Page 21 of Three Dark Kings and the Gilded Serpent

I wouldn’t know the inked feather was there except that I saw it in an Oracle vision that showed me Fable’s past. In the vision, her mother, whose face I couldn’t see, told Fable the feather would give her wings.

But her mother also gave her a puzzling command: never fly east into the shadows.

I brace, ready to fight, even though I really don’t want to hurt Fable.

As the descendant of a Ferocie Scribe who knew how to use white ink magic, Fable may be one of the few fae who can help me change the nature of the blood bind on my arm.

Fable’s lips draw back from her teeth. “Brunkil was my father.”

My heart sinks. I don’t know much about pack culture, but I might have just made even more of an enemy of her.

A moment later, her tension fades, her expression softens, and she gives me a small smile. “And now, I too, am free of him.”

Her expression hardening again, she swings away from me, her claws extending and teeth sharpening as she faces the other shapeshifters, casting a snarl back at me. “Take Stellen and run, Thyra. It’s time for me to claim my pack.”

At her declaration, the shapeshifters begin regrouping, forming smaller clusters behind two male shifters. Both of them had hung back during the main fight, but now that Brunkil is dead, it seems they want to take his place.

“I will not bow to another man,” Fable growls at them. “Let’s get this over with.”

For the briefest moment, I pause at her back, but I can’t get involved.

I may not know much about pack laws, but I’m certain she has to win this fight on her own.

Also, Lilis is once again a threat to me.

I prowl toward her, bending to wrench back the wood-hilted dagger from Brunkil’s body and return it to my thigh.

Lilis braces opposite me. The hours I trained with her tell me to treat her with suspicion, even while her arms remain at her sides. She might not carry a weapon any longer, but she’s fully capable of killing me without one.

“Edgar’s nearly here,” I say, keeping my focus on her while remaining aware of the battle beginning at my back. “You can stay and fight me, Lilis, and I will end you. Or you can leave with Edgar. That’s your choice.”

“You should have killed me already, Thyra. The Winter Strife⁠—”

“Will remain in play.” I acknowledge the reality without any hesitation.

She nods. “Until Stellen dies.”

“If he dies.”

Through the thrashing of claws and teeth behind me comes the sound of stealthy paws.

Lilis’s white wolf is about to appear around the side of the compound, carrying Edgar, the man who will never abandon Lilis. No matter what she’s done.

She takes the risk of glancing in that direction, clearly hearing her wolf’s approach now. Her teeth clack together as she glares at me. “Fuck.”

She edges to her left, the tension in her body telling me she’s preparing to run.

A part of me wishes she would fight me, because it would tell me she thinks Stellen might live.

Now, all she has to do is wait for Stellen to die of his wounds.

She hesitates another moment, casting him a final glance before she says, so quietly I would miss it without his power, “You love a king who can’t love you back, Thyra. You should know the truth about Stellen before you follow him to your death. If he survives…ask him about his brother.”

Brother?

Stellen had a sister, not a brother.

His sister and mother died. I promised I wouldn’t make him speak of it. All I know is that their deaths broke him.