For the first time, she was glad for the alf steel on her wrists. The weight of the cold metal was unpleasant, of course, but freedom would have been much, much worse; every single fae would have known the truth of her treason immediately if the Alliance had singled her outin such an obvious manner. Now at least there was some limit to the damage Naxi and her soft little hands had done. If she simply never told anyone …
A coward’s thought. She clung to it all the same.
After all, perhaps noteverythingwas lost yet, if the Alliance wasn’t planning to publicly shame her as a traitor. Perhaps she could just … keep her head down for a while. Make sure to avoid any blue-eyed half demons causing trouble. Try not to get noticed as she gathered the shards of her old life and figured out what was left for her in this Mother-less world without love or purpose,ifthere was even anything left for her …
And then she’d see.
It wasn’t a plan – not really. But it was enough to set her mind turning again, and for the first time since she’d sobbed out those words she really should never have spoken, the numb hole in her chest seemed a little less bottomless.
Around her, the rebels were finally done lining up their prisoners, nothing but open doors along the length of the corridor. She saw Agenor issue a few quick instructions, and then the first alves took the arms of the fae beside them and disappeared into nothingness – transporting their captives to the Crimson Court in the time it took to blink an eye. A helpful sort of magic to have, Thysandra was well-aware, and the Mother had focused years of experiments on attempts to give fae those fading powers as well … but even after all this time, the sight of living bodies vanishing into thin air always sent a small shiver down her spine.
‘Ready to go?’ a voice said, suddenly close behind her.
Shealmostshrieked as she whipped around.
Gods-damned Tared Thorgedson had appeared out of nowhere in the open doorway of her cell – tall and blond like all alves, albeit admittedly a fraction more even-tempered than most of his kind. Blood-spattered and soot-stained though he might be on this morning, an unmistakable edge of triumph glinted in his steel grey eyes, and there was no denying the contentment in his casual stance againstthe doorframe.
Nor did she think she imagined the hint of satisfaction in his voice as he added, ‘You’ll be glad to know that I’ve been told to keep a good eye on you. Need to make sure you don’t miss any of the proceedings.’
Oh, gods help her.
She’d been there, after the Last Battle a hundred-and-thirty years ago, when the Mother had forced him to kneel at her feet and taken his magic and the memories of his parents. She’d assisted – eagerly – at his downfall.
Clearly, she was not the only one who remembered.
Why you, of all people?she wanted to snap, that tendril of almost-curiosity stirring again.I don’t need to be singled out like this in front of my former allies. Couldn’t you have given me another alf – any other alf, really – rather than the bloody leader of the Alliance himself?
She swallowed the question. In all likelihood, he simply felt like gloating, and who else would he gloat to now that the Mother was dead?
‘Where exactly are we going?’ she tried instead.
‘Bone hall.’ He stood straighter and wrapped his hand around her arm. A small, skewed grin slid around his lips. ‘Or what’s left of it, anyway.’
He faded before she could ask what in the world that was supposed to mean.
The colours of the prison blurred together, as if the canvas of reality crumpled around them – a nauseating whirlpool of black and grey and the palest blue, the scent of mouldy earth and brine, the sounds of waves whipping against cliffs. Thysandra clenched her eyes shut and tried not to feel gravity tugging her stomach in all the wrong directions at once, tried not to hear the eerily loud thuds of her heart as the world whizzed by.
Then, just as abruptly, it was over.
The ground went solid beneath her feet so suddenly she almost stumbled. The noise of a crowd roared into existence around her. Blinking against the blinding sunlight, she forced open her eyes, finding herself standing in an all too familiar antechamber. Red marble andgleaming gold. Open arches looking out over rocky, olive-covered hills and the endless stretch of azure sea beyond.
Home.
Even that coveted sight failed to light so much as a spark of joy within her.
Tared’s hand gave a tug at her elbow, and she followed him numbly as she and the other prisoners were guided deeper into the castle, their heads bent, their wrists still cuffed together. Through the rows of alves and rebel fae standing guard around the hall. Past the copper-plated doors hanging askew on their hinges. Into …
The bone hall.
Or what was left of it, anyway.
The heart of the Mother’s reign had been a grand, majestic place, built by the god of life and death himself, the walls decorated with thousands upon thousands of bones of the enemies he’d vanquished. The battle of the previous day shouldn’t have touched it, having been fought on the other side of the archipelago. And yet the hall was unrecognisable now, looking more like the ruins of the Cobalt Court than the glorious home of her recent memories – arches crumbling down from the ceiling, two large breaches gaping in the walls. A small army of humans –humans, for the gods’ sakes – was hacking away at the last bone decorations with clubs and crowbars, whooping vigorously at every skull to come tumbling to the ground.
By her side, Tared’s grin had broadened to face-splitting proportions.
Around them, the other fae prisoners were looking as dazed as Thysandra felt.
The humans were not the only intruders, although they were the most numerous. She caught sight of a handful of grim vampire kings, nymph queens in their colourful dresses, phoenixes gleefully burning piles of shattered bones to ashes. Allie, Agenor’s human lover, stood chatting with a blond, pointy-eared half fae in the corner. Farther into the hall, Lyn, Tared’s … something, was hurriedly rescuing a pile of books before the other phoenixes’ flames could reach it, her small body teetering under the weightof the stack.