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Wrath frowned. “I do not like it, but then that usually doesn’t stop you, daughter. Do what you will. But neither you nor Rhiannon nor Chatter can fall. Grieve…we have to make sure he survives this. So if you find yourself in danger, pull back. Let another take your place.”
“Why is this so important? What are you not telling me?” I wanted answers. I was tired of being a pawn in this convoluted game. Something big was going down and if I was going to be a part of it, I wanted to know what.
“Don’t question me, girl—”
“Don’t you think you owe her the truth, Wrath?” A voice from the door cut him off. It was Ysandra Petros, standing there with the three remaining members of the Consortium. Peyton looked at me apologetically and shrugged.
They were dressed for battle, looking a bit worse for the wear considering what had happened. She strode in, all business—whether she was wearing a prim dress or a weatherproof jumpsuit, Ysandra Petros remained fully in charge.
“I think this matter is no concern of yours.” My father stared at her, his eyes narrowing.
“I think it’s every concern of ours…the Vampiric Fae are a plague on us all, a danger to everyone. And what has happened so far will change the future playing field. Cicely and Rhiannon deserve to know more than you’ve told them, if only to reinforce the necessity of them staying alive during this battle.”
Ysandra’s lips were pursed and she looked pissed. I’d never seen someone stand up to Wrath—except for Lannan, and even he cowered when push came to shove.
My father grumbled, shaking his head. “It’s too soon—”
“When will be the time? When she goes charging in, trying to help save the day, and finds herself in the jaws of one of the Shadow Hunters? She has no more clue as to what’s happening than the mass of yummanii and Weres out there who are counting their dead from the night’s feast. You cannot protect her forever.” Ysandra pointed at me, shouting now. “The die has been cast, the bargain made. The girls have sealed their fate. They deserve to know what’s going on. I warned you of this, years back, before you refused our help. I knew this was coming from the beginning.”
“From the beginning? What do you mean, from the beginning?” I turned to her, blinking. “How long have you known about this? Why isn’t anybody being straight with me? Did you know what was happening when you came to the house the first time? I’m getting fucking tired of being left out of the loop!”
Rhiannon joined me, slipping her arm around my waist. “I want to know, too. If I’m involved, I need to know. I helped kill my mother the other day because of what Myst did to her. I demand to know what’s going on. And I want to know why I was able to see that door that only those with Cambyra blood are supposed to be able to see.”
We stood, a frozen tableau. Wrath glanced at Ysandra, then to Rhia and me, uncertainty filling his face. I almost felt sorry for him—it was obvious he was struggling with a decision.
Kneeling beside Grieve, I turned to Chatter, who was sitting on the floor beside my Fae Prince, lifting him so that Grieve’s head was resting on his lap.
“How is he?”
“Sleeping deeply. It’s hard to tell what’s going to happen when he wakes up. He should be monitored. I thought we were taking him to the realm of Summer?” Chatter glanced at Wrath, and it seemed like the frightened Fae I’d met upon my return to New Forest had vanished. He was strong, almost regal.
Wrath let out a long breath. “I suppose it is time to tell you the truth. I’m not sure what Lainule will say, though.”
“I say we should tell them.” Lainule’s voice echoed through the room. “We must sort things out in order to rout Myst this afternoon, and to do that you must know the past as well as your future.” She pushed Ysandra out of the doorway as she entered the room, followed by eight strapping Fae warriors. “I have brought an army—they are outside, awaiting our orders. I also brought healers. We march to reclaim our land today.”
I twisted around, still holding Grieve’s hand. “Please, can you help Grieve?”
“Attend him.” Lainule moved to the side as a woman stepped from behind her and entered the room.
She was Cambyra Fae and a healer—the energy rolled off of her from across the room. She silently glided across the floor like some ethereal spirit to kneel beside Grieve. Motioning for Chatter and me to move, she felt Grieve’s pulse, then brushed his hair back and placed a hand on his forehead.
A moment later, she began to hum, and Luna moved forward, as if called by the song. The healer looked up at her, nodded, and Luna knelt beside her and began to match harmonies, blending her voice with the voice of the healer. As they worked in unison, the healer gestured to Zoey, who began to match their cadence with a slow beat. As the soft fall of her hand swept the head of the drum, Luna and the healer began to sing.
I am calling your soul back from the depths,
I am calling your soul back from the darkness.
I am calling your soul back from the crypts,
I am calling you back to yourself.
You are lost and alone, out in the starlight,
You are lost and alone, so far from home,
Come back to me, Princeling, cease to wander the byways,
Come back to me, Princeling, no more to roam.
