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“We’re awake,” Prisca called back. “We’ll be right there.”
She pushed her hair off her face. “I need to get to Daharak, Lorian. I can’t stay for long in the fae lands.”
She’d asked me to send a message to the pirate queen last night. I’d advised Rostamir that Prisca would come but needed to handle something else first. We hadn’t heard back from her yet.
“You mean we can’t stay for long.” I leaned over and nuzzled her neck, reveling in the scent of her—and the way I’d imprinted her scent with my own. “Don’t think I didn’t notice your nightmares last night. Or the fact that you still haven’t let yourself grieve.” She hadn’t cried once. It would have been impressive, the way she’d clamped down on her emotions, if the sorrow and rage weren’t slowly poisoning her.
Prisca stiffened, and I pressed gentle kisses to her throat until she relaxed once more.
“Speaking of grief, you need to talk to Marth,” she said.
“I know. I’ve tried. He’s not ready to talk yet.”
She tutted. “Men.”
I poked her in the ribs, and she let out a tiny yelp.
“I’m just saying,” she said. “Maybe he doesn’t need space.”
“He does. For right now. If he doesn’t talk to one of the others, I’ll irritate him until he hits me. Then we’ll get to the bottom of this.”
She stared at me. “That’s your solution?”
I shrugged. I wouldn’t fail Marth the way I’d failed Cavis. I was paying close attention to his mental state. But I knew Marth well enough to know he would explode eventually. And I’d be there to pick up the pieces.
We were both quiet as we dressed. It was times like these that I wished I could read Prisca’s mind. Fae were possessive, but I’d never imagined that I would crave her every thought, emotion, breath.
After everything we had been through so far, this should be when we were happiest. Prisca loved me. She’d accepted that she was my mate. Mine. And yet this war would rip us apart if it could.
Telean was waiting with the others outside, sitting near the remnants of our fire. Marth and Galon were talking quietly near the tent they’d dedicated for Jamic—a ward in place around it—while Rythos said something that managed to make Madinia crack a smile.
We would need to leave soon. My spies had discovered the current locations of Regner’s regiments and mapped out our best route to the fae lands. But thanks to those regiments, the best route was through Gromalia. Prisca needed to recover as much of her power as possible, so we could get across the border and through the nearby towns.
Prisca took my hand. “Cavis’s body?”
“Rythos arranged for it to be transported to Aranthon by boat.” My chest clenched. He should be here with us, excited to see his wife. His baby. There was no conversation I was dreading as much as the one I would soon have with Sybella.
Telean met my eyes briefly before turning her attention to Prisca and holding up a piece of parchment.
“I learned the truth about what happened to the Gromalian queen. Our suspicions were correct, as were the rumors we began spreading. Eryndan had her killed.”
Prisca’s shoulders tensed, and I could feel her refocusing, steeling herself for whatever was to come next. “Tell us.”
“Eryndan’s wife was named Brynne. When Rekja had seen three winters, she traveled to see her sister, who still lived with their parents. Her carriage was attacked by human bandits, and a group of fae saved their lives. One of them was a fae ambassador from Quorith. His name was Althor.”
I glanced at Rythos. He shook his head at me. He didn’t know the ambassador.
“They fell in love,” Telean continued. “Over the next few months, Brynne began making plans to leave Eryndan. She was also looking for ways to take Rekja with her. But she knew if she were to take Eryndan’s heir to the fae lands, Eryndan would likely declare war on the fae. She told her sister Losorli what was happening, and Losorli warned her to be very, very careful. Eryndan was controlling. He would have his men spy on her, would make her account for every moment of her day.”
“He learned of the affair, didn’t he?” Madinia asked.
Telean nodded. “I asked one of my friends to convince Losorli to tell us the truth, promising her we wouldn’t let Eryndan know she’d talked.” Telean held up the message she’d clearly just received. “One day, when Brynne was visiting Losorli, she suddenly became sick and confused. One of the guards had offered her a valeo to eat while they were traveling. It was poisoned. The guards rushed her back to the castle, where she died—apparently of natural causes. But Losorli knew. The next time the guards came, she was warned to stay away from Rekja. To pretend she had never had a sister. But she had noticed the remains of the valeo while the guards had been loading her sister back into the carriage, and she’d tucked it into her gown. She’d taken it to her neighbor, who used her power to test for poison.”
Prisca’s face was flushing, her hands fisting as she wrestled with her fury. She’d loathed Eryndan since the moment I’d met him. I couldn’t say I was surprised to learn what he’d done, but I ran my hand down her back until she let out the breath she’d been holding.
We couldn’t help Brynne. She was long dead. But her son wasn’t.
“How do we convince Rekja of the truth?” Prisca asked.
