Page 80 of Tales of a Deadly Devotion
‘The Countess’s fighter.’ Gideon tugged his fingers through his golden hair in frustration. ‘Which means she’s here, doesn’t it,Priscilla?’
Fear clawed at my insides. My gaze shooting to the other viewing balconies that faced this one. But I couldn’t see anyone. And down below, the crowd was pressed too tightly together.
Beware the witch that bargains in blood. For those she takes never return as they were. Puppets on a monster’s string.
‘Why?’ Gideon demanded, coming to stand before me, blocking me as if the room was suddenly filled with nothing but threats. As if he wanted to pace like a manticore protecting territory.
‘Because she can fucking do whatever she wishes, especially now Montagor has removed the only defence keeping her at bay,’ Sigrid challenged.
The Council. The Countess wasn’t brazen enough to start a war, but if given the opportunity …
‘Emrys asked for this meeting,’ Lady Ramsey snapped, her cool composure dissolving. ‘His timing is as poor as ever. You came tome, Gideon. That miroc beast has killed good fey for sport. All for her to teachmea lesson.’
Because Lady Ramsey offered fey a different choice. A choice the Countess didn’t wish for fey to possess. Not if they could be of use to her. The Reavers didn’t prioritise ancient and more powerful blood, no … they treated everyone equal. Mortal, fey and lesser beings.
‘You could have warned us.’ Gideon’s temper didn’t waver, yet I could hear the hesitation in his voice. His reluctant understanding.
‘What warning did we have?’ the Lady scoffed, sadness burning in her golden eyes. ‘Favours have a price, Gideon.’
‘I’m aware of slipping into bed with vipers, Priscilla,’ he replied, but the words weren’t as cold as he intended.
A useful pawn in all this madness. A willing traitor, an easy whore and a brutal killer.The memory of Emrys’s admissions settling uneasily inside of me. The things they’d been forced to do to win. And now how fleeting that victory and peace were as we verged on the abyss of another war.
‘If you think I invited that blood-bitch here to kill my fighters for her own perversions … you’re very much mistaken. Our rations dwindle. The border crossings grow more deadly … and my Reavers pay the price. She wants these lands and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep them.’
Despite the pain in her words, it didn’t settle the sharpness of Gideon’s aether.
‘Kat.’ He reached for me, as if his only priority was seeing me out of that room.
‘You’re not leaving, Gideon,’ Sigrid commented from where she blocked the door. Making him pause. His hands curling into a fist. The metal at his joints creaking. ‘Bargains are to be kept.’
We needed what Lady Ramsey knew. We needed her help. Emrys knew that – it was why he was down there. Why he’d sought to come here at all. Something only she could give us.
I glanced at Gideon, seeing a muscle tense in his jaw as he kept his eyes on the ring below. He knew that too.
An excited roar came from below, bringing my attention back over the balcony as Emrys entered the fighting pit. Bare chested, his eyes dark as pitch with focus.
The miroc male grinned, raising his meaty fists to rile the crowd up further. Yet, I was more focused on the broad set of Emrys’s shoulders, how he turned revealing the defined muscle, the path those scars made down to the low rise of his trousers. A path I’d followed with my very fingertips.
Behave. I flushed, curling my hands tighter around the railing. Feeling shamed at the strange heat flashing through me. It wasn’t the time nor the place to be distracted by the temptation of Emrys.
Not when he was about to get pummelled by a miroc for an old coin and the barest hope it could lead us to where we needed to go. Not when the Countess was here somewhere. Watching this disaster too.
‘I can’t imagine the Countess is pleased about your numbers, nor the territory you’ve secured,’ Gideon pressed, making me reluctantly turn my attention back to Lady Ramsey.
‘She isn’t,’ Sigrid answered, considering Gideon like the threat he was despite the finery he wore. ‘She’s been quite keen on handing over any Reavers she catches right into the hunter’s claws.’
Horror swooped through me at the thought. Of what happened to rebels caught by the Council hunters. Staged hangings as magic-mad lunatics wishing to disturb the Council’s peace.
‘They’re on the same side,’ I reasoned. Why couldn’t they see that?
‘Are they?’ Lady Ramsey tilted her head in contemplation as she took another sip of her tea and another roar of excitement erupted below. ‘When the rebellion wins, who do you think will rule?’
Fear bloomed inside of me at the thought. The reality I’d ignored. What my father had warned me of. Why he’d woven the rebellion so tightly into his cautionary tales. Why so many fey were hesitant to challenge the Council’s control. If theCouncil were gone, they’d only be feeding themselves to a worse beast if the tales were to be believed.
The Countess. A witch who bound her members with blood and lies. Who used them as a child would dolls in a playhouse. Who saw only a very select few as valuable. Mortals were nothing but parasites. Lesser fey only a disappointment to be left to rot. Mixed bloods like myself something to be purged.
‘And the Reavers?’ I asked, unashamed of the challenge in my voice.
