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“Good. With any luck, Theren will be back in the fold before—”

“You misunderstand, Morrigan,” the Cockatrice sneers. “Theren will never return to Oronrel.”

“Then?”

“I will use him and the others to get to Eilish and then I will kill her, which will end my contract with you once and for all.”

“What do you want me to say?” I ask, frowning at the ugly creature.

“Nothing,” it responds. “After my contract is finished, how long do you think it will be before I get my hands on that enchanted mirror in which Silvanus hid your power?”

I lunge for the Cockatrice, but he moves out of the way.

“What use do you have with my power?”

“As I said before, I have my own plans where the angel is concerned. My master wants her, and Iwillget my hands on her—whether I have to kill you to do so or not. Your days are numbered as it is, Midnight Queen. I would tread carefully.”

My teeth ache as I clench my jaw. The Cockatrice walks past me and flops onto the throne. I storm out of the room. My skin prickles and the urge to yank the hair out of my head is strong, for the anger that radiates from the depths of my spirit is deafening.

I want the Cockatrice dead.

As soon as Variant returns, we’ll find a way to end the foul thing.

Abedon’s little lap dog has no idea whom he is dealing with. I’ve peeled the skin from creatures more threatening than him and lived to tell the tale. My days aren’t numbered, but his are, for no fires of the underworld burn hotter than the scorn of my rage.

***

EILISH

Siranthria

A blanket of rain falls in this part of the fae realm. We’re fewer than twenty miles from one of the great elven cities, where my people believe demons are keeping a group of rebels captive. With any luck, the rebels will help our cause and gain their freedom in return... however, I can’t help but think about Morrigan’s words.

Rain obscures everything in sight as the storm pushes our way. Mercenaries splash through puddles, their hounds following close behind. We move as a small unit beneath the dim light of a streetlamp. Our connection, Inkor, a yellow-eyed basilisk shifter, stands at the gate, ready to let us in.

“Welcome to Siranthria, Lady Fulthain.”

Belroth moves ahead of me and blocks me from sight as we enter the city walls. Pulling my hood lower, I move behind him through the streets, careful to duck into the shadows whenever city guards or Variant’s men pass by. The rebels are held in a guard tower nearby. Belroth takes four men and goes east as I continue toward the north. Nothing here is dry or safe, as the entire city looks abandoned after the raids.

I eye the fence that blocks the entrance to the guard tower. One of the mercenaries in my team boosts me over and I land on my feet with a splash. The water slides right off my gear, but even so, the cold finds its way into the places where neither leather nor hide cover.

Dipping low, I slide my dagger through a few of the links in the fence, allowing my team through. Myerdoth looks up at the guard tower.

“I’ll keep watch,” he suggests and briefly takes to the sky before he lands on top of the tower. I prod along the door and find it’s not warded with magic. With a flick of my wrist, the lock gives and we press onward.

My team moves through the doorway and I cover them from the rear. Someone signals to me and I see the rebels behind iron bars. It’s the same sort of iron Morrigan used to imprison the fae at theThrest, the sort of iron that burns faeries. Pressing closer, I lean toward those cowering near the far wall.

“You must go away,” a small, frightened voice squeaks.

I approach slowly, raising my hands to show I mean them no harm. An elf shivers in the corner, and I notice his ears havebeen clipped by the guards. Variant apparently has taken his cues from the Unseelie Court—more and more elves are being shamed in the same way, according to my scouts.

“Don’t be afraid of us,” I say gently. “We’re here to help you.”

The elf turns his head to show a series of burns and other injuries. Parts of his golden skin have been peeled away, and blood leaks from wounds that look infected. He must have fought the guards and this was his punishment. And yet, despite the shaming and the injuries, he holds himself with pride.

“It’s all right,” I continue. “My name is Eilish. I’m here to get you out.”

“I-is it true? The Vindication has come for us?” one of them stammers. I nod and the team begins to saw through the bars. I’m surprised they’ve heard of us but proud.