Page 13 of Curse of the Sun and Stars

Not for the first time since arriving in Elmere, I wish we were still using our glamours. Things are easier in disguise, even if the occasional Trovian knows enough to see through it.

Unwillingly, my mind drifts to the young woman from that little village tavern, the one with chestnut hair and burning eyes. She’d caught my eye even before Hyllus heard her identifying us as fae, and I knew before she opened her mouth to me that she’d be trouble. Women like that don’t blow through life quietly, so when she’d turned out to be wanted by the local militia, it made sense. Still, it was admirable, the way she’d tried to bargain her way out of it—quick thinking on her part, even if it hadn’t worked out for her in the end.

Not my fault she’d picked the wrong fae. I don’t make other people my problem. Not unless absolutely necessary.

The food in front of me no longer looks appetizing, and I rise to move toward the adjoining chamber.

“Where are you going?” Alastor asks, mouth full.

“Bed,” I say. “I’m taking the queen’s advice.”

“Good,” Alastor says. “Try taking that attitude into the rest of this trip.”

I’ll say one thing for the Trovians. Their beds are just as comfortable as I remember them.

* * *

I wake to the sound of footsteps drumming in the hallway—dozens of them, marching in military unison. I know the sound like I know my own heartbeat.

Soldiers, coming this way.

I meet Alastor in the drawing room of our chambers, the gleam of his drawn sword visible by the light of the moon through the windows. I dip my own blade toward the door.

“Trouble?” Alastor asks.

“Sounds like it.”

I reach my terrial magic into the ground beneath us, searching for the telltale cracks and fissures I can exploit, ready for whatever’s coming.

“Leon…” Alastor says, his voice a warning.

“What?” I say, feigning innocence.

“Be careful. Don’t go rushing into anything.”

I don’t have a response, because the soldiers are already at the door, barging through with swords drawn.

“Drop your weapons!” barks their captain.

There’s about twenty of them—probably more in the corridor. I estimate that with a bit of focus, Alastor and I could clear the room in about four minutes.

But that would mean a lot of dead humans.

I look to Alastor. Neither of us have any idea what this is about, so there’s still a chance it’s just a misunderstanding we’ll be able to clear up quickly. If I start taking lives, though, it’ll send this diplomatic mission up in smoke.

But isn’t it already?

The little voice in my head is almost hopeful. How much easier would it be to cut my way through these men and be done with this whole mess?

“One last time, drop your weapons! You’re under arrest,” shouts the captain. Rogue magic sizzles across the thick rug toward us, leaving a burning ember among the threads. The soldiers are getting restless, clearly unnerved by our inaction. Things could easily escalate now whether I start it or not.

“Remember what your grandfather said,” Alastor reminds me.

Civility.Diplomacy.Tact. All very much in conflict with mass execution.

I heave a sigh and lower my blade.

Chapter4

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