Page 108

Hours later, I wake to the midday sun beaming through the skylight above my bed.

Well-rested, well-fed, and well-fucked.

Beside me, Rory makes soft noises in her sleep. She’s covered in my scent. Inside and out. Her blood-stained lips twitch up into a smile. If I could, I would spend the rest of my life in bed with her, cock and fangs buried deep inside her perfect little body.

Reluctantly, I slip from the bed, careful not to wake her. At the wardrobe, I yank on a black shirt and a pair of leather breeches. As I pause in front of the mirror to comb my hair, Rory turns over. Her arm stretches out as if she’s searching for me, for a presence she knows is missing even in her sleep. I’m across the room and beside the bed a second later. Kissing her temple, I conjure a rose and leave it on the pillow beside her.

I’m out the doors a heartbeat later, humming to myself as I head to the study.

Last night was perfect. Well… everything that happened after I destroyed Brutus.

The animated lights illuminate as I stride through the door. Everything is exactly as it was the last time I was in here, down to the empty wine bottle and shattered glass glinting on the table and the calling card forgotten on the floor. I scoop it up and inspect it. Blank. Front and back. Nothing more than a thick, rectangular piece of paper reeking of ancient magic.

The kind only found in the Fae Isles.

The bladeless dagger on my wrist taunts me as I twirl the card between my fingertips.

If Rory’s wrong about Warnings from the Wicked, we’re all fucked. I weigh the chances. She seemed so sure back at Carver’s house, sure enough to risk her godsdamned life retrieving it from the manor.

And the name… G. Halethorne.

Gwyn Halethorne.

That couldn’t be a coincidence.

“Fuck it.” I hold the card over one of the lit candles. It catches fire in an instant, alighting into a pocket-sized flaming phoenix before dissolving into ash. “See you soon, Riven.”

It’s been three hours since I set the calling card on fire.

“‘Will arrive within an hour of its burning,’ my ass,” I mutter to myself. If I’m forced to spend one more godsdamned minute waiting for my bastard of a brother⁠—

“Black hell, Quill,” says Risna. She lays on the couch, her legs hooked over the arm, her head in Eivor’s lap. “You’re going to wear a trench into the floors if you don’t stop pacing. Go to Rory and exert all of that”—she waves an all-encompassing hand—“energy elsewhere. I’m growing tired just watching you.”

I draw to a stop, grinding my teeth. “Do you think he changed his mind?”

Eivor shrugs. “He’s fae. They follow their whims, not their word.”

“Not helpful. If he doesn’t show up…” A knot burgeons between my shoulder blades.

Risna arches a brow. “You’re plotting something. What is it?”

“Well, with Carver out gallivanting around the Wyldelands looking for Avaline, maybe now’s a good time to make you both aware of my back-up plan.” I pause, puzzling out how to tell them the truth. I opt for blunt honesty. “If I can’t secure Riven’s vote, I’m going to try to flip Tallis.”

She abruptly sits up. “And how, brother, do you figure you’re going to do that?”

My lips flatten into a thin line. “By whatever means necessary.”

“You mean to betray Avaline?” asks Eivor. He shakes his head. “That’s not you, Quill. If Riven doesn’t show, we’ll find another way. One that doesn’t hurt Carver. He still deeply cares for her.”

Each word is accentuated by a phantom kick to the knees because he’s right.

“Do you think I want to have to think like this? To sacrifice friendships? I don’t. If I could outright challenge Mihal on my own, I would, without question. But that’s not how it works. The only way to keep the two of you, Carver, and Rory safe is to go about this the legal way, and I can’t do that without a fourth vote. Tallis may be an easy sway if I work the cracks that are already splintering throughout her inner circle. She’ll spiral if I tell her of a usurper actively working against her in exchange for backing me against Mihal.”

“I hear you.” Risna rises to her feet and folds her arms across her chest. Florin darts from the patch of sun by the window and winds between her ankles, purring. “But I won’t allow you to become someone you loath. Stepping over people to get what you want? That’s exactly how things started with Mihal.”

“I—”

Incandescent light spills across the room in a flash that’s gone in a blink.