffs of warm breath into the frigid air. A blanket of snowdrops erupted through the thin layer of snow, catching Maisri as she fell giggling to the ground.
More crunching snow and Percival was at her side, watching the pair below.
“Fae, human, and witch came together to craft the Sacred Trinity. Excalibur went to the fae. The scabbards to the humans. And the chalice to the witches,” Percival recited.
Cyara clenched her teeth together to stop herself from chewing her lower lip. “Then, after the Great War, the priestesses took the chalice.”
Percival nodded. “But what if Merlin returned it?”
Cyara shivered again. “The witches are all but extinct.”
“But magic lingers. You must have felt it when we passed by Avalon.”
She said nothing.
She could see where the logical series of conclusions led. A month ago, even she would have thought it impossible. But then Percival had told her about the human sacrifices to the witches. Merlin had appeared and given her hope. Why should it surprise her when her understanding of the world shifted once again?
“Tirbyas,” Percival said, eyes still pinned to his sister.
