Page 28 of With Wing And Claw

‘Good,’ she said, giving herself no more time to think. ‘I’ll make that bargain with him, then. He can help you and any other volunteers with your work, and I’ll leave it to him to double-check the numbers once you’ve gathered all the relevant information. You can join us when we discuss the results. Does that work?’

‘If it makes you feel safer to never trust a single soul around you,’ Inga said, and the glimpse of mockery in her grey eyes suddenly made her resemble a particularly caustic Naxi, ‘I suppose that works, yes. Anything else?’

‘Just be careful.’ The words slipped out before she could think twice about them – hell, why bother warning this woman whenshewas the one flinging threats around? ‘People aren’t going to be happy about any of those changes you’re looking for. Worst case, they’ll attack you outright, and—’

‘Of course they will,’ Inga said with a snort. ‘So? I’m a human-looking half fae at the Crimson Court. Your lovely subjects haven’t done anythingbesidesattack me as long as I’ve been alive.’

That knocked the words straight from Thysandra’s brain again.

‘Let me know what you need from the archives.’ For the first time, Inga smiled – a hard, steel-edged smile, not a glimpse of joy in it. ‘And when we’re getting together for that discussion. If no one kills me before then, I’ll be there.’

Chapter 8

By sundown, Thysandra wastoo tired to fly.

But no one had killed her yet, and no one had declared war on anyone; the world had begun to pull itself together after the earth-shattering changes of the last few days. The clerks at the population department were updating the registers. The first letters had arrived from other fae isles pledging fealty to the Crimson Court. Her last quick meeting with Nicanor hadn’t presented any new challenges, and even better, she’d succeeded in informing him of the humans’ demands without rousing any suspicions about her motives for humouring them.

Which meant she was as much in control as she’d ever be while she dragged herself back to her rooms, a stoic expression plastered on her face even as her legs threatened to give way beneath her.

Which meant she was in control all byherself, no demon assistance needed.

She still hadn’t figured out how she should inform Naxi of that fact by the time she reached her own floor. Two fae corpses lay sprawled over the upper steps of the stairs, knives in their chests and hands aroundthe hilts – having disregarded her command to leave their demon guest alone, clearly. The door showed some faint traces of blades and crowbars. None of them had gotten through; the Mother’s protective magic held, even now.

A traitor’s daughter.

How ironic, that the favours that had once bought Thysandra’s unwavering loyalty were still the ones protecting her now.

She sparked her red magic at the right spot, and the locks clicked open. Without granting the dead fae on her doorstep another glance, she turned the handle and slipped inside, bracing herself for anger or tears or whatever else would be Naxi’s reaction to the news that her help and loyalty were no longer needed …

She made it half a step into the room.

Then froze again.

Whatever she had expected to find upon her return, an explosive invasion of houseplants had not been on the list. Yet there was no other way to describe the sight that welcomed her in the golden evening light – not the familiar, meticulous row of pots in the windows and corners of the room but a tangle of greenery that seemed to have taken over every surface in its vicinity. Heartleaf vines framed the balcony doors, winding elegantly around the bookshelves on the wall. The monstera had grown to nightmarish proportions, leaves shrouding half of the sitting area in shadows. Blood-red begonia flowers pulsated like living hearts in their pots, having swollen up to twice their size like sponges soaked in deep red wine.

The room smelled of forest, suddenly. Of moist earth and sweet blooms, a heady mix that made her head swim even in the moment she stood paralysed in the doorway.

Then Naxi’s elated voice exclaimed, ‘Oh, Sashka!’

Naxi.

Nymphmagic.

The realisation was still in the process of landing when the culprit came dancing into view, blushing and beaming like the sun itself. Her blonde-and-pink curls had been bound up in a messy braid thatseemed equal parts ribbon and hair. Her cheeks were rosy; her bare feet were spotlessly clean.

Most baffling of all, she was wearing one of Thysandra’s own bathrobes – a black, lacy thing that flowed around her slight form like water, the sleeves flopping just past her small hands, the hem trailing over the floorboards behind her.

She looked utterly, radiantly joyful.

Worse …

Much,muchworse, the first word that popped into Thysandra’s mind at the sight was an unforgivabledelicious.

‘You’re back!’ her tormentor triumphantly declared, rushing past her, tugging the door shut, then twirling around to bounce about the overgrown room. The elegant black silk suited her like midnight suited a bright-coloured butterfly – not at all – and yet there was something strangely enticing about the contrast, the smooth darkness brushing over those slim, pale legs. ‘How was your day? Are they listening to you? Did you murder anyone, or have I been the only one amusing myself?’

‘I … I did not.’ The answer slipped mechanically past her lips, her stunned mind grasping the lifeline of those questions as she staggered into the room. Vines had crept over the mirror, too, and a monstrous clematis now covered half of the small kitchen counter. ‘And they’re accepting me for now, more or less. What in the world have you—’

‘Oh, just cheered the place up a little,’ Naxi brightly interrupted, shooing heartleaf vines aside as she cleared a seat on the couch. ‘Poor things were miserable, being confined to those grisly pots. You should sit down, you know. You’re absolutely exhausted. Would you like some cheese pastries?’