“You adore everyone.”
“Mostly,” she agreed, straightening. The eclectic mix of blue, turquoise, and white sea glass shimmered softly in the muted daylight the white canvas tent allowed in. “Tell me something about her that you like.”
Evander’s dark brows nearly disappeared into his hairline. “Her Brutal Prince cut off my arm.”
“I did not ask you about him.” Mya reached for her own accessories.
Unlike Evander, she bore no weapons. She’d trained as a healer of sorts, using her ethereal powers to help other Aquarians sort through difficult feelings and learn how to cope with them.
“Your queen,” she prompted as she fastened a string of seashells around one wrist.
“You are my queen,” Evander huffed.
He never tired of watching her. She was singularly unique. Not her pale blue skin, characteristic of all Aquarian fae. Nor the way she adorned herself in the symbols of her home and its denizens. It was her quiet, fluid grace that always captivated him. Even on land, she moved like the sea. Steady. Constant.
She snapped her last accessory into place—a golden medallion that symbolized her office as Queen of the Aquarian Fae—and turned back to face him.
“One thing, Evander.”
He ground his teeth, but couldn’t hear the sound over the din of the camp outside. “She is unbothered by the expectations of others.”
Mya tilted her head to the side. “Interesting. See, that did not hurt quite as much as you thought.”
She patted his shoulder as she walked by. Evander caught her arm, dragging her against him. Mya’s mouth was still curved in a smile when he pressed his lips to hers. He was about toundo every careful preparation she’d made when a body came crashing through the tent flaps.
37
CYARA
Cyara stared at the parchment in her hand. The small square was nearly covered in ink, a series of words blotted out. Some scribbled, some written with infinite care. Every sentence destroyed by a wall of black. She’d been trying for the last hour to come up with the correct words. She’d tried an apology. An entreaty for understanding. An emotionless elemental missive.
She crumpled the parchment in her hand. A second later, it was cinders.
A note was the coward’s way out.
Whatever she’d become over these last few months, she would not let herself be that.
She released her fist, letting the remnants fall into the snow at her feet. Bits of ash clung to the legs of her gray leggings like a reproach. Cyara ignored them. She’d already set things into motion. Months ago, really. When she first began researching the Sacred Trinity at Veyka’s urging. Then when she’d poisoned Percival. Accepted Arran’s quest. Pressured Diana until she was in tears. The kind, gentle female she’d been was gone, slaughtered with her sisters, her friends, her father. She was a harpy now, inside and out.
After today, Osheen would no longer cast her those sidelong glances. She’d never catch him watching her as she bent near the fire, admiring her figure. Nor feel the warmth of his smile as she sat hip to hip with Maisri, the child of his heart. After today, he would hate her.
She could accept that.
If Veyka lived, she could accept anything.
Wiping her hand on her thigh, she walked back into camp.
Osheen’s eyes flicked to her from where he bent over the fire. Behind him, the entrance to the faerie caves hid beneath a bramble of thorns. Osheen would make short work of them, she knew, securing safe passage for himself and Maisri. They’d only paused to camp here so that Osheen could finish skinning the wolf he’d killed earlier in the day, intent on bringing an offering of fur to the faeries as a gesture of goodwill.
Cyara paused long enough to take stock of the camp. Osheen was back at work. Diana and Percival had removed themselves to a log set well back from the fire, just as they’d planned. It was not unusual for the brother and sister to find moments of privacy along the trail, and Cyara had seized upon that opportunity. She’d also asked Maisri to help her untangle the skeins of yarn she’d carried in her pack for knitting night after night. Ever vibrating with unspent energy, the daisy fae had them lined up on a barren stump, working away diligently.
Her heart lurched in her chest.
Careful to keep her steps steady, to raise no alarm, she circled the edge of the firelight. She forced her arms to swing casually at her sides, to keep her wings loose, to not stare across the fire at the pair, male and child, who she’d unwittingly given slices of her heart.
She took her place behind Percival and Diana, facing the camp, her back to the darkness.
As one, the siblings rose, stepping over the log and joining her to form a circle. Diana knelt, arranging the pile of stones on the ground between them. The snow crunched beneath her feet. Osheen looked up. Froze.
