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Amity scrunches her nose, then scrambles from my arms. She paces the area around the Rip. By the time she comes back, she looks rather forlorn.
“Well, I have one bit of bad news and two bits of good news,” she says, hands on her hips. “I’ll start with the bad first. The Others trampled the soil in this area so thoroughly, the crop of flax is damaged. We could plant more, but my supply is going to run out before it grows.”
My soul deflates, and Marcus says, “Perhaps you should have started with the good news.”
Amity shrugs. “The good news is, since I got my supply from Blaise’s bag, I have a good feeling that she knows where she can get some more.”
“What’s the second bit of good news?” I ask.
Amity grins. “You might not know this about her, but Blaise sort of owes us.”
Marcus lets out a laugh that sounds more like a wheeze, though I think it’s genuinely more because he’s humored than the fact that he’s sick.
And suddenly, all three of us burst into laughter. Beautiful, crazed, cathartic laughter.
And somewhere deep within my soul, my Gift chimes in.
CHAPTER 118
BLAISE
Absorbing the parasite, as it turns out, has its perks.
For example, I can shift between my human self and vampire self at will now.
Handy for when I want to go about my life as normal, tasting the sun on my skin to calm my mind when it races.
Shifting is also useful when I need to impersonate someone else.
As I’m doing now, prancing down the Naenden dungeon stairs with the grace and power of Queen Lydia herself.
Lydia is not all that difficult to impersonate. Once I got the face and the form down, the general air about her was fun to master.
Oh, and the snapping my fingers and others doing as I say.
I really should focus, though.
I’m not here for fun.
Well, unless you count murder fun.
Which I probably shouldn’t.
The guards at the bottom of the staircase treat me about the same way as the ones at the top did, parting way for me lest I singe them with my power. I know Lydia well enough to know she wouldn’t actually discipline her guards in such a manner, but these fae must be new.
“Leave us,” I say, having great fun keeping my chin held high as I state the command.
Armor clanks as guards scatter from the hallway, leaving me alone with the prisoner tucked into this hovel.
Once my hearing confirms the guards are long gone, I shift again, this time into myself. Well, the version of myself with fangs.
“Blaise,” says a sly voice from within the cell. The scent of mildew and rot fills my nostrils.
It would have bothered me once.
It doesn’t anymore.
“What kind of trouble are you up to these days?” asks the man in the cell.
