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“It’s exactly the same,” she rasped, her fingers clutching the aural in her hand so tightly I could practically see her bones beneath the taut skin.
“The same as what?”
“The night Arthur died.”
I followed the path her gaze had taken moments before. I hadn’t been there that night, but I’d heard reports. Detailed ones, from the terrestrials who’d been in attendance at that feast. Realization formed in my gut, a black, burning flame that would only be extinguished by bloodshed.
I only needed to know who to kill.
Whoever it was, they’d done this on purpose, to unhinge her. Maybe the Dowager had a hand in it. It didn’t matter, not now. Whoever had done it would play this evening out without revealing themselves. But Veyka could not crumble, not now. Not with the Tower of Myda looming over us.
I leaned in close, until my lips were a breath away from her ear.
“We will kill them,” I promised her. “By the time the sun rises in two days, we will have our answer. It will be over.”
A shaky exhale.
I scraped my canines over the pointed tip of her ear.
Her inhale was sharper still, her teeth sinking into her lush lower lip.
“I promise you. They will pay.” A vow. Truer than the one I’d made at the Offering. I felt this one in every corner of my consciousness.
Her eyes softened, drifting closed. I stepped in front of her, so no one would see the way her lips trembled as she drew in a ragged breath. But when she opened her eyes again, the blue was clear, her brow set.
She nodded, echoing back my words with such vicious conviction, a chill snaked down my spine. “They will pay.”
71
VEYKA
Arran’s hand at the base of my spine was a constant, steady presence throughout the feast. I sipped that one goblet of aural all night, letting it slowly ease the pressure in my veins. Oblivion beckoned, an escape I needed more than ever. But not now, not so close to our assault on the Tower of Myda.
That was what it would be, I’d realized as we planned. Each level was guarded by a different horror. That was as much as Parys had been able to find in the few days allotted to him. If we’d had more time, we might have discovered what at least some of those horrors were. But the terrestrial delegation was here, Mabon was days off and the Joining with it. There was no more time to wait.
And yet, the feast dragged on and on. Until I was staring at the bottom of my goblet, grieving the lack of aural. No more than a droplet remained. A dreg, really. Still, I tipped my head back and tried to coax it into my mouth.
“I think we’ve stayed long enough,” Arran’s voice said against the shell of my ear. Sending shivers down my spine, as I recalled the scrape of his canines there hours before.
I didn’t glance around to see if plates were cleared or if anyone planned on making a toast. If Arran, the prince of propriety and duty, deemed we’d met our quota for useless interactions with even more useless courtiers, I was not going to question him.
We walked back to my apartments in silence, Gawayn and Lyrena’s steady presences trailing us. I didn’t have any words. Too many had already been spoken. More were caught in my throat. The need to thank Arran for staying at my side, steadfast for the hours where I otherwise might have drowned. The desire to rage at him, for not understanding why I’d kept my secret. Some twisted part of me wanted to demand that he confess his feelings for me, whether it be hatred or admiration or lust.
Lust.
That was the one thing that had always been clear between us.
Tonight, on the precipice of a new world… I could cling to that.
I could let it fill me up. Let him fill me up.
One last time.
We were at my door. Gawayn and Lyrena followed us into the antechamber, ready to take up their posts on either side of the door outside of my bedroom. Gwen was not on guard tonight, which meant that Arran would stay. Even after all this time, she was the only one he trusted to guard me while I slept. He pulled his hand away, the heat of it tattooed on the small of my back.
I was powerless to let him go.
He took a half step toward the chaise. I caught his hand.
