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I did. The doorknob lit up in sparkles, but the door and frame itself remained as earthly as they’d seemed before; it hadn’t beenplaced here by fae magic, then, just booby-trapped for anyone who might try to open it.

‘There are people beyond it,’ Creon added even more quietly. ‘Or at least there’s a heap of emotions nearby on that side. They’re not particularly happy, from what I can feel.’

I bit my lip. ‘You think they’re waiting for us?’

‘Probably.’ A shrug. ‘They’re tense enough to be.’

‘Not triumphant? Not feeling like people who are congratulating themselves on their clever trapping work or their brilliant strategy for guaranteed victory?’

He let out a joyless laugh. ‘Absolutely none of that.’

We were both quiet for a moment. Behind us, in the distance, our pursuers started shrieking again – something about burning tar this time. Alyra landed on my shoulder, talons flexing. She was very ready to deal with the bastards who had nearly killed her, I gathered from the rather violent flood of thoughts that hit me; there was more detailed fantasising about the gouging out of eyes in her little mind than I’d ever need in my own.

And frankly …

Was there any reason to make this more complicated? It didn’t sound like any alarming strategies were waiting for us. If our welcoming committee was already anticipating a looming defeat, I was more than happy to give them one.

‘Ready, then?’ I said, quickly checking the buckle of my sword.

His smile dripped with violent intent. ‘With you always.’

I lay my left hand against the soft surface of his wing and blew the door from its hinges.

Shocked cries, flaring red, and we’d already leapt into the room beyond, three bodies going down at the first burst of my magic. There were only about a dozen of them. Packed between the rough stone walls of the White Hall’s basement, they had no way to flee, no way to take cover; if they ducked away from my magic, Creon’s blades were waiting for them, and if theymiraculously survived both of us, Alyra’s beak and talons were already shredding their wings. It was more slaughter than fight. Like helpless children they went down, unable to break through my shields, defenceless against my magic.

Had these fae not been willing to bestow the exact same fate upon the city’s innocent inhabitants, I might have felt pity for them.

It was over within a minute or two. We were left standing in a circle of limp limbs and wings, Alyra circling triumphantly over the fallen bodies, the way to the stairs on the other side of the room open.

Next to me, Creon looked as dazed as I felt.

I could use my magic.His signs came slow with confusion as he gestured at a pale-winged fae on the other side of the room, a bleeding gash across his equally pale face.I took him down without any trouble. Bindings weren’t invoked. So that suggests …

That you’re not hurting her by killing them?I finished, taking the hint and reverting to signing as well. No way to tell who or what was waiting for us at the top of those stairs; best to make as little sound as possible.That she sent them here without caring whether they’d die?

His grimace didn’t require any additional signing.

Those unambitious traps. The woefully small group that had stood waiting for us here. My nervousness stirred again, more violently than ever before – something we were missing, some game that was being played over our heads …

Wings slapped behind me.

Alyra cried out.

I was just a fraction too slow, needed just a fraction too long to drag my thoughts from the tangles of the Mother’s mind and back into the deadly, urgent here and now. Before me, Creon began turning. His eyes widened. His hand shot to his knives.Time seemed to slow to a syrupy crawl for a single endless instant, observations dripping into my mind like honey—

Then silk-clad arms yanked me backwards.

And an alf steel knife settled against my throat.

Chapter 36

I froze, the smellof wine-soaked breath washing over me. A glimpse of long, pale fingers around a silver hilt, of bluish black wings in the corner of my eye …

Recognition came like a punch to the gut.

Ophion.

He seemed just a tad unsteady on his feet, his weight leaning into my back with a heaviness that made me want to gag. But the knife on my throat didn’t tremble. And Creon … Creon stood paralysed three steps away from me, hands slowly pulling away from the weapons at his belt, wings flaring out in what I could only read as fear.