Page 47

But not a muscle moved among them; not even the twitch of a delicate white wing.

Presumptuous, haughty, entitled. Every single one of them.

But I forced those thoughts to remain in my head, stepping forward and kneeling beside the assassin.

The dagger he’d wielded hung half out of his limp hand, the blade scarlet with blood. He’d injured or killed someone on his way in. A palace guard, most likely. But that was a worry for later.

I reached for his sleeve, a black knit fabric similar to the wool I wore myself. But as I pulled it away, it was featherlight. I’d never felt anything like it—almost like a spider’s web woven into clothing.

When I laid my hand upon his skin, my entire body tensed.

Cold swirled through me. Colder than the peaks of the Spine in my homeland. Colder than the midnight waters surrounding Eilean Gayl in the dead of winter. The cold reached inside of me and tried to touch what lay at the very center of my being—my power.

Only then, in the face of that blackness that lived inside of me, did the cold recede.

My fingers returned to normal, the blood in my veins warm once more.

I waited for a comment, waited for those around me to say something. But no one seemed to have noticed. It was just me—only me. Confined to my person.

Swallowing back the concern that was yawning awake in my stomach, I refocused my magic. I was meant to be reaching inside of him, the assassin—not the other way around.

It took concentration, even for a fae as powerful as I. That was why none of the others in the room suspected anything was amiss. Summoning the two twin tendrils of my magic, flora and fauna, I willed them through the outer layers of the male’s skin, past the physical boundaries to where his soul lay beneath. Or at least, what remained of it. Magic was not always easy to detect, but dead as he was, the male had no defenses.

I found what I sought quickly then, rocking back on my heels and pulling my hand away. Despite myself, I felt relief as I stood. I was glad to no longer be touching him.

“He’s terrestrial, flora gifted,” I said grimly, already anticipating the gasp that ricocheted through Veyka’s handmaidens. Her guards were more stoic.

A wicked smile curved at the corners of the queen’s pretty mouth.

Of course, she would be amused to find her would-be assassin was terrestrial.

“That explains how he gained access,” Osheen said. “There are climbing vines along this side of the palace, on the outside. He must have been powerful enough to strengthen them enough to climb.”

Lyrena, the golden-haired Goldstone with the quick smile, walked over to the balcony and peered out.

“None of the other verandas are lit; everyone else sleeps,” she observed. “Once he was within the palace walls, a steady sense of balance could have gotten him here without much trouble.”

I turned my gaze to Osheen. “Your patrols—go, now. Work as long as you can, then choose your second best to take up while you recover. I want all of the adjustments made to the flora by sunset tomorrow.”

Osheen bowed and left without a word.

The Captain of the Goldstones watched him go with a furrowed brow, but he did not countermand me. He turned instead to Veyka.

She was a study in contradictions. Her white hair, nearly silver in the evening light, was in a loose, casual plait. No trappings of diamonds or pearl, no intricate styling. Her nightgown was the opposite of the simple white one her handmaid wore, translucent black fabric with a neckline cut in a low square, showing off her breasts. The straps were nothing more than black ribbon, delicate enough that a sharp tug would tear them and have the whole garment falling away. A nightgown made to be seen by a male.

And in her hand, her blood-drenched dagger.

Bloodthirsty, buxom, beautiful.Mine.

My stomach clenched. The urge to shift, to chase every other male from the room—and females, for that matter—threatened to overwhelm my rational mind.

The corner of her mouth twitched.

The damn witch knew exactly what I was thinking.

My eyes must be glowing. Thankfully, no one was close enough to me to tell.

Except, perhaps, Veyka.