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The Autumn King said coldly, even as red-hot flame simmered at his fingertips, “The Fae must retain our power and birthright. The royal bloodlines have been fading, turning watery and weak in your generation.”
“Cormac proved that with his spinelessness,” Morven bit out. “We must do everything we can to strengthen them.”
“Cormac was more of a warrior than you’ll ever be,” Tharion snapped, that plume of water narrowing to needle-like sharpness. It’d punch a hole through the face of whoever got in front of it.
“Too bad I’m married now,” Bryce mused. “And you guys don’t do divorce.”
Morven sneered. “Exceptions can be made for the sake of breeding.”
Hunt’s rage roared through him.
“All this breeding talk is awfully familiar,” Bryce said, yawning again. “And come to think of it, this whole Fae King versus Fae Queen thing seems like history repeating itself, too.” She scrunched up her features, pretending to think. “But you know …” She patted Truth-Teller’s hilt. “Some things might be different these days.” Hunt could have sworn the Starsword hummed faintly, as if in answer.
“You disgrace our people and history by bearing those blades,” Morven accused.
“Don’t forget that I also bear this,” Bryce said, and held up a hand. Light—pure, concentrated light—fizzed there.
“Oh, you believe mere light can best true darkness?” Morven seethed, shadows rising behind him in a black wave. They were deep, suffocating—lifeless.
Hunt gathered his lightning again, a chain twining around his wrist and forearm. One whip of it, and he’d fry the ghouls holding Dec and Flynn, freeing up two more allies in this fight—
But the Autumn King beheld that concentrated seed of light at Bryce’s finger. His flames banked. Any amusement or rage leached from his expression as he murmured to Morven, “Run.”
“Now that’s the first wise decision you’ve made,” Bryce mocked.
A beam of slicing, burning light shot from her hand toward the ceiling.
Then solid rock rained down upon them all.
* * *
Ruhn had just decided that he really should go see where his friends had disappeared to all day, and was about to do so after leaving the archives that night when he found himself walking back toward the bedrooms with Lidia.
“I know it’s an unusual situation,” she said when they reached his door, “but I liked working with you today.”
He halted, throat working before he managed to say, “Must be nice, to finally get to … be yourself. Out in the open.”
“It’s complicated,” she said quietly.
She shifted on her feet, like she wanted to say more but didn’t know how, so Ruhn decided to do her a favor and asked, “Wanna come in for a minute?” At her arched brow, he added, “Just to talk.”
Her lips curved, but she nodded. He opened his door, stepping aside to let her in. They found seats in the threadbare armchairs before the crackling fire, and for a moment, Lidia stared at the flames as if they were speaking to her.
Ruhn was about to offer her a drink when she said, “Everything in my life is complicated. All the relationships, real and faked … sometimes I can’t even tell them apart.” Her voice was soft—sad. And utterly exhausted.
Ruhn cleared his throat. “When you and I …” Fucked. “Slept together, you knew who I was. Beyond the code name, I mean.”
Her eyes found his, dancing with flame. “Yes.”
“Did it complicate things for you?”
She held his stare, her eyes as gold as the flames before them, and his heart thundered. “No. I was shocked, but it didn’t complicate anything.”
“Shocked?”
She gestured to him. “You’re … you.”
“And that’s … bad?”
