Page 69 of The Unseelie War
Now, finally, he felt like he could finally breathe for the first time in his long life.
Behind him, his forces prepared for the night's work with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine. Three hundred Unseelie warriors joined him now, their weapons of various makes sharp and eager for blood. Some hunted with fang and claw. Some with magic. And others, with gleaming armor and silvery blades.
And they did not stalk the night alone. Constructs born from human nightmares prowled the perimeter like hunting dogs, their forms shifting and writhing as they fed on the terror that hung thick in the air.
And then there were the humans who had chosen to stand withhim—a fascinating development, really. He had expected some would seek to bargain for their lives, to offer their services in exchange for survival.
What he hadn't anticipated was how many would embrace the slaughter with genuine enthusiasm. A few, yes, perhaps.
But so many? Soquickly?
Humans.
“My lord,” Cruinn approached with their usual deference, head bowed, though Valroy could smell the unease rolling off the shapeshifter in waves. “The scouts report the Weaver and her companions are still holed up in that opera house. And our…guest…continues to be uncooperative.”
Valroy turned from his contemplation of the burning horizon. Part of him almostmissedthe presence of the Duke of Bones. News of the situation would have inevitably been ferried by him instead. Now there was simply trepidation. Caution. An absence of any humor. But the void where the grinning Izael had once been served as a reminder of what happened to those who mistook his patience for weakness.
Which had been the point of destroying him in the first place.
And no one had questioned him since.
“Alexandra continues to resist?” He almost smiled at that. The woman had spirit, he'd give her that. Even chained to the gnarled tree he had set to torturing her, blood slowly seeping from the roots and branches that pierced her flesh to sample her essence, she maintained her defiance. “How wonderfully predictable.”
“She refuses to tell us anything about the Weaver's plans. Won't even confirm whether she knows what they're planning at all.” Cruinn's frown deepened. The glassy creature was always so very sentimental. “Perhaps if we?—”
“No.” Valroy held up a hand, cutting them off. “We shall not increase her suffering unnecessarily. Alexandra is bait, nothing more. Her purpose is to draw my beloved wife into making a choice, not to provide us with intelligence we already possess.”
The truth was, he knew exactly what they were planning.MotherMorrigan had been most…generous…with her visions. Why she had allowed him to see it all—the ritual that would separate the worlds, the three anchor-points, the prices that would be paid? He did not know.
Yet his creator had shown him the same terrible knowledge she'd forced upon the Weaver all the same. Though she'd delivered it to him with far more ceremony and considerably less physical trauma, he suspected.
How thoughtful of her.
“You know what they intend to do.” It wasn't a question. Cruinn had served him long enough to recognize the signs.
“I know many things, old friend.” Valroy began walking through his camp, noting with approval how his forces had arrayed themselves. The nightmare constructs formed an outer perimeter, their hungry presence ensuring that nothing could approach undetected. The Unseelie warriors occupied the middle ground, ready to respond to threats from any direction. And at the heart of it all, the ancient tree he had created that served as a crude and twisted altar to Alexandra, looming above it all. It was to that point he was headed, but in no rush.
“I know, for instance, that Abigail will come,” he continued, pausing to examine a weapon rack where blades forged from silvered bones caught the firelight. “She cannot help herself. For all her power, for all her wisdom, she remains fundamentallygood.She will not allow someone to suffer for her choices.”
“And if she brings the spider?”
Now Valroy did smile, and it was a terrible thing to behold. “Oh, know she will. I have been looking forward to meeting my dear half-brother in battle for such a very long time.” He paused, regarding Cruinn. “And what of you and Bayodan?”
Cruinn hesitated. “What do you mean, my lord?”
Valroy sneered. “Do not mock my intelligence, shapeshifter. You betrayed me once before, when I was close to victory. Do you think Iwould not suspect another dagger in my back? Perhaps one given to you by my wife?”
The expression of fear on the shapeshifter’s glass-shard face was delicious as they stepped away from him. “We learned our lesson, the both of us, King Valroy. We paid the price. Our loyalties were demonstrated.”
“And it is for those reasons I will spare your lives. But I will not have you here.” He grimaced. “Begone from this place, the both of you. If Abigail comes and I must rip her heart from your chest, I will not have your plaintive wailing in my ears.”
Cruinn opened his mouth as if to argue.
“I will not speak of this a second time. Go.”Valroy snarled.“Now.”
Another goodbye.
Another unspoken parting.
