The less time between our arrival and sunset, when Galla’s attention will be on the sky, the better. Also, less time for her to realize Rohan is no longer shadowing us.
But it isn’t our timing that concerns me now. “Antony?”
“Yes?”
“Know that I’m here,” I say, reaching back for him. “If being here hurts, let me carry it. I can carry the pain. Will you let me do that?”
His head bows to mine as he accepts the press of my palm to his cheek. “Yes.”
I take a deep breath and prepare myself, mentally and emotionally, for the fight that lies ahead of us. “Then let’s make an entrance.”
The darkness lifts from Antony’s eyes, a savage cold entering them before he calls to the monstrous eagle. “Azul! Make some noise!” And to me, “Remember that I’ll never let you fall.”
I’m not sure what he’s now planning, but I give him a nod.
Then Azul surges ahead, responding gleefully to Antony’s command, switching from a stealthy approach to sweeping his wings with a mighty beat.
Spearing down toward the inner platform, where highborn in glittering clothing are dancing, he shrieks so loudly, it drowns out the music being performed by musicians on the platform’s far side.
A single throne sits on a dais at the nearest end of the inner platform.
Galla Vividari sits in it, as if she is the queen of this kingdom.
Azul shrieks right across the air above her, and she jumps so badly that she spills the drink she was holding.
The dancers scatter beneath the threat of Azul’s longer-than-normal talons, although he’s high enough that he’s in no danger of hurting them.
He swoops upward again, screeching and banking sharply.
“Ready, Thyra?” Antony asks me, his arms tightening around me as he draws us upright to stand on Azul, me still facing outward.
“I’m ready.”
As Azul swoops down again, this time toward the throne, Antony steps from his back out into thin air, holding onto me.
There’s a brief drop. Weightlessness as my stomach lifts. Another tightening of Antony’s arms as he bends his knees to take the force of our descent.
Then my feet gently touch the ground as he sets me down, and I step forward out of his hold.
Seamless.
Up on the dais, Galla is as stiff as stone, her empty glass gripped so tightly in white knuckles she might shatter it. Her green eyes are like glittering stone, the ivory dress she’s wearing overlaid with a silver mesh that clings tightly to her corset before forming a train at her back.
All ten of her lords are dressed in white. Quintus doesn’t bear a hint of the injury Rohan inflicted on him this morning, so he’s either hiding it well or the healers did marvelous work. His golden hair is slicked back and his head held high, his narrow chin elevated.
Galla’s lips part, but whatever she says is drownedout by Azul sweeping overhead once more, shrieking loudly before alighting on the wall directly behind her, where she won’t be able to keep him in her sights.
She may have technically spoken the first words, but the way even the nearest fae craned toward her indicates they couldn’t hear her.
Now, the highborn are all too busy lowering themselves into kneeling positions around the edges of the room, their lowborn entourages struggling to place mats on the floor quickly enough.
The moment Azul falls quiet, Galla’s lips part again, but I’m quicker.
“Remove yourself from the throne, Galla Vividari!” I roar. “Or Azul will remove you for me.”
She can’t know I’m talking about the eagle, and the way her focus darts around the room, as if searching for some new warrior who will magically appear behind me, confirms it.
Still, she tips her chin haughtily at me, not budging an inch. “Welcome, Thyra, to my celebration.”
