Page 6 of With Wing And Claw

Creon had finally come away from the wall and was now sauntering towards the prisoners, his knife still in his hand, an expression on his face that suggested he was hoping one of them would be stupid enough to challenge him. Thysandra didn’t dare to look his way, either. Instead, reeling to a standstill at a safe five feet from the crater’s edge, she managed to drag in a shaking breath and stammer, ‘But … but I don’t want—’

‘Oh, that’s not really a factor of concern to me,’ Emelin pleasantly interrupted, ambling towards her with still that same unfaltering smile on her face. ‘I can’t remember you caring greatly about any of my wishes either in the past few months. Any other reasons to object?’

Gods have mercy.

She shouldn’t have come here. She should have begged Agenor, Tared,anyone, to just slit her throat and be done with it, before this deadly trap could shut around her – but here she stood, alive and well, and somehow she suspected the girl before her would not be terribly impressed with pleas or self-destructive requests. What other way out did she have? It would help little to point out her terrible chances of success or survival, not when those should be perfectly obvious to any soul paying attention; clearly Emelin didn’t care much about the possibility of having to sweep in next year to restore order once again.

‘Why me?’ Thysandra breathed.

Whiny and pathetic. Spoken like the traitor’s daughter without a dutiful bone in her body.

Emelin shrugged without making that point. ‘Why not?’

‘You … you have no idea whether you can trust me.’ It wasn’t even a lie. She didn’t even knowherselfwhether she could be trusted. ‘I might attack your own court before the decade is over, for all you know. I might only cause you more trouble. I—’

‘Yes,’ Emelin admitted, looking not at all discouraged. ‘Yes, I suppose you might try all of those things.’

Thysandra stared at her.

Behind her back, someone was howling in pain – one of the other fae prisoners, presumably, after having made just too much fuss over these changes for Creon’s taste. Another voice was shoutingher name. It sounded like a demand for her to turn around and explain this madness, for her to justify the apparent trust the Alliance was placing in her.

Treason, she would have to say.Turns out I’m the reason you lost that war.

Was that why Emelin didn’t seem in the least concerned? Did she assume Thysandra’s betrayal indicated a complete change of sides, rather than an unfortunate confession blurted out in the throes of emotional turmoil?

Would she be right?

Four centuries of loyalty to the empire, to the courts, to the people living in them … but did she still have a reason to feel so gods-damned devoted to any of it if the Mother had never been loyal to her in turn?

She had no idea where to even start wondering, let alone who to ask. The Mother’s most fervent followers would tear her to shreds the moment she acknowledged her first inkling of doubt. The rest of the empire’s courtiers, those who were loyal only to their own interests, would be just as eager to betray her for any small advantage a change in power might bring. Weakness was not permitted at the top, and she’d never been weaker than she was today – she wouldn’t last the first month on the throne in this state.

Sweat was trickling between her wings, sticking her grimy, ruined dress to her shoulder blades.

‘What if I just … refuse?’ she stammered.

‘Wouldn’t recommend it,’ Emelin said, her voice quiet and polite in a way that alarmingly resembled her father’s manner of speaking. When Agenor got that pointedly courteous, things were about to get very, very deadly. ‘You see, I have asked the members of the Alliance to remain quiet regarding … certain pieces of information you’ve provided us with, in order not to jeopardise your brand new rule of this court. But of course, if there isn’t a rule to jeopardise …’

She let the sentence meaningfully trail away, still looking the height of well-bred innocence as the shouts of fae and the agitated clamour of the audience filled the silence again.

Thysandra barely even heard it.

If there isn’t a rule to jeopardise …

So that was why the secret had been kept so far – to wield it as a weapon? Leave it to the alves to make sure the news would erupt in the most explosive of ways when Emelin and her cronies thought the time had come. And then it would be a matter of time until a handful of aggrieved fae loyalists hunted her down and took their revenge for their humiliation in battle; even if she took up residence at the Golden Court, even if she hid away in some cave on some uninhabited fae isle, she didn’t think she could hide long enough for them to forget about her.

Death if she refused. Death if she accepted.

She’d thought she no longer cared much about survival, and yet, staring into the gaping maws of that bitter end, she found some last little spark of stubbornness clinging desperately, defiantly, to the drumbeat of her heart.

‘Don’t worry,’ Emelin said, her voice suddenly softer, the forceful cheer moving over for something that looked disconcertingly like genuine concern. ‘We’re not going to fly off in two minutes to leave you with the mess – we need to unbind the humans and make some other arrangements either way. Take a day to recover. I’m sure the world will look less daunting once you’ve had a bath and some time to think.’

Abath?

Thysandra only just stifled the hysterical laughter welling up in her chest, letting out an involuntary choked hiccough instead. Abathwas supposed to save her from a knife in the back or a pinch of hemlock in her wine? A day’s respite, perhaps, but tomorrow she’d wake up and be all on her own. A single traitor among the vying sycophants and the vicious games for power, with no one to talk to, no one to trust—

‘Thysandra.’ A glimpse of steely authority – of the girl who had dealt with gods and demons alike and survived them all. ‘There’ll be time to talk later. Go take a nap.’

Yes.

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