Page 41 of Lady of the Nightmares

Everyone turned to look at her. Scion stopped pacing. I gaped, my jaw going slack, and even Aine sat up straight. Thalia never said anything so direct to anyone—at least not that I’d heard. Every time I’d seen her since I’d gotten here, she was weepy and quiet, never showing any magic or playing politics like the rest of the family. I balled my fist in the skirt of the dress she’d helped me with. Perhaps I’d misjudged her?

“Excuse me?” Scion said, but for once, his tone was not entirely full of judgment or derision.

“You heard me, cousin,” she snapped. “It is abundantly clear that half this family is mad, and the other half has relied on prophecy for far too long.”

“Careful,” Scion growled. “You are only here because this is as much your family as ours.”

“I am free to speak on it, then. What you need is a general. Someone to lead your armies, someone with tactical experience,something.You need political advisors, not just Mordant. You need ambassadors and a court that isn’t made up of exclusively those who fear you. In Overcast, where we have less magic, we rely on other things. There is power, but it’s not the only reason to have a position.”

“Overcast doesn’t fight wars,” Scion said darkly. “You rely on our army for aid. It’s different when lives are at stake rather than dinner parties.”

“Which is why you need a general,” she said, growing frustrated.

“We would have both a seer and a general if Ambrose hadn’t fucked off,” Gwydion said, speaking for the first time.

“Shut up,” Scion barked.

“Well, it’s true,” Gwydion retorted. “She’s not wrong, Sci. We all know you’ll be king, but you’re shit at leading the army. Ambrose would have done that.”

“Spoken by a room full of people who weren’t actuallyinthe army,” Scion said. His voice had grown into sort of a quiet rage that was almost more disturbing than when he yelled. “I’ll remind you that I’m the only one here who’s been to Aftermath and killed an afflicted.”

“No you’re not,” I blurted out. All eyes turned to me, and I shrunk back, having no idea why I would say that. “You’re not the only one, I mean…”

Gwydion raised an eyebrow at me. “You’ve killed an afflicted? Yesterday?”

“No,” I scrambled, knowing it sounded panicked. Fuck, I was usually far better at lying. “I mean. I lived in Aftermath, so. Never mind.” That caused more raised eyebrows. Only Scion seemed unsurprised. I cast around for something to say to get them off this topic. “When you mention ‘Ambrose,’ do you mean Ambrose Dullahan?”

Breathing in the room seemed to stop, and I realized I’d said precisely the wrong thing.

Scion took a step toward me, his lip curling in a snarl. “And how would you know that, rebel?”

His expression was entirely too threatening for someone who had supposedly not wanted me hurt in the hunts. Thalia must have been mistaken, or else I’d said something so bad that it had overshadowed anything else.

I stiffened, running quickly through my options. Had any of them actually used that name in front of me…or was it only on the note? Could I blame this on Bael, perhaps?

Lying is the best way to protect yourself against the Fae…that’s what I’d always believed, except it kept failing me over and over in practice. At least this time, I had nothing to lose by telling the truth.

“Wait!” I said as he took another menacing step forward. “I’ll show you.”

16

LONNIE

THE OBSIDIAN PALACE, THE CITY OF EVERLAST

I look forward to meeting you under the cover of darkness in Inbetwixt

Your friend,

Ambrose Dullahan

“He fucking signed it,” Scion said for perhaps the third time, waving the note in Aine’s face. “The prick signed it like a goddamned love note.”

Lady Aine swirled the bloodred wine in the bottom of her second conjured glass and nodded at him. “I know.”

I’d moved to sit in the armchair in the corner and now nursed my own glass of wine—normal, non-Fae wine—and watched incredulously, still marveling at my own good fortune that the note was not only still in the pocket of the trousers that were folded on the nightstand but that they’d all recognized the handwriting and believed me that I did not know Ambrose Dullahan.

Of course, I hadn’t explained everything. I didn’t tell them about Rosey’s journals or everything Bael and I had discussed in bits and pieces over the last weeks. I didn’t mention the red-haired man in the tavern who’d led me to the journals when I’d gone looking for information on the rebellion myself. I certainly didn’t tell them about the encounter with the snake or my fear that perhaps it was me—or Bael, for that matter—who had somehow summoned the Wilde magic that called the afflicted. I only told them about the note that was left in my room when it was ransacked and that I had yet to meet Dullahan in person.

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