Page 27
Does this douchebag think we’re blind? This is ridiculous.
Lord Nightshade’s eyes are fixed on me. “To lost bloodlines that may be restored and the leaders of our powerful court who strive to keep us safe from traitors,” he says, and the word ‘lost’ is a dagger. “To the rise of dark stars in our midnight sky and the fall of the morning stars that once betrayed our cloudless climes.”
There’s a ripple of surprised whispers through the hall. Several nobles gasp audibly at his words, and I know they were selected specifically to alert those who know their history. A man in the corner drops his goblet and doesn’t even notice because he’s too busy staring at me like I’m a ghost.
Son of a bitch, this asshole basically accused me in front of the entire room without saying it out loud.
I look up at the dome, and the moon crest is still pulsing up there, as if waiting for my cue. It would be foolish to hope that more than one family in this damn Court had possessed that name, wouldn’t it? They probably retired it like some sports guy’s jersey—or anyone close changed their names to avoid a secret genocide during the aftermath.
Under the table, Khol’s hand clamps over mine. His palm is icy, but his grip is steady. Dezi’s already scanning for the nearest threat, and his red eyes are sharp with unspoken rage. Revelin raises his glass toward Lord Nightshade and says, loud enough for the entire hall, “Here, here, my Lord. May the next dawn find us all a little wiser, and a little less bloodthirsty.”
Tiernan barks a low laugh, more menace than humor as he murmurs, “Don’t bet on it.”
All eyes are on me now, and I paste on my most patronizing smirk as I look that fucker in the eyes. Lifting my fork, I cut a wedge of the neutralized dessert, and pop it in my mouth. It tastes like nothing because the spell is dead. I don’t look away from Lord Nightshade as I chew and swallow, then set the fork down with a click.
Take that, cock gobbler.
His smile is skeletal, but I get it. He wanted to see if I could beat the test, if I was what they said. I did exactly what he wanted and proved his little theory, and now he is free to spread that news until someone hunts me down. But I couldn’t back down—not once he called me out with that toast. The problems in Midnight may not be my focus now, but at some point I may have to come back to deal with these shitheads.
They need to start fearing that day; maybe it’ll fix shit until I’m ready to face this reality.
The rest of the meal is a study in tension. Some nobles shoot me looks of curiosity and others, glare with straight-up venom. At the far end of the room, a woman in green whispers to her companion with a fearful expression. At another table, a sallow-faced man is quietly sobbing into his napkin. I have no idea what any of those things truly mean, except for the ones who appear to want me dead. The Shadowthorn twins eat nothing; all they do is watch with their tattooed fingers drumming in perfect time.
The Councilors exchange a glance that most would not catch, and then Lady Morana stands.
Her voice is gentle, but it cuts straight through the room. “As tradition dictates, the conclusion of this dinner will be marked by a celebration of our royal family and our Court. The ballroom is open to all who wish to attend. There will be dance, entertainment, and opportunities for… conversation.”
She looks at me last, and there’s a glint in her eyes. “Especially for our honored guests from Daybreak, and their companions.”
The servers flood the room to begin clearing things, and the string quartet begins playing soft music. Guests rise from their tables, chairs scraping as they move and the noise level surges as the banquet hall slowly empties. People are eager to get out of the blast radius, which I get, but the Councilors, royals, and my new enemies stay still while they head out.
The question is… should we go now, or stay so we’re moving with the evil we know versus the evil we don’t?
Khol leans in, mutters, “That was a challenge, Sassy, and you proved you’re the real thing. I don’t think they’re going to be as surreptitious next time.”
“They’ll try again in the ballroom. This space is too open and there are too many witnesses. I believe that or the path to our room at the end of the night will be the choke points,” Dezi grinds out as he stands and pulls my chair for me to join him. “We should be prepared.”
I look at the crescent on my palm; it’s pulsing again, brighter now. Whatever I just did, it made my magic happy. That’s a step in the right direction, I suppose, and I need that to keep going before these assholes attack. “Let’s get this over with,” I say.
Revelin takes my hand, and the other three surround us. I’m not scared, but I feel stronger with them all in place, joined together with me in this stupid performance we’re locked into. The five of us cut through the room, leaving overturned goblets and icy stares in our wake.
As we pass Lord Nightshade’s table, he leans forward just enough for me to hear. “Welcome home, Lady Morgenstern,” he hisses so low that I doubt most people would have even heard him.
I don’t dignify it with a response, but the phrase burns all the way to the next room. They’ll have to try harder than attempting to kill me with a fancy dessert; even the shitheads back home were better than that.
Exiting the banquet hall with my chin high, I’m unsurprised when we barely pass the threshold before we’re accosted. The Shadowthorn twins materialize in our path, their eyes flat with hatred. They move with that freaky, mirrored symmetry, and their lips are pressed into identical not-quite-smiles. I see the tattoos flex over their knuckles, like living barbed wire.
Of course it’s these idiots. Why wouldn’t it be?
Tiernan cuts left, putting himself directly in the twins’ approach vector. The muscles in his neck go taut, and his face settles into a stone mask I’ve only ever seen when things are about to get genuinely dangerous. He doesn’t snarl—he just stops moving, so all his energy is coiled up for the split-second when it will matter.
In opposition, Dezi shifts right in a blur, the cold snap of his movement sending a ripple of energy through the hall. His fangs are barely showing, but I can feel the way his aura spikes—he’s at a rolling boil, ready to drain the first threat that steps too close. Khol slips behind me, his presence a steady heat at my back. The soft hiss warns us all that he’s ready to unleash at the first provocation, and they should be very concerned by that.
Revelin, normally the snarky one, is the first to cool things off. He puts on his ‘Prince of Daybreak, darling rock star’ face as he steps between me and the twins. Raising both hands in a gesture so smooth that it almost makes me smile, he makes a delighted sound.
“My Midnight friends,” he says in a voice dripping with velvety sarcasm. “You’ll have to excuse my entourage. They’re still new to your charming customs, and have mis-read your stony expression. Did someone leave their table without being excused? Is that why you rushed to let us know of our blunder before it became a diplomatic nightmare?”
The twins don’t even blink. The one on the left lets his fingers brush the inside of his jacket. There’s a glint of something metal, which makes me grit my teeth. The other one keeps his gaze locked on my face, and I swear, for a moment, his pupils elongate, stretching catlike and vertical.
