Orcadion took one step. Bones crunched beneath his feet. Another step. He would not meet my eyes, but I did not need his respect. I only required his submission. As he kneeled, he kept his eyes fixed on those just behind me.
I waited until both of his knees touched the ground. I would not do him the honor of waiting for him to rise. But before I could life my foot, something closed around my ankle. Barkkelunged, but Orcadion threw his meaty body in the way, letting the monster drag me down into the water.
I recognized the blackened limbs that tangled around my own. The succubuscouldsurvive in the water. Of course they could. They did not need air, they did not fear the beasts of the deep. One pulled me down, another joining it. Even with the weight of the water slowing my movements, I got my amorite-swirled knife free from my belt. I stabbed blindly, water rushing up to obscure my view.
One succubus fell away, but another replaced it just as quickly.
It clawed up my body, ripping open the still-oozing wounds on my back with a fresh torrent of blood that mingled with the seawater.
I stabbed with the amorite dagger, but there were too many of them. The amorite had to land a fatal wound. Stabbing it in the shoulder or cutting off their arms wasn’t enough.
My feet kicked wildly, trying to force me back up to the surface. My boot connected with something, and I pushed off, but it gave way. Not enough leverage. I gulped, but more water than air filled my lungs.
Realization spread through me with the saltwater.
I was drowning.
Drowning was the worst-kept secret in Annwyn. A fae could heal from almost any injury if given enough time. Limbs would regrow. Wounds would knit, so long as the blood could be staunched long enough to replenish. Most humans believed that the only way to ensure a fae did not rise was to cut off their head.
But drowning was just as effective. Once the water filled the lungs and breathing stopped, there was no return.
This was how Igraine killed Parys.
Veyka would break…
She would sacrifice herself…
I tried to summon the strength, but it ebbed away from me with my lifeblood. The water swirled with red and black as the light from above dimmed to nothing. My last view of this realm would be the mixture of my own blood with a soul stolen by the succubus.
I’m sorry, Veyka.I tried to reach for the bond, but I knew my own hold on it was fraying.
Something hit my back, ramming into the already gaping wounds. But I was beyond feeling pain. As my eyes drifted closed, a lovely face appeared in the water. The fading light turned her white hair dark in silhouette, her eyes a darker blue. But at least I saw Veyka’s face…one last time…
52
CYARA
“Tell us.” Cyara used every decade of her elemental upbringing to keep her voice even so she did not spook Diana. Although the woman had been uncharacteristically calm since their arrival on the island, Cyara was loath to push her. The pressure might break at any moment, and who knew how long it would take for her to recover.
“A witch at your mercy must answer three questions truthfully,” Diana said as her fingers moved slowly along the perimeter of the circular altar. Percival’s expression was more than skeptical, though his eyes followed her fingertips, clearly tracking her progress. Whatever she felt or saw, it had meaning to her. That was enough for Cyara.
“The seeker of the grail must put themselves at the mercy of the witches who forged it. To prove yourself worthy, you must offer three truths freely.”
Cyara’s wing twitched, but she did not feel the pain. “And then?”
“That is all it says.”
Cyara swallowed, turning over the instructions in her mind. The witch-altar was a sort of vengeance for the curse in theirblood that required the witches to give truth against their will. In order to gain their most precious object, the Grail, the seeker would have to offer freely what the witches had been forced to give again and again for thousands of years.
“Any truths?” Percival lifted one dark brow, the moonlight softening the red undertones of his ochre skin.
“Three truths offered freely,” Diana repeated. She folded her hands neatly in front of her, as she always did. Cyara suspected it was an affectation learned in Avalon, reminiscent as it was of the priestesses.
“They must be significant truths. Hard truths,” Cyara mused. Otherwise, there would be no challenge.
Merlin had said that only the worthy could retrieve the grail. She had also implied that it did not have to be Veyka herself who retrieved it in order to wield the Sacred Trinity in its entirety. Which meant that Cyara would not leave the cursed island without it.
“The chalice was forged by and entrusted to the witches,” Cyara said. “Originally.” Before the fae Ancestors had stripped them of power and their sacred object. “One of you should try first.”
