I look him over. By the looks of his clothing, he was sheared clean in half. I lift the edge of his shirt. The wound looks healed.
“They heal from the inside out here.” Whispen gets close. “He looks okay.”
“I’m taking your word for it.”
“Don’t do that,” Whispen almost shouts. “What if I’m wrong?”
Rolling my eyes, I pour the blood from the Cauldron into his mouth.
“He’s drinking,” Whispen says in awe.
I step back and wait. And wait. Anticipation hums inside of me. It takes forever for his eyes to flicker open and when they do it’s on me.
He falls from his suspension to the dirt floor on one knee, the other bent.
“My queen.” He coughs.
“Thornback, get up. You just woke up.”
“Ash,” Whispen says. “Don’t steal this from him.”
I look at my brother trying to understand. I’ve always felt odd when anyone in my team worked to be on that team. Worked hard to even work with me.
That feels similar. But when I turn to Thornback his eyes are pleading. This is important to him. Not because of ceremony. Not because of protocol. Because he’s been sleeping in the dark for gods know how long waiting for someone to wake up and tell him it meant something. That his sacrifice meant something. I know that feeling. I know it in my bones.
I give him a nod. “Rise, warrior,” I say instead, and step toward him. “We must wake the others. I need to know who is healed enough to wake.”
“My queen.” He nods and stands, taking off to another Fae.
“They’ve waited a long time for direction. For a queen,” Whispen says quietly. He looks into my eyes. “We all have.”
I swallow again and again, and nod because he’s right. It’s just hard to fathom that all of these incredible creatures have been waiting for…me.
My court.
“Let’s wake our court.”
60
Kieran
“Amarantha.”
Irritation claws at my chest—this woman, the fact she still fucking breathes. Tiana should have killed her by now. Which means something happened.
I push the worry away. There’s no place for it right now.
“Great.” Moros’s drink sloshes over the edge of his glass and he pushes Kestra’s blade from his neck with one finger. “The bitch has arrived. The murder must wait.” He is sad about that. He can’t hide it. Hewantsto die.
Which is bullshit. After everything he put me through. Everything he put Kestra through. Our mother. He doesn’t deserve to die on his own terms.
Amarantha pauses just past the throne, her pointy chin held high and her eyes scanning the court. She’s cataloguing exits. I know because I already catalogued them. Three doors, two passages, one shadow-walk point that only works for Unseelie blood. She won’t find a way out that I haven’t already closed.
“Go away, bitch.” Moros chugs the last of his Fae mead.
“I think you’ve had enough of that.” Kestra snatches the cup from Father. I tense for a moment but he doesn’t touch her. Not once.
Thankfully.
