As if Thea could outrun two vampires.
Queen Ophelia sat at her dressing table, chair set out half-askew so she could face the door. Her dressing robe was finerthan most gowns Thea owned. The white trimmed gossamer fanned out on the ground around her. Under any other circumstance, Thea might have asked for a reference to the queen’s tailor. But not now, with the queen not even looking at her. Instead, between two fingers, she held a slip of paper. A sky-blue messenger wyvern was curled around her shoulders, resting.
If it was resting, then it must have only just arrived. To come and wake a vampire during the day, the message must have been urgent. Dread crept through her, though Thea kept an easy, neutral expression. She could only guess what it said.
Thea was left to stand in silence at the door, waiting to be addressed. Such power plays were usually beneath the queen. It might mean she was in a distracted mood.
Or it might mean she was very, very angry and working for restraint.
“I’m so glad Quinn was able to find you, Lady Amalthea.”
Definitely the latter. The queen’s words on the surface were friendly, but she had murder in her voice.
“Your consort said you wished to speak with me, Your Majesty.” The words came out with a puff of white air.
“I did. Rather, I have just one simple question for you, and I’m afraid it couldn’t wait.”
“Of course.” Thea forced her heartbeat to steady. It was hard not to fidget in the cold, her fingers clenching and unclenching.
Ophelia set the paper down, her red eyes flaring as she worked to grip the oracle’s mind. Thea had only seconds to try to raise a defense, but her magic was ill-suited to block a thrall.
“Did Raphael kill the necromancer? Yes, or no?”
Chapter Fifty
Raphael
Awareness thrummed through Raphael,waking him in an instant.
Someone was trying to enter his room. He stayed still so as to not give anything away. With Samara finally resting in his arms, someone had almost signed their own death warrant.
But he knew the citrus scent on the wind, the urgent heartbeat.
“Let me in,” Amalthea hissed. “Before someone sees.”
He extricated himself from the bed, careful not to disturb his viper. He pulled a sliver of the thick curtain back. The oracle was perched on the ledge, the remnants of the wind that had carried her over fading.
The windows were enchanted; it wasn’t glass that kept any potential intruders out, but a ward. He tapped the rune at the edge, the slight sting allowing Thea in.
“You’re supposed to be in Ioni,” he said, voice low with unspoken question. He never doubted Thea’s loyalty; she would only have come if it was urgent.
“Ophelia knows,” Thea said in a rush. “She got a messenger wyvern, and she’s at my heels. I doubt she’s half an hour behind me.”
The words hit Raphael like a blow. Julian must have written to Ophelia the moment Raphael had gone after Samara at the ball; the tiny drakes would normally need two days to cross between countries.
It wouldn’t matter that Julian was thralled into forgetting if he’d already committed the words to paper.
Raphael cursed himself. He’d been sloppy. Now they would all pay the price.
No. There was still time to act. If Thea had arrived with a magical transport card, it would have taken her at least six or eight hours to cross from Ioni to Limanos. That would’ve given the oracle time to strategize, to commune with her three-faced goddess and see a way out.
She’d never failed him before. She wouldn’t now. In this, Raphael trusted.
“Wake Sam. We need her for this. I’ll get Demos.” She didn’t wait for Raphael’s leave—she never did, crossing through the rooms without hesitation. She must have spied on them on the journey, mapping her path.
Fuck. He crossed to the other side of the bed, kneeling as he put a hand on Samara’s shoulder. She looked so sweet like this, so gentle. Finally safe enough to sleep in a bed, knowing he would keep her so.
And he had to ruin it.
