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Beatrice, reading my expression, said softly, “Iggy will provide for you. That’s why I milked Alice’s cousins. They offered to feed you, too. It might not be a terrible idea to keep a stable as I’m not convinced that declaring war on the sitting king will entice him to return his only leverage.”
“Do you need food?” Iggy asked. Without waiting for a reply, he grabbed a coffee mug with “Dangerous When Provoked” written on it. It looked relatively clean.
Then Iggy whispered a hex that made his skin part and blood poured into the mug.
“That’s a hex that I wouldn’t mind knowing in a fight,” I said, thinking not only of Chester but how nice it would be to fight at a distance more often.
“It only works if you’re alive,” Beatrice said. “He likely doesn’t want an answer to that question, which is why he hasn’t shared it yet.”
“Iamalive.”
“You’re drinking blood, like the formerly-dead do.” Beatrice shrugged.
“Not all formerly dead,” I grumbled. “Iggy. Nora. The people we reanimate . . .”
“Do you want to learn the hex?” Beatrice asked.
“Well, not now if you’re all going to watch me . . .” I pouted in an exaggerated way. Then when Beatrice looked away, I whispered loudly to Iggy, “Tomorrow?”
“I hear you,” she said, but she was smiling now.
Iggy rolled his eyes. “Fine.”
My ridiculousness had broken some of the tension, which was all I wanted. My great-times-great grandmother and the Hexen Master both smiled.
“We’ll figure it out,” Eli said calmly. “Even if it means that I must ascend the throne, we will not allow this threat to continue.”
No one argued. I wasn’t sure we believed him, but no one argued. Chester couldn’t be killed, and our weapon had attacked us. I had arguments aplenty on why Eli’s plan was not my top choice, but I was bone tired.
“We will figure it out,” I agreed.
Tonight, hope would have to be enough.
28
ELI
Eli watched his wife, his heart, his soul-bonded partner cajole and charm the present members of her odd coterie of chosen family. For her, he would start a war, claim a throne, or burn the world. There was no doubt.
She walked into their bedroom, pulled the door shut, and in the next moment, a wall of thorned roses started to climb the walls as if they were rooted in the very floor of the room. These were not necessarily her doing—as far as he knew. It was just as likely that the house had become increasingly fae because he’d claimed the throne he’d never wanted.
Geneviève marveled at the roses, her eyes alight with wonder, as a riot of color exploded as buds grew and blossomed. She reached out, petting the petals gently, and without looking at him, asked, “So . . . king?”
“If I must.”
“You don’t want that.”
Eli stood watching her, well aware that she did not want to rule either. Between death and ruling, he’d take the throne. “I do not, but he risked your life, Geneviève.”
“And yours,” she amended, glancing over her shoulder.
“So, you see? We are both upset at the same actions, but in relation to the other,” Eli said.
“I was pretty pissed off that he was willing to cast me to death, too. I tried to get along with your uncle. We fought side-by-side. I accepted him as family.” Geneviève finally turned to face him. “Family doesn’t sacrifice you.”
Eli nodded. “Ergo, challenging his throne.”
In her usual way, Geneviève switched topics with a speed that made evident how many ideas were swirling in her mind at any given moment. “Do you think I can use the hex?”
