Page 8 of The Last Heir of Elsewhere

“You can’t be serious,” I almost laughed. “Progress toward what? The two of you turning this house to toothpicks?”

He shook his head. “You’ll see. Anger is good. All he’s doing is the same thing he’s been doing for months.”

“Which is what? Trying to murder me? Cursing the day I was born?”

“Proving how much he thinks about you.”

My heartbeat sped up, my chest squeezing uncomfortably. Even if that were true, I couldn’t see why Bael would be so happy about it. Fae as a whole were non-monogamous, but it still seemed like a stretch to expect the cousins to share me equally…if that was even something I wanted. I was not yet sure it was.

With Bael, I never questioned how he felt about me, but with Scion I was in a constant state of confusion. We could hardly stand each other at the best of times, but I’d been unable to keep myself from falling into his bed the night before the castle burned.

Had there been no rebellion, no battle, I was not sure what I’d expected to happen. It had seemed as if our relationship—if there was one—had begun to move beyond barbed banter and threats, yet, Scion never again brought up any of what happened in Inbetwixt or the kiss in the village. He’d hardly spoken a word to me in the last week, and now every time we looked at each other, the mark he’d left on my neck throbbed and my chest felt as if it might burst with...something.

Shaking my head to clear it, I squirmed to escape Bael’s hold. “If you mean that your cousin spends a truly alarming amount of time plotting my demise, then yes, I’d agree.”

Bael shook his head. “You’re both infuriating. I’ve never met two people better at lying to themselves.”

My shoulders slumped. “Regardless, he’s right. We should go, this meeting is important.”

“Whatever you say.” Bael drew one arm from around my waist, and reached up, brushing a fingertip against the bite on my neck, and chuckled when I shivered. “I’m happy with how things are, you know, I’m just waiting for the two of you to join me.”

I yanked out of his grasp and spun to look him in the eyes, barely registering anything he’d said beyond the word “Happy.” “You’re not perfectly happy, though, right?” I demanded. “Not true happiness?”

Bael’s gaze widened, taking in my stricken expression, before his face softened. That word alone gave all the more credence to Scion’s concerns, and if Bael was truly happy…then this could not continue.

He reached out and pushed a rebellious curl behind my ear, then leaned in to kiss my forehead. “No, little monster. I could never be truly happy until you are.”

I relaxed. He didn’t have to worry then, because I might not be cursed, but as long as they were, and as long as the dark cloud of mystery continued to hang over my very existence, I was in no danger of happiness.

* * *

Despite Scion’s suggestion,I still couldn’t shadow walk, so Bael and I took the normal, human way down to the secret underground den.

Cross’s home was almost as grand as the obsidian palace had been before it was reduced to ashes. Despite its picturesque interior, however, it was nothing more than a facade for the headquarters of the guild.

Or, it used to be.

When Scion and I stayed here, we’d been the only inhabitants of the townhouse—aside from Cross himself. The other three dozen or so guild members slept in the barracks below ground. Now, the house was being used for the overflow of Everlast loyalists and soldiers who did not want to swear fealty to Ambrose Dullahan and his rebel army.

We passed one such group on the landing. Five or six soldiers in black obsidian armor, who all pressed themselves flat against the wall as Bael and I passed. Bael made no sign to indicate he saw them at all, simply walking on by as if they were not there.

I nodded awkwardly at the nearest man, and turned sideways to pass by. “Sorry.”

The soldier paled beneath his helmet, and his voice shook with fear as he answered. “My fault, my lady.”

I frowned, and opened my mouth to question the odd reaction, but Bael gripped my arm, steering me away with a purposeful stride. When we’d turned a corner into another hall, this one slightly less ornately decorated than the first, with lower lighting and no ornate carpeting along the wooden floors, I looked up at him. “Why stop me from speaking to them? We’re no longer in the palace, it shouldn’t matter if my manners are up to your standard.”

The prince rolled his eyes. “It’s not that, little monster. Don’t always assume you’re being insulted.”

I bit my lip, not wanting to acknowledge that he had a fair point—I did tend to assume I was being insulted, especially when it came to anything any of the Everlasts did. “Well? Why stop me, then?”

“The soldiers are afraid of you,” he replied easily. “We need all the support we can get, especially from those trained to use a weapon. I’d rather you not scare them away.”

I glanced down, considering this as we approached the door to the tunnels. He was right, of course. In the last months, I’d had to grow used to being treated as something other than a servant, but even with a crown on my head I’d never had any real power—never been shown true respect. Now, I was having to get used to a different kind of reaction: fear. Wariness.

One week ago, Ambrose Dullahan, leader of the rebel army and former crown prince of the Everlast family, seized the capital with his army and took the obsidian crown. In the midst of chaos, he offered me a proposition that led me to unleash my long-concealed magic. The prince turned rebel leader had offered me information about my long-lost family in exchange for my loyalty. According to him, my mother—whom I’d assumed dead for some years now—may still be alive. As Ambrose was a seer, and the Fae could not lie, I had every reason to believe him. But, before I could give him an answer, I watched helplessly as the castle crumbled and—to my knowledge—Bael and Scion were swallowed by the raging flames and collapsing walls. Without meaning to, or fully understanding how I’d done it, I’d channeled all of my pent-up grief and anger into one explosive burst of energy, summoning forth twisted creatures from the depths of my anger—the afflicted.

Now, in the wake of the battle, I was filled with constant conflicting emotions. Not only had I revealed my hidden magic to others, but also to myself.

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