Page 23 of Let Slip the Dogs of War

He whips around to look at us all at once. “There are some things you need to be aware of before we go in there.”

We both nod. The air feels heavier than it did amongst the trees. Is she listening to us?

“Do not eat anything. Do not drink anything.” The moment he says it, I realise how dry my throat is, and like he can read my mind, he shakes his head. “Do not offend her.”

He turns toward the door again, but I reach out and snag his sleeve. “Wait! Wait. I can… Am I going to be able to drink anything while I’m here?”

If not, I’m fucked. Grant might be able to last, well, forever without it. He’s a vampire, and from what Quinn’s mentioned, I don’t think he needs that much blood. Any blood, even.

Lark puts his opposite hand on mine. “If I offer it to you, you can take it. But any other fae… You cannot trust them.”

“Yeah, okay.”

I let go of his sleeve and he squares his shoulders before he sweeps his hair back so it falls down in a sleek wave. I take a step back, standing alongside Grant again.

Lark lifts his hand and knocks on the door.

Chapter Nine

Lark

It feels as though we stand there for an eternity, waiting for the witch to answer. She does not come to the door herself, of course. Instead, after a few minutes, it swings noiselessly open and reveals nothing but darkness within.

Darkness and warmth, and a hint of magic that tickles my nose, so I am the first to cross the threshold, Grant close on my heels.

Dante hesitates. I curse myself for not thinking of his needs earlier, only I do not believe that he thought much of them either. Perhaps I can get something from the witch once I have my power returned to me. It is some way back to court, and I want him healthy and whole once we arrive.

“This is cool,” Grant mutters, and Dante makes a questioning sound. Most types of fae can see well enough in the dark, but not in the way vampires can. I doubt Dante can see much of anything at all.

“Grant,” I say quietly.

He scurries back over, sticking close to Dante, and murmurs an apology. I do not believe he would touch anything on purpose—perhaps he would not at all—but we cannot risk it.

We step out of the entryway and light streams from under one of the other doors. That one, too, swings open as we approach, and the witch is sitting in an armchair by the fire, face turned towards the flames.

Grant’s magic flares, though not enough that I believe he feels the need to defend us. I do not like that I can feel it. I told him not to offend her, and using magic in her house, without her permission—

She turns her head, the fire sparking in her black eyes and playing over the sharp lines of her face. I do not know her age. The witch has been here for longer than I have been alive, though calling her a witch is a misnomer. Powerful as she is, she is still fae. And she is powerful. Her skills far outstrip those of any fae I have ever known.

“Please,” she says, gesturing at a sofa just across from her, “take a seat.”

I move first, taking the seat closest to her, which does not seem to surprise her at all. Grant takes the other end, expression as awed as it was when he first saw Cassian today, and Dante drops between us, his thigh pressing up against mine.

While the witch studies us, I study her. She wears no glamour, and her pale skin has a faint, shimmering sheen to it. Dark curls escape from her loose braid when she turns her head to look at Grant, then Dante. She is high fae, just as I am. Her power circles us, probing at what we have.

“Your Highness,” she says finally, inclining her head in my direction. “I did not expect you to bring companions with you.”

“They are seeking something.”

“Someone,” she corrects. Her dark eyes move back to Dante. “What are your names?”

Dante looks straight at me, doubt clouding his expression. I hesitate. We fae keep our true names fiercely hidden, but even the names our parents give us can be used against us. For humans—

“I will not harm either of them,” she says. “I know why you are here, after all.”

She can no more lie than I can, so I nod.

“I’m Dante.”