Page 76 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen
“Here goes,” Devi grumbles, raising a hand to the knob, but I grab her arm.
“Wait. There’s still one more thing.”
I shrink the protective bubble around us to mimic the kind of barrier a run-of-the-mill, weaker Storm Fae could manage.
“The guard can’t see us looking so dry,” I explain.
“Are you kidding?”
“Just give it a minute.”
When we’re reasonably damp, I tap the round, metallic knob to the lyranthium plate below it. The peep hole in the door opens from the inside, revealing the face of a worn-down, bearded guard.
“We were not expecting anyone today. Who are you?”
Fuck. I’ve never seen him before, so I’m not sure if he’s part of Horace’s crew or not. Horace’s guys are always open to a little gold in exchange for a favor.
“I’m the best technician you’ll ever get,” I say, imitating the local accent. “Horace can vouch for me.”
A sarcastic chuckle pops out of Devi’s throat, drawing attention to her.
“Who’s she?” the guard asks.
“My woman,” I grumble. "Come on, let us in. It’s pouring out here.”
“Just wait. And ask your wife to keep quiet.”
Devi’s eyes narrow, her lips parted in outrage. “What if they don’t let us in?” she whispers in a rush. “We’re not equipped to climb the cliffs back in reverse.”
“Patience.”
“And for the record, I’m not your woman.” She mimes air quotes, her top lip curled in disgust. “I’m baffled you could even get the words out.”
I crack a smile, loving how angry she looks. Anger I can manage. It’s eons better than the stilted, tensed indifference she saddled me with on our walk over. It tells me I can still crawl under her skin.
“I can say it because it’s true,” I say, grinning.
“Only in your skewed, distorted brain.” She paws at the blade hidden beneath her tunic. “What if they attack us first?”
“Then I’ll die as I lived. Drenched and under-appreciated,” I crack. “Look, even if we had reason to push in, we wouldn’t make it to the obsidian passage. Not with your current limitations. What exactly is going on with your magic?”
She fidgets, weight shifting from one foot to the other. “You’re awfully noisy.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
Devi crosses her arms tightly, like she’s holding herself together.
“Your magic worked in the sceawere,” I press her. “What was different there? Why could you use it there and not here? Is it Faerie? Is that why you stayed away so long? After they banished you?”
She doesn’t respond, focussing on the lightning storm above our heads instead. Even though I glamored away her silver stare, high cheekbones, and delicious freckles, I can’t help but admire how her wet clothes hug her curves.
What kind of magic could muzzle someone like Devi Eros? I’ve read the stories—accounts of her turning the Royal Academy, the Spring Courts, even the Eternal Halls on their heads. And yet here she stands beside me in the rain, an end-all blade tucked in her tunic, as if her magic—her infamous bow and arrow—have never existed at all. It wouldn’t take just an enchantment to do that. It would take immense power. I wonder if that’s why she stayed away so long. Maybe Faerie itself is what binds her. Maybe returning here is not a homecoming, but a prison sentence.
She turns to me. Her eyes are darker.. “I wish it were that simple.”
The peep hole snaps shut, interrupting our conversation. A breath later, the palisade groans open. The door drags against the earth, sending ripples across the puddles.
“Come with me,” the sentry says flatly.
