Leon escapes Fairon at last, coming toward us.
“If we’re going up against my grandfather in a few hours, we should rest,”he says across the mooring.
“We?”I ask with a touch of surprise.“You’re not going to ignore all Fairon’s suggestions to let me help? I thought you’d argue I should stay behind where I’ll be safe.”
“Ugh,” Tira says with disgust. “You’re doing that telepathic thing again, aren’t you? It’s so sappy the way you stare into each other’s eyes.”
I elbow her in the ribs and stand. “Then we’ll go and be sappy elsewhere,” I say, grabbing Leon’s hand. “See you later.”
“There’s no point in asking you to stay back and keep yourself safe anymore,”Leon replies as we walk through the palace.
“Because you know I’ll say no,”I answer.
“Yes. But also, we’re tied together now. What’s dangerous for me is dangerous for you too. So if I’m going into a situation where I might die, I might as well have you at my side as I do it.”
He makes a fair point.
“Good, then maybe I can save both our lives…again,”I joke.
He smiles, but I see his eyes tighten and feel the flare of unease inside him. He doesn’t like thinking about what could happen.
“We can handle this,”I say, squeezing his hand.
“I know,”Leon says as we go to wait for the moment we’ll overthrow the king.
We arrive as one group. Protections on the king’s quarters can’t be breached except by someone with Claerwyn blood, and once we’re inside, Fairon’s sensic magic will be the key to sending any servants we might encounter in the opposite direction.
“Grandfather never leaves his room without a few members of security,” Leon explained to me a few hours ago. “His guards are trained to resist sensic magic, so we can’t just distract them into leaving their posts.”
Hence the retinue of backup coming with us—not just Leon’s soldiers but Odaire and Fairon’s allies. There’s fifteen of us in total. Enough to command the room for the few minutes Fairon needs. Once the accusation is out, Respen won’t be able to silence his heir without looking guilty.
I haven’t been to this part of the palace before, but it’s clear this wing is reserved for the king. Everywhere is decorated with the bright, deadly flowers he grows with his terrial power. They sit in window boxes and adorn tables in large plant pots. It gives the air a heady, sickly sweet perfumed scent I can’t imagine anyone but the king himself enjoys.
My heart rate picks up when I start to hear the murmur of voices from the dining room, including Respen’s distinctive rasp. Apprehension slides up my spine—not because of Respen’s sensic power but because of the king himself. He may be old, but the fae king is by no means feeble, and I know we’re in for a fierce fight.
As we reach a set of tall doors, Fairon looks to Odaire on his right and Leon on his left. They exchange a nod, and then the doors fly open with a gust of Odaire’s aesteri magic.
For a moment, I imagine what we must look like to the people in the dining room: an armed gang descending upon them, headed up by the two dark-haired princes, and I decide I wouldn’t want to be Respen. Then my work begins.
There are three members of security. Two stationed to the left and right of the door and Velrir hovering beside the king, who’s seated at the head of the long dining table in the center of the room. Our soldiers fan out, and I hit the two nearest security with my orbital magic, whipping their swords away before they can even draw them.
Velrir is smarter and sprints straight toward me. His blast of cold air hits me so hard it takes my breath away. I think my lungs might be freezing from the inside out, and I have to close my eyes to stop the stinging air needling at them.
Then, as quickly as it comes, the cold disappears.
I blink my eyes open to see that the soldiers have taken position, three of them on each of the guards. Except for Velrir. Leon hashimpinned to the wall, a hand at his throat.
“Hurt her again, and I’ll take you apart piece by piece, Velrir,” Leon growls.
“What is going on?” comes a deep, sharp voice.
“Please sit down, Lord Wain,” Fairon says as he sweeps across the room to the head of the table.
“What is the meaning of this?” demands a fae lady with a raft of rubies hanging from her throat. The other dinner guests looksimilarly shocked, but there’s one person dining who doesn’t seem flustered at all.
Respen sits silently at the top of the table framed by a black, high-backed chair. His face is devastatingly calm.
“My apologies for the use of force, my lords and ladies,” Fairon says. “But I’m afraid we needed to protect ourselves.”
