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“Perhaps,” Revelin says as he watches the women across from us. “But maybe we’re just… taking in the countryside. Fiadh has not been here in a very long time, as you have made so sparklingly clear.”
This is going nowhere if we all keep dancing around this, and I’m really fucking tired of it.
“Everyone shut up.” That gets the attention of the entire room, and I grin. “Yes, I’m a disrespectful bitch, whatever. Here’s the thing—we are slowly pulling off the bandage, but we’ll be forever if it continues in this normal Fae-fashion. That’s not how I grew up, and it’s not how I’m going to let this go on. It’s stupid and a waste of time.”
Princess Shailagh smirks at me. “Fine. Tell us what you’ve been doing, and we will attempt to help. The sooner you can get back to the tour things and move between the courts, the more useful to us you can be. That’s honest and direct, as I believe you are requesting.”
“She’s not putting herself in danger for a court that abandoned her,” Khol says as he, too, leans in. “Her mother saved her, but most of the people here were likely helping to hunt her mother after the war. And we have no idea who among them is working with the criminals and beings on the other side.”
I reach over to pat his hand, smiling softly. “Thanks, babe. However, I want to eventually leave this room. So… let’s put the cards on the table like she did, and we’ll go from there.” I turn back to the council and the Vizier. “We’re following clues given to us by a feystag. We hope to find out who killed my… foster parents, I guess.”
“I see,” Morana says. “I believe that if a feystag has visited you, there is more to your quest than simply locating the killers of the latest rounds of caregivers. It must have to do with your heritage, so I encourage you all to continue working on that. While you do so, we would like you to keep us informed, especially if you see or hear of things happening in the courts that you do not believe are normal.”
I arch a brow. “Like underground death matches involving skull-headed demon servants in Harvest?”
Her horrified expression tells me I’m right on the nose—and we’re going to be here even longer, as we explain our run-ins with those fuckers.
Ten
DEZI
The council lets the silence sprawl between us for several heavy breaths. When the Duchess of Reaping finally speaks, her voice drags like a blade across slate.
“This is not something we could have planned for,” she says. “No lost Fae royal has survived so many attempts on their life when they are so near the center of the web.”
My witchling doesn’t flinch; no, she stares the Duchess down, her lips pressed in a line so white it looks painted on. The rest of us close ranks around her, leaning with arms folded and gaze fixed on the councilors.
I am unwilling to risk her life for their politics—not at all.
They’re waiting for someone to blink. In Faerie, staring contests are how real negotiations start, I’m told.
“Are you going to tell us what the demon-worshipers want with the Morgenstern line, or do you plan to keep us in this pretty little panic room until the next assassin finishes what a thousand others couldn’t?”
Lady Morana’s smile is like the first crack of black ice in spring—cold, unexpected, and dangerous to tread. “You’d have made an excellent Midnight courtier, vampire.”
I shrug, bored with the theatrics. “Once upon a time, I was quite the political animal. Now, I just want to get my family out of this shithole alive.”
Shailagh glances at her fellow councilors, and then tips her chair back with a showy toss of her curls. “We’re up against a cabal of old blood, and not all of it is native to this side of the Veil.” She flicks her green eyes toward Fiadh. “Some believe the exile of your mother—and your birth—were the first steps in a calculated coup. They’ve been trying to undo it for generations to serve the current crown. At first, they attempted things in the typical Fae way. They assassinated her and covered it up. People were disinherited to cut off adjacent lineages. When that did not work, they began consorting with our enemies. Ultimately, when that failed as well, they turned to the black arts.”
Morana’s fingers drum on the table, picking up where the fox mask left off. “We didn’t suspect demon involvement until the last massacre before the guardians left for Briarvale. It was too… indiscriminate, and the scent of brimstone lingers in a way that no Fae can fully mask. Our network of spies relayed the horror of the scene long after you’d been spirited away, but we knew it wasn’t of this realm; they’d moved to far darker means.”
“Which means,” I say flatly, “that the ones after our girl are using a go-between—a fixer with ties to both sides of the Veil and enough resources and contacts to deploy demons who are created specifically to hunt down marks.”
Shailagh nods. “Not just any fixer, either. This group is connected across the courts here, and they are well-funded if they are using someone there with access to that kind of weapon.”
“And you want us to do what? Join your own secret society to fight back? Play chess with bodies?” Fiadh snorts as she rolls her eyes. “Lady, I started this quest to find out who killed my parents. Now I know they weren’t my bio parents, I’m some mystical chosen one, and this all happened to me over and over while you assholes let me experience it time again for ‘the big picture’. I’m not inclined to act as bait for these dickweasels.”
Morana’s face flickers, just for a moment, and that’s how I know we’ve hit a nerve. “You’re quite sharp, Fiadh. It’s true—we want you and your mates to be a lure. If you continue your tour as planned, the cabal will step up their efforts to take you out, or failing that, to capture you alive to use for whatever ritual they’ve devised.”
That will not happen—not while I’m still undead.
Tiernan growls low, breaking his professional mask. “Use Knuckles as bait? Forgive me, but even for Fae logic, that’s deeply fucked. According to you, she’s barely survived countless attempts to kill her, even as a baby. Why the fuck would we agree to that?”
My basilisk’s lips curl into a predator’s smile as he muses out loud. “It’s smart, though. There’s no safer place than with us, and it puts all eyes on the real prize. These bitches will be so busy watching the parade, they won’t see us working the crowd.”
“You want the attacks escalated so you can trace the chain back to the source.” Revelin’s jaw works as he frowns at the council. “But with us in the crossfire, not anyone from your secret slumber party. Seems like an unfair trade to me.”
“It’s the only way to force them into the light,” the Duchess says simply. “No one from our group is their endgame, young heir. You will not draw their gaze away as she will.”
