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“You could hold nuclear codes in here,” he’d mumbled, awed as they pulled a scrap of paper from inside. “Or a map to secret treasure.”
Before Nova could voice her revelation to Leaf, he blocked another attack. The sudden movement jerked her back to reality.
Maebh stared down at Nova, her eyes wide and furious. “I should kill you for what he did to us.”
“He hates me more than anyone,” she yelled back, no longer hiding the fear from her voice. “Killing me won’t do anything. But I know him—you’re playing into his plan. Don’t give him the satisfaction.”
She gestured at the battle. Floating manabeeze coalesced, making it seem like the sun had risen early.
Two of the Six hissed, glancing up and beyond Nova’s head—somewhere in the sky behind them. Another gasped. A ripple of disquiet washed over them, and that buzzing sound grew louder than the cacophony of battle. Nova thought she’d seen every kind of nightmare since waking in this time, but the terror those fae devils instilled was the worst. Their black eyes seemed to echo the darkness of her soul, her greatest fear and shame all rolled into one.
And they were hunting for something. Desperate.
Legion snarled at Maebh, his fangs flashing. “Unmake yourself, Queen, or the moment you release the Hunt, you’re dead.”
“Shit,” Leaf muttered, his shrewd gaze on the Six. A sheen of perspiration covered each of their faces, giving their flesh a pearlescent glow. They flickered, almost like a picture television trying to pick up the signal in a storm. They winced as though their very atoms were being ripped apart. Her mate murmured low near her ear, “The souls they keep are barely restrained. Maebh is the Hive’s queen, the only one who can stop the Wild Hunt from killing everything in sight.” Then, almost to himself, he added, “I thought they were on our side. Why would they want that?”
Six united voices replied in Nova’s mind,Because there can be only one queen.
ChapterForty-Seven
The ice-cold wind lashed Nero’s face as he looked through the spyglass to the battle a thousand feet below. His mechanical breathing apparatus kept the thin air from suffocating him but made annoying wheezing sounds. His goggles—one of the Tinker’s better inventions before she betrayed humanity—had a night vision function. He couldn’t see colors in the shadows, but he could see well enough. Except for the manabeeze in the way as they rose from dead bodies and were captured in their airship’s net.
A sudden gust of wind cleared the balls of light just enough for him to see. And then the supply started slowing.
“No,” Nero muttered, moving along the starboard railing to try and see from a better angle. They should be gushing up here like a torrent.
“We’re too high!” Rory shouted from his side, her voice muffled by her breathing apparatus.
“I know that,” he snapped.
“She’s not well. We have to lower altitude,” she returned, insistent. “It’s different this time. Maybe too many times too quickly.”
Nero glanced at his silver-haired protégé slumped against the gunwale, sickly and clammy from her loss of connection to the Well. They’d spent far too long hovering over the decrepit fae city of Cornucopia, hoping for a sign of the warring fae to turn up. Their fuel sources were almost depleted. All had seemed lost until a bird swooped the deck and dropped a message.
He didn’t care why or who it was, only that the intelligence proved true when they’d arrived here. The fae had changed their battle plans but were still moving ahead. Everything went according to plan until the manabeeze stopped filling the night sky. By his count, there should be plenty more to come.
Irritated, Nero lifted his goggles and winced at the wind burning his eyes. He fitted the eyepiece to his socket and adjusted the telescopic lens. The sun was coming up soon, so he might not need the night vision. Bright balls drifted like stars until darkness arrived again. He zoomed to the ground where the hordes of Tainted had gathered, pigeons about to be squashed beneath his boot.
But something was wrong. The battle had stopped. Why? They should be killing each other—ripping each other’s throats out. And he should be harvesting more manabeeze they could use to fuel portals. This was supposed to be his moment. Then his spyglass landed on a blond Guardian standing before some dais or platform. The leaders must be parleying. The fae queen was dressed extravagantly. Dark afro hair, brown skin. Another had white hair and wings. The Guardian held a woman at his chest—his heart skipped a beat as he focused on her features, but they were too far away, and it was still too dark. Blood rushed in his ears as familiarity triggered confusion.
The spyglass darted between the blond Guardian, the queen, and—
“Father!”
Nero jolted as Rory growled near his ear.
He ignored her and went back to spying but lost his place. He cared little for the comfort of these people or the fae ward. The timing had to be right before humanity played its hand. Soon, he would give the order to swoop in and take advantage of the injured and weak. The girl would return to her magic source, so they should just shut the fuck up and wait like the rest of the soldiers.
“Sir.” The young captain joined him at the railing. “With respect, sir. I agree with your daughter. My betrothed’s health is in jeopardy. We must lower the ship. We’ve avoided detection this far. Surely we can—”
Anger turned Nero’s vision red. He should never have allowed the captain betrothal status last night. Clenching his jaw, Nero faced him. Above the breathing apparatus, the boy’s goggle-free eyes squinted so his inflated arrogance was clear. Nero struck his freckled temple with the back of his hand. The captain’s head whipped to the side, dislodging his breathing apparatus and allowing thin air to filter in. Wheezing and blinking, the young ginger-haired man clutched his smarting temple in shock. Aviators and soldiers froze, awkwardly looking on.
“Don’t youdarepresume to dictate my plans,” Nero snarled at him, his voice hollow through the mechanism. “I say when, I say how high, I say who. Understood?”
“Yes, Mr. President.” The young captain straightened his spine and fixed his mouthpiece, breathing easily again. “I’ll wait for your orders.”
Nero glanced over the gunwale, grimly taking in the scene below. Something didn’t feel right. Why did those fae look familiar? Why did he have this feeling churning in his gut?
