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“Let the games begin,” Ari whispered with a bit of glee in his voice as he watched my brothers drop a bleeding Valen Ferus onto the floor.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
THE MEMORY THIEF
The illusionof Valen groaned like his insides were tearing him apart. His face was blotchy and bruised. Open wounds and scrapes littered his face. Tufts of hair were pulled from his scalp. He was a sickening sight to see.
“Gods.” Ari rubbed the place between his eyes.
“Drop my illusion,” I said. “Help Luca if you can.”
“Only if you promise not to tell your damn husband.”
“I swear I will keep him blissfully oblivious. Unless you irritate me, of course.”
Ari released a long breath and before my eyes, the freckles dusting my arms returned. My pale skin was no longer smooth and scarless, but at least Ari wasn’t about to split his skull in pain.
“Is he . . . gods, is he the rebel king?” Oskar gasped below us. “Edvard, they have . . . they have the Northern fae king. He’s . . . he’s half in the Otherworld.”
Oskar looked horrified.
“Yes.” Kase took the liberty of kicking Valen in the gut. The king groaned and hissed in pain.
“Am I supposed to bleeding feel it?” The true Valen at my back clutched his stomach.
“Hang on, King Valen,” I said, grinning. “Luca’s mesmer might be an illusion, but it does not make it less real during the moment.”
“Three hells,” Valen cursed.
Elise went to his side. She took his hand and kneeled beside him. With his eyes still closed, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back, taking strength from his queen.
“This is what will happen,” Kase said to the brothers. “We will leave a dead king in your house. I will send your fellow skyds here to see the slaughtered king, and in turn, you will have started a war.” Kase patted Edvard’s cheek, chuckling when the man winced. “I hear the Night Folk fae are rather sensitive. They’ll bring war to the East, and it will be your fault. You will go down in the sagas as traitors. Your heads will rot atop the spires of the Black Palace.”
“He’s lying,” Edvard said, but there was a distinct quiver in his voice.
“Ed.” Oskar kept his horrified gaze schooled on Valen. “The king is here, dying in your hall.”
“How did you get the king?” Edvard was struggling to hide his fear now.
Kase would destroy him.
“Ah, I do not give up my tricks,” Kase said. “What is your choice? Give us Jagged Grove? Or does he die on your table?”
There it was. The bargaining piece.
“Well?” Kase crouched in front of Oskar.
“Why would you not use the king for yourself? Ivar hunts you. To give him over to the Black Palace could change your path.”
Kase laughed again. “I almost believe you believe that. Ivar will never stop. And I do not make deals that suit the Black Palace. I make deals that suit me. Now, this is my payment for your assistance. I’m being generous.”
“Edvard,” Oskar said, a little breathless. “We can’t have a dead king on our lands. Rebel or not.”
“They’re playing you, you bleeding fool,” Edvard said.
Oskar looked ill. For a fleeting moment, I sympathized with the skyd. He didn’t worry for himself. No. His eyes kept drifting to the door. He feared for his family.
“Kill him.” Edvard spoke the words with such coldness, I rubbed a chill off my arms. “If you have no need of him, then nor do we.”
