I don’t even want the fucking kingdom, but I can’t let that bitch get her hands on it. With Mistmere under her domain, Adaia will own the entire western flank of Evernight, cutting us off from the rest of the Seelie alliance. Trapped in the north by the indomitable mountains that lead to Unseelie, the only access we’d have to the south is by the seas.
And it wouldn’t surprise me if Adaia has conjured a means to see any ships we send south don’t arrive at their destination.
I can’t let her have Mistmere.
And there’s no reason her guards should even be seen in its forests. She’s up to something and I need to know what it is.
Finn was supposed to track them and keep watch.
Except he vanished and Adaia sent me a message promising she’ll exchange his head for the keys to the kingdom. Whether it’s still attached to the rest of him is up to me, apparently.
We’ll discuss it at the queensmoot, her message had practically purred.
“She has Finn with her.” It’s not a question. “She wants to use him to break me, and she’ll want him close enough that she can get to him if she needs to.”
“Maybe she’s keeping him in her tent,” Baylor growls.
Lysander shudders. “Brother, please. My imagination.”
Baylor arches a brow at him. “Adaia won’t fuck him. She considers his kind to be beneath her.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean she won’t be fucking someone else—and I did catch a glimpse of the queen’s pet on my prowl.” Lysander’s lip curls. “I don’t know what would be worse. Watching the Queen of Asturia in bed, or being in it.”
“Definitely being in it.” Eris looks disgusted.
“What did Rue say about him?” I ask Thalia.
“The demi-fey don’t talk, so it’s kind of like…. Big, growly warrior. Cage. Something about a wolf prowling around in there. Poison. Stink—”
“Poison?”
Thalia smooths her skirts. “Iron, I suspect. They consider it to be poison.”
A fair assumption, considering what iron can do to fae magic. It’s difficult enough to touch it myself. The sudden grip of nausea makes even the strongest glamor slip and fade. It’s like trying to hold moonlight in your cupped hands.
Finn’s in a cage. An iron cage. Nauseous and sick with it. Shaking violently. Trapped in the iron sickness that makes your head throb and your thoughts dangerous.
Sudden rage makes the daemon slip its leash.
We could kill Adaia, it whispers. The iron won’t stop me. Nor will her magic.
Or anything else for that matter.
I shudder the thought away. This is how it tempts me. It sounds so reasonable. But I’ve been there when I blink my way back into control of my body and find the blood covering my hands. I’ve seen the bodies, heard the sobs. I’ve tasted the sick slick of that desire on my tongue.
Let’s burn it all to ashes. Let’s kill them all.
Control is the chain I bind myself with.
It’s what I used to lock my heart away when I held my dying mother in my arms, her blood slicking my shirt to my chest. It’s the whip I flogged myself with during the bloody war against my half-brothers, when they sought to name me her murderer and pledged to turn my kingdom against me.
It’s imprinted on my soul, tattooed into my skin. A cage I worship when the daemon threatens to chew me up and spit me out.
And it’s what I fall back on now as I separate my thoughts from the hot flush of emotion. I can’t afford to give in to anger. Not right now. Finn needs me at my best. Not distracted. I owe him nothing less.
“We can’t get to him through violence.” Cutting our way through the Asturian delegation will only bring the fury of the entire Seelie alliance down upon my head. The queensmoot is sacred. The ruins of Hammerdale are neutral ground. To go against that ancient pledge means spitting on everything I’ve spent years cultivating. “And Adaia won’t give him back to me, unless I beg. She wants me on my knees. She wants Mistmere. And I don’t dare give it to her.”
“There is… some leverage we might be able to wield against her. Adaia has both her daughters with her this year,” Thalia murmurs.
I met the eldest daughter last year. Andraste is the spitting image of her mother, and from the haughty arrogance she greeted me with, I daresay she’s inherited her mother’s mean streak and air of privilege.
“What’s the name of the youngest?”
“Iskvien,” Thalia replies. “I don’t know a lot about her. My resources say she’s not as favored as the eldest. Adaia hasn’t announced an heir yet, but Andraste is the frontrunner. There’s rumor that the youngest daughter’s magic is weak.”
Adaia will hate that.
Strength is power in this world, and she’s spent centuries building a stronghold out of her alliances and magic. To have birthed a daughter with barely any magic will be an embarrassment for her. No wonder I’ve never seen this Iskvien before.
She’s probably another little clone of her mother. Blonde. Cruel.
Unimportant.
Or… is she?
I prowl around the table, unable to sit. “Right now, Adaia has a hostage. We could even the playing field.”
Lysander leans forward, the front legs of his chair hitting the ground. “You want to kidnap a princess of Asturia?”
“Without bloodshed?” Even Eris’s eyebrows arch. “Here?”
“Mmm.” It’s dangerous. Reckless. It could cost me everything. But it could also neutralize Adaia before she can make a single demand of me. “I want eyes on her daughters. Don’t be seen. Don’t harm them. I just want to know where they are and who they talk to.”
“They could be innocent,” Thalia retorts.
“Adaia’s daughter?” Maybe I believed in innocence once upon a time, but years of strife and bloodshed have burned such notions from my heart. There’s no innocence left in this world.
And certainly not within the heart of the Asturian court.
“I’ll take the eldest,” Lysander says.
Baylor scowls. “Fine.
