Page 83 of A House of Cloaks & Daggers

My furious stare burned into his broad shoulders as he turned and stalked for the doors, leaving Lucais with his head in his hands and Morgoya rolling her eyes towards the ceiling.

Wren paused halfway across the room. “Oh,” he said, only half twisting around. “And wear something else. It’s a lesson in self-defence, not torture. I don’t need to see somuchof you.”

His words hit my shield, clinking to the floor like bullets.

The tears that might have sprung to my eyes didn’t even bother this time.

My well was empty, and anything that was left would not be going to him. Nor would I be touching any books that he directed me towards—The Sins of Starsincluded. I’d find a fireplace for that or toss it out the window.

I simply turned to Morgoya when he was gone and asked, my voice heavy and head held high, “Willyoutell me about the Gift War?”

Chapter thirty-five

Land-Dragons

The High Lady ofthe Court of Light obliged.

The High King said nothing as we rose to our feet, straightened our skirts, linked our elbows, and fell into step with each other as we strode towards the dining room doors.

I let Morgoya lead the way, hoping she wouldn’t escort me to the library. Wren’s leash on his temper had slipped this time, even in the presence of his High King, and I was in no mood to see how well he would cope if he found himself alone with me again.

The magic was a humming presence at my side, following me like a lost puppy as I tugged my attention away from it. I didn’t want to see how far I could slip, either. Since the swarm of darkness in the bathroom, something had changed. It wasn’t asking to be let in anymore. It was asking to be letout.

My willpower strengthened considerably after the caenim attack in the clearing when I’d proved to myself for what mighthave been the very first time that I didn’t need magic to do terrible things.

The magic was separate;I was a problem in my own right. Oddly enough, coming to terms with that helped me to keep its poison smoke locked away in a far corner of my mind ever since.

See no evil and hear no evil—and stay the bloody hell away from Wren, so I would speak no evil.

For now.

Morgoya led me down to the ground floor, through a doorway behind the staircase to where a large and luxurious rectangular sitting room opened out onto the courtyard. I didn’t have a word for it, other than to call it acanoodling room.

Long, wide lounges and cushioned armchairs were positioned around the edge of the room, and small tables adorned with coloured glass smoking pipes and jewel-encrusted cases filled the empty spaces in between. The lingering smell of sweet smoke filled my nose, infused with sweat and potent liquids and the remnants of the inner circle finding pleasure with each other, so I held my breath and tried to avert my eyes from the slightly elevated dais sitting in the centre of the room, fixing a large gold dancing pole against the ceiling.

Morgoya released my arm, elegantly weaving between tables and couches as she sauntered over to the French doors. “Would you like to talk about it?” she offered, holding the door open for me.

I took a quick gasp of fresh air as soon as I stumbled out into the courtyard. “Talk about what?”

“Whatever is on your mind.”

It had been magic, but then it was the things that happened in that room.

“No.”

She shrugged. “Okay.”

The courtyard was empty, sun lounges and side tables bare and gloomy in the grey light, and we crossed it quickly. I’d donned a pair of ballet slippers before leaving my room, which had been the only available option aside from ridiculously high and narrow stilettos. Every choice I’d made since arriving in Faerie, all the way down to what I wore, was based on maximising my chances of survival.

Except the dress.

As the wind stirred, lifting my skirts, I realised that I didn’t know why I’d chosen to wear the dress. Especially when the House was still denying me underwear.

Clenching my fists around the billowing fabric, I held the skirt down against my sides as Morgoya began to walk across the flat expanse of green and turquoise grass in the direction of the ocean. We were both silent, listening to the soft song of the wind as it danced over the land like it was trying to bleed colour back into the light sky.

The closer we got to the ocean, the more nervous I became. Water as dark as molten iron glimmered and swished between two towering hills, rising up around it like a cage as the land jutted out towards the approaching horizon on both sides. Bone-coloured rocks grew into the sky, larger than life despite their ageing discolouration and clear signs of wear from the weather.

Not rocks, I realised with a jolt as we began to walk beyond a few of the smaller ones.

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