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“Yes.”
“Could it not be another case of a random name written down to confuse us?” I asked, lowering my voice slightly. It was pointless, as everyone could hear my heart beating well enough, and a whisper was more than audible, but it felt like the principle mattered. “Aisling only knows why, but it’s not as if he’s lying, and you said yourself my mother cannot have been there…so someone was clearly scribbling false names.”
“Perhaps,” Scion said slowly, his tone implying all on its own that he did not believe that one bit.
We stood in uncomfortable silence for a fraction of a second, the tension hanging thick in the room.
“Oh!” I exclaimed, the obvious solution hitting me all at once. “Where is your son?”
From the way Lady Acacia’s lips turned into a thin line, I knew I was both correct and that she’d already put this together but had been in no hurry to help us.
I did not know the name of the son we’d seen in the drawing room the other day, but he fit the first description Cross had given, if not the second. It was Rosey’s other dream. The meeting in the tavern. The male from Wanderlust and the fair-handed youth discussing the ships.
Moreover, the feeling of contempt that had wafted off him when he saw me was enough to tell me quite clearly that the younger Bard Inbetwixt had some preconceived notions about me—and they likely were not flattering.
Now, I wondered if perhaps it was not so much me he had a problem with but my face. Or, more accurately, my sister, who had shared my same face up until the day she died.
* * *
The younger BardInbetwixt glared up at Scion with an entirely too-familiar venomous expression. Familiar, because it was exactly the sort of hatred I’d seen in the mirror most every day of my life. The same disgust I’d shown when looking at the High Fae—until recently, that was.
Now, I feared to even know what my face might look like when I stared up at the Fae—and, most especially, the Fae princes. I found myself unable to accept the possibility that maybe, just maybe, my feelings were slowly changing.
It might have begun some time ago—perhaps when Bael first pulled me from the dungeon and killed that guard. Perhaps when he first kissed me or saved my life with his blood. Perhaps when the whole family began using my name or sharing spontaneous truths.
Scion was right: I had to reckon with my sense of morality.
I had liked what he’d done to the incubus, enjoyed fighting with him, wanted…other things.
I was in a between space. A shadow realm, neither respect, nor disgust, nor love, nor hatred. An acceptance that was not quite as begrudging as it had once been.
Bard Inbetwixt suffered no such confusion. He was clearly filled with burning hatred, if not for the Fae, then for royalty. The only question remained: why?
I watched as Bard Inbetwixt twisted his silver ring on his finger, his eyes narrowed. His jaw clenched and unclenched as he tried to find the words to express his displeasure.
“Let me warn you that you do not want to waste any more of my time than you already have,” Scion said angrily. “Now, why were you meeting with the rebels at the Side Saddle?”
The lord and lady’s son looked down at his shoes, unable to withstand Scion’s furious gaze. “Why the fuck should I tell you anything? You’ll kill me either way.”
I clenched my fingers into fists. “Because if you don’t, it will be far more fucking painful for you and your entire family.”
Scion’s silver eyes widened with shock, and for a moment, his eyebrows twitched up towards his hairline before he calmed his expression. “Precisely. I have no qualms about causing pain, but I do hate to be wasteful. I won’t let you die until you tell me what I want to know, so you may as well make it easier on yourself.”
If a human said that, I might have thought they were bluffing or exaggerating, but not Scion. He meant it. This male would die, but whether he would die easily or brutally like Kaius was still up for debate.
Bard shuddered, unable to hold in his fear. “It was my first meeting,” he said bitterly.
“With who?” Scion demanded.
“Any of them. The rebellion is buying…shit from Phillipa Blacktongue.” He struggled, trying to avoid the truth and stuttering. I was sure pain was tearing down his throat.
“We know about the Gancanagh’s Dust,” Scion snapped. “Why were you there?”
Bard looked surprised, but fortunately for us, the fact that we already knew the worst of it seemed to embolden him. He smiled meanly and spoke faster. “They want to get the dust out of the city and put it on ships like before, but this time, they need a new route.” He licked his lips, looking eager, almost like he was excited to be involved in this even moments before he’d die for it. “They’re looking to move it down to Underneath without crossing the Hedge.”
Scion looked over at me, but not as if he was accusing, more like he wanted my opinion.
I had none to give. “Why would they do that?”
