Page 48 of The Blood Queen

“It’s the closest I’ll ever get to grace.”

With wings made of snow. I gripped his hand and dragged him outside. To hell with ancient sins and fate—we made these moments of grace. Held them for an instant. Or a lifetime. Held on until, like a letter hidden at the bottom of a wooden box, grace was snatched away.

PART TWO: THE HUNT

CHAPTER 11

Noa

Anson’s archive was silent and secretive. Each time I visited, walked down the four flights of stairs to the lowest level, my teeth clenched against the various enchantments. Some snapped with warnings. Others soothed, like those in the reading alcoves. On the lowest level, the mock window lessened the claustrophobia. The fake fire created a visual ambiance that belied the intense security in place, the cameras, the permissions to enter through the softly buzzing door.

Today, the scent of baking cookies added an insidiously homey touch, even though we were nowhere near a kitchen, and every time the aroma made me too comfortable, all I had to do was look at the specimen jars. The one with the nixie. Remind myself that most of the comforts were fake.

Laura finished filling out her request card and slipped it into the brass container, snapped the lid on the antique vacuum tube. With an audible whooshing, and the metallic clunk-clunk never associated with modern technology, the tube zipped away.

“What did you request this time?” I asked her as she sat down.

“A listing of all the kings and queens, their lineage, family trees.”

“The royal titles were always hereditary?”

“Male to male,” she agreed. “Bloodlines were important, and families gained power through marriage, which—sometimes—led to murder, where the bride’s family stood to benefit. Particularly if she had sons. Or ambitious brothers, leading to even more murders.”

I prodded the books stacked in front of me. “You’re awfully interested in family dynamics,” I said, watching as Laura pulled another dusty tome toward her.

She shrugged as she opened the book. “Families are funny. These ancient kings and queens didn’t give a shit about anyone. It was all about power, alliances, and revenge. Don’t paint your values over the queens and then think they were anything like you.”

“I’m nothing like the queens.”

“But you identify with Amal.”

The repetitive flicker of the fake fire drew my attention. “I’m trying to understand her.”

“Better to know your enemy?”

“Is that Anson talking?” The argument didn’t sound like hers, but she had a point. “I’m distantly connected to the queens, so I should understand them.”

“Then why won’t you talk about that journal?”

I shrugged and pushed Amal’s journal aside. “How was your visit with Levi?”

“Fine. Short. You know he had to get back.”

He’d come and gone while I’d been with Grayson. I didn’t want the disappointment, but I’d been looking forward to seeing Levi, and missing him left me on edge.

I wiped my palm across the table as if wiping away invisible dust. “How was he?”

“His leg wound has healed, but he’s still dragging around that spear.” Which meant emotionally, he was just as messed up as Laura was, both brother and sister pretending they weren’t suffering. I hummed through pressed lips.

“What?” She was instantly defensive.

“Only thinking about the spear. If it’s healthy for him to dwell on what it means.”

“It means security.”

“He’s afraid she’ll use it on him again?”

Laura’s fingers fluttered through the book in front of her. “Brin’s probably dead, but even if she isn’t, being ready to fight makes sense.”

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