Page 79 of Trials of Dusk and Dreams
“My point is, we need overwhelming evidence first.” Legion’s stern expression holds enough weight for the Earl to read between the lines. “Perhaps your soldiers should bring some of those indispensable resonance stones and capture some of these attacks.”
“Yes, well,” the Earl says woundedly, “that . . . is a good suggestion.”
The topic of conversation changes to more benign things—the leaderboard and point system. Legion manages to secure some points for our Shadow in return for one of us voting for his Shadow. Finally, Earl Larkspur leaves.
Legion immediately turns to us, lowering his voice. “You know what this means?”
“Naturally,” Emrys agrees darkly.
“Have I missed something?” I ask.
Legion nods toward the dais. “He carries the Baleful Hunt within him.”
Puck turns a bird to stone with his eyes, eliciting laughter from his admirers as the clump of stone falls with a thunk and cracks.
“Ask for something more challenging!” he boasts, his voice carrying over the music.
Emrys growls, echoing my anger.
“Yes,” Legion says grimly. “As I suspected would be the case, the temple is unguarded and will likely remain so for the future.”
The implications hit hard. I’d assumed Legion voted him in because it was the simplest way to control the Hunt for now, but the fool Regeant is too afraid to let the dragon out for air. Despite what he believes, Puck is not fae. Tiania is not a goddess. Her wish-granting parameters are contained within her natural abilities of deception. This is only one of the secrets we hold close to our chest, waiting for the right time to reveal. Until then, the Baleful Hunt will slowly eat Puck from the inside. That danger his grand-standing poses will eventually fizzle out on its own. In the meantime, with our Shadow’s ability to transfer magic, we have free access to the cabinet.
“This is another reason you voted him in,” I put to Legion.
“Yes.”
Something like hope stirs and falters in my chest. “We can bring Fox home. We are not meant to be divided.”
Legion’s grim eyes meet mine. “Find Styx. Then our Willow. Emrys and I will diffuse the situation with the House of Stone nobility.” He pauses. “We can’t afford a Radiant duel now. Not with this idiot’s new layer of trouble in trials and training.”
I nod, heading back to where I last saw our Shadow. She is gone. Styx wanders the refreshment table, poking food and licking his finger clean.
At least he is clothed. Like us, he wears all black—a small mercy amid gaudy costumes.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
Styx glances at me, mischief in his eyes. “I saw our mortals do this.”
“But why are you?”
“Taste-testing, I suppose.”
“It’s all dirt to us. Why bother?”
“Curious,” Styx says, squishing a frosted cake, his finger going knuckle-deep. “Oh, soft, wet,” he muses, licking his finger clean. “They say this is sweet.” Then he gives me a dark look, his voice deepening. “Did she taste like this too?”
Possessive anger surges, then ebbs. Memories flood back—my fingers inside our queen, the soft glide, the sleek sensation. The smell—her sweet, musky feminine scent. And yes, the taste when I ran my tongue up and down my finger. The carnal look in Legion’s eyes when he did the same.
I clench my fists, fighting for composure.
Styx watches me, waiting for an answer. But there are no words to explain her taste. How can I compare it when I have nothing to compare it to, not even the tastiest soul of the most heartbroken innocent? Nothing can compare to her essence. I hunger for it, even now.
Distraction.
Calamity.
Blood on yellow feathers.
