Page 13 of With Wing And Claw

Save its people.

And maybe, if she was very, very lucky, save herself as well.

Food would have to be the first priority, she had decided after hours of nocturnal rumination; not even the Mother’s most vehement loyalists bent on reconquering the archipelago would want to do it on empty stomachs. So they would have to take stock of the meat and grain stores. Figure out how much food was coming from their own fae isles and how much more they would need to survive the upcoming winter. Then it would be a matter of rationing and perhaps closing some trade deals with the recently separated territories, who would doubtlessly demand outrageous prices for the grain…

But it would just be for a few months, while they prepared to become self-sufficient. She could probably find support for that. Even if she had no desire whatsoever to start another war, there was no reason to tell the loyalists just yet, and—

Knuckles hammered against her door.

She’d jumped up from the couch before the last sharp thud sounded.

An attack? A warning? With one step, she’d reached her nearest dagger, fingers curling around the worn hilt in a smooth, thoughtless reflex – no one to be seen at the windows, a quick glance over her shoulder told her. Which meant she had an escape route if she needed one. Although of course, she would be more vulnerable in the open air, and—

‘Thysandra?’

She froze.

A hushed male voice. Quiet but urgent, slightly out of breath and …familiar.

‘Are you awake?’ the visitor at her door added after a beat of silence, a little louder now – and it was then, with an impossible burst of panic and relief at once, that she recognised that smooth, elegant lilt.

Nicanor. Commander of the Mother’s third regiment.

Not someone who would be trying to murder her in her sleep, that was the good news … but there was a certain awkwardness to interacting with a male who’d spent time in her bed for entirely different reasons. She’d fucked him only in some desperate attempt to forget about Naxi after the mess of the Last Battle and ended their fling when the effort turned out to be hopeless – but of course she hadn’t informed him of her motives, and worse, she doubted he’d be opposed to resuming the affair.

Why washehere? An attempt to use that shameful bit of shared history to his own benefit, now that she had unexpectedly risen to a position of power?

Did it matter?

He was a potential ally. She couldn’t afford to leave him standing on her doorstep.

‘What is it?’ she yelled,steeling herself.

‘Oh, thank the fucking gods.’ A mirthless laugh, or perhaps more of a scoff. She could imagine the expression on his pale face even with a door between them – the hint of a habitual sneer on his lips, the narrowing of his ice-blue eyes. ‘We’ve got somewhat of an emergency at hand. It’s the Alliance’s demon.’

Her heart skipped a violent beat.

Anemergency?

With the Alliance’s demon. But that meant—

‘Which one?’ she stammered, grateful that at least he couldn’t see her face, that at least her words did not betray the savage pounding of her heart. Fuck.Fuck. ‘They seem to have multiple, these days.’

A hopeless, pathetic attempt at denying the inevitable. Nicanor wouldn’t have described Creon asthe Alliance’s demon. And it seemed unlikely that anyone else had emerged out of nowhere with those cursed powers, deciding for no reason to haunt the halls of her court and torment the people in it …

When, Naxi had said.

Cold certainty was creeping up her veins.

‘Whatever she’s called. The half nymph one.’ A soft thud suggested Nicanor was resting his lithe weight against the doorframe outside. ‘Apparently Hytherion and the others left her behind when the rest of them ran off a few hours ago. We didn’t realise it at first, but it seems she’s gone on … a bit of a murder spree since.’

The rapid thumps of her heart were blurring to a nauseating drone.I’ll find something else to do, Naxi had said, with that saccharine, meaningful smile.Have it your way.

When.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

‘What happened?’ Her trembling hands fought with the sash of her morning robe, yanked the dark green silk off her limbs. Green wouldn’t do outside these rooms. If she was to be the High Lady of this court, she couldn’t look anything less than frightening. ‘Who’s died? And why?’