Page 36 of Trials of Dusk and Dreams
Beside them, Lady Nivene argues with the Marquess, her voice fluid as the Dread Hunt coils behind her like a serpent. Water droplets sizzle when they meet the Fever Hunt’s heat nearby.
The Hollow Hunt’s luminous form watches with unblinking eyes, moonlight dancing across its ethereal scales. Its mistress, Duchess Selene, whispers with the Knight Commander—Legion is a dark presence leeching her radiance. Today, he sports a rather absurd change in fashion. Round brass spectacles adorn his nose, partly hiding his perfectly shaped black brows. The old-world fashion throws me. He’s not the type for gaudy accessories. His structured cheekbones and jaw are enough decoration. Radiants don’t need spectacles. Their vision is perfect.
Whatever fashion statement he makes, he poses the greatest threat to my power play. Not his rabid runt of a wayward dragon but his very role. The Knights could impose martial law at any hint of danger to Avorlorna. All he needs is proof to back up his claim.
“Fool,”the dragon scoffs.“He doesn’t need proof. He is the danger.”
“Silence.”I force a smile through clenched teeth. Any minute now, they’ll notice me.
“You’ll botch this without me,”he grumbles.“You don’t even grasp the dragons’ true purpose.”
Lady Nivene’s melodic voice cuts through the chatter. “You know, Puck, your dragon should be present during these meetings.” She gestures to the Dread Hunt, its wings extending in a show of dripping power, irritating the Fever Hunt as more droplets sizzle on its tail.
The two glare at each other. I have the sense if they were ever to be freed from their bondages, they would rip each other to shreds. Or fuck.
“Do you doubt that I hold him?” I step forward and let my hold on the dragon slip for a second. The Baleful Hunt’s stony gaze echoes from my eyes. The chalky scent of rock permeates the air.
I glance at the empty dragon nest behind Legion.
“Where is the Wild Hunt?” I ask. “Why does nobody seem to care about its existence or lack thereof?”
As usual, they ignore my reference to the missing hatchling.
Duchess Selene purses her lips. “Before we ratify this turn of events, you must explain.”
“Explain? What’s to explain?” I throw up my hands, pointing to my eyes where the Baleful Hunt’s presence swirls. “Isn’t it obvious?”
Lady Nivene raises an eyebrow. “My, my, Puck. Did you forget to bow before addressing the Shining Host? Or perhaps you left your manners in the old mortal realm?”
Lord Ignarius snorts, brimstone intensifying. “Tell me, imposter, do you always stomp about like a bull in a china shop, or is this a special performance for us?”
Laughter ripples around the table. Heat floods my cheeks.
“I wasn’t aware we’d invited a court jester to our proceedings,” Lord Ignarius stage-whispers to Lady Nivene. “Though I must admit, his lack of grace is rather entertaining.”
Selene’s lips twitch. “Perhaps we should provide our colleague with a guidebook on etiquette. It seems he’s more accustomed to entertaining mortals than addressing nobility.”
Anger bubbles within me. I force a smile. “My apologies, esteemed colleagues. I was simply eager to begin our important business.”
“Did you murder Lord Sylvanar?” the Knight Commander’s voice cuts through the air.
He stares at me steadily, dark eyes unreadable behind those ridiculous spectacles. What’s he playing at? He knows I’m bound by Fox’s bargain not to reveal the truth. Unless . . . perhaps this Shadow of theirs has caused a rift, and the Spymaster never told his Commander the whole story.
“No,” I answer simply, meeting his gaze.
“Good enough for me,” Lord Ignarius grumbles, holding out his empty chalice. “This bickering is tedious.”
They return to their conversations, ignoring me again. I slam my chalice down. “We have business to attend!”
But they’re lost in their own world. Lady Nivene wrinkles her nose. “The stench of mortals has permeated even the highest towers. I can scarcely enjoy my morning nectar without hearing their incessant wailing.”
“I put the mewling ones to work,” Lord Ignatius suggests dryly. “My tower is sparkling.”
Duchess Selene sighs dramatically, pressing a scented handkerchief to her forehead. “Three of my prized moonbloom gardens were trampled yesterday! Is no one to speak of the dissenters rioting through our midst?”
I listen to their complaints and see opportunities forming. These self-absorbed Fae and their petty grievances . . . if I play this right, I might just get what I need.
“My esteemed colleagues,” I begin, infusing my voice with honeyed charm, “let us not forget the very essence of who we are. We are the Fair Folk, the Good Neighbors. Our realm is one of beauty, revelry, and eternal joy.” I gesture to Titania’s smiling portrait overhead. “We must ensure that we uphold our values, even in these . . . challenging times.”
