7
Reyna
She barely slept a wink that night and the nights after that. In the darkest parts of the gloom, the forest filled screams. Sometimes, she went in search of the source. Other times, she laid wide awake staring into the burning embers of her godforsaken fire as if they might drag her away from the new reality of her world.
Lorcan had been wrong. The war wasn’t over yet. Danger still lived on.
They had not won. If anything, they’d lost.
When she finally spied the white stone buildings through the trees, profound relief tugged at her tired bones. The old city looked just as it had the last time she’d been here. Every building was scrubbed clean, the cobblestones glistened beneath the sunlight, and music drifted through the humid air. Past the gates, she strode through milling crowds buzzing and trading, happy as could be. It almost felt as though the world outside those walls didn’t exist, like they were in a different time and a different place.
No one paid her much notice as she trailed through the streets toward the old pub called The Green Rose. And, this time, she didn’t even have her dyed hair to hide her truth. Her silver locks practically glowed beneath the beaming sun, her owl familiar spinning through the air by her side.
When she pushed into the pub, she held her breath, too afraid to hope for the best. But there he was, the old male with faded green hair and eyes as clear as glass, sitting at the table, nestled between two battered shields that hung along the back wall. He lifted his gaze from his tankard, and his eyes widened slightly.
Without a word to the curious tavern wench, Reyna strode to his table and dropped onto the bench across from him.
“Well, look who it is.” He let out a low whistle. “The savior of us all.”
“I wouldn’t be so hasty,” she said in a clipped tone, though her irritation wasn’t aimed at him at all. It waseverything else.The whole damn lot of it.
His grey bushy brows shot to his forehead. “You killed Ulaid Molt, did you not?”
“Me? No. Your new High King did that,” she said, wincing at the formality of her words. He was Lorcan to her and nothing more. Even if he one day ruled the entire world, he would always be Lorcan in her heart.
“Sure, sure, I heard the story.” Rhain nodded. “You put the dark power inside the king. Lorcan Rothach swung the blade.”
She nodded. Lorcan swung the blade. Not her. He’d been the one to kill the High King. And now, he suffered for it.
Reyna leaned forward. “I think there have been some unanticipated consequences of our actions.”
“The king killing curse, you mean?” Rhain asked, rubbing his bearded jaw. “Yes, I did wonder about that. It would have been better for you to finish him off instead of our new High King. A ruler can never truly reign with a curse hanging over his head.” With a sigh, Rhain shrugged. “But it is what it is, and as I’ve seen it, those curses take a long time to sink their teeth into the killer. Look what happened to Sloane Selkirk. He ruled a good thirty-odd years before it took his life. Or was it fifty? It’s hard to keep track.”
Reyna pressed her lips together just as the tavern wench bustled up to the table. Without evening asking, she dumped a tankard of Wood Whiskey on the table before her. Even the scent of it burned Reyna’s nose.
“Thanks.” Reyna drummed her fingers on the table. “You still refusing to accept airgead?”
Suse blew out a breath the ruffled the frizzy orange bangs hanging in her eyes. “I haven’t the foggiest. Our High King hasn’t made a ruling on that yet, I hear. I suppose we’ll keep to the old ways for now.”
Reyna nodded and frowned after Suse as she returned to her spot behind the bar. The finances of the kingdom were boring business, but they should have been on top of Lorcan’s list of priorities when he’d taken over from Molt. What the hell had he been up to all this time? What else did he keep discussing with the lords?
“Princess,” Rhain said, his voice snatching her mind away from her troubled thoughts. “You look like your bones are about to jump out of your body. I have to say, I’m surprised to find you in a similar state as the last time I saw you. Didn’t you get what you wanted? Molt’s dead. Your shadow fae friends are free. And, from what I’ve heard, the northern kings are on their way to sign a binding treaty. Thane Selkirk’s undoing the exile. What could possibly be wrong now? Other than this curse business, of course.”
“The curse business is what I’m worried about,” Reyna said, digging through her satchel. When her fingers brushed against the smooth leather book, she pulled it out and tossed it on top of the table where it fell with a loud thunk.
Rhain’s eyes widened, and he leaned forward to scan the cover. “That there looks like a Fomorian book.”
“That’s because it is,” she said, her heartbeat speeding up in anticipation. “I found it in the Tower of Thorns when we arrived. It was sitting right by Molt’s throne. There was parchment all around it. Notes written down. But it was all in Fomorian.”
“Huh.” Grunting, Rhain leaned back against the wall, his hairy arms crossed over his thick chest. His head thunked back against the wall between the two shields. A move she knew he must have done a hundred times by now. “I admit that’s peculiar. I didn’t know Molt could read Fomorian.”
“Well, he could.” She stabbed the tome with an insistent finger. “And he found something in there, something that is changing Lorcan and turning him into someone else.”
Rhain’s eyes softened. “Ah, I see what this is about now. I heard the rumors. You and our new High King were lovers once. Before all this. When he was just a simple warrior with a sword and a shield.”
Her heart pounded her ribs. “Yes, but—”
“Things change, Princess,” Rhain edged in. “You should know that better than anyone else. Duty calls. It often demands a price. Most every king I’ve ever known has had to give up things he loved. Though, I’ll admit, he might be making a mistake. You’d be a good match for him, being a princess and all.”
