Page 92 of With Wing And Claw

‘Do you … do you mean you’re leaving?’

‘No.’ A sniffle. ‘Just that I’m an idiot.’

A befuddled silence fell. In the distance, loud enough to be heard through the closed window, Nicanor was bellowing orders at flocks of fae.

‘What?’ Thysandra said, feeling like she had somehow missed half a minute of the conversation.

‘I should have seen that coming.’ Naxi’s joyless little laugh was bitter as unripe berries. ‘I mean, Ididsee it coming, which—’

Something smacked against the outside of the door.

Not a fist. The sound was too dull, to unfocused for a knock. Rather, it sounded like an entire limp body had crashed into the wood; a roar of pain followed a moment later, the shriek of steel against steel, a flash of red visible through the chink above the threshold.

Someone shouted, ‘Your Majesty!’

Oh, hell.

‘You know what?’ she snapped, reflexively checking her knives as she made for the exit and all but shoved Naxi aside in passing. Soldier’s instincts took over – fights before feelings. ‘Let’s have a word later, alright? Need to survive the day first.’

She was out just in time to see the first corpse being dragged away.

The trouble with war preparations was they left painfully little time for talking.

By the time all army commanders had been grilled thoroughly on their loyalties, all surveillance schedules had been implemented, and all scouts had been sent out to survey the surrounding islands for hiding spots, it was hours past midnight and Thysandra was tired enough to almost fall asleep before she’d dragged herself back to her rooms. Naxi was quiet and subdued beside her. Whether the reason was exhaustion or whatever emotion had overcome her in that powder room, Thysandra couldn’t tell; she did not have the brainpower left to ask, either.

Checking her defences for the night was all she managed to do. She didn’t bother to undress and fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

Dawn woke her after what felt like mere minutes – an unusually noisy dawn, the shouts and clamour of armour outside signalling a change of guards around the castle. Beside her, the bed was empty. For a single, bloodcurdling moment, she thought Naxi might have slipped away in the night; then she heard the quiet humming from the living room, the padding of bare feet, and a watering can tapping against plant pots, and her heart abruptly settled back into its usual rhythm.

Just a matter of strategy, of course.

She would be a fool for it to be anything else.

All the same, it took her more effort than it should have to drag herself out of bed, get out of yesterday’s rumpled dress, and make herself presentable again.We’re having fun. The words still echoed, a demon’s goals and dreams – dreams so utterly incompatible with Thysandra’s that it was hard to imagine those uncanny demon senses had not picked up on it before.

Perhaps she had not been clear enough herself? Perhaps Naxi assumed that the loss of her loyalty to the Mother, to the empire of old, meant she had lost all sense of loyalty entirely – that she was no longer still the same fundamentally dutiful person beneath with that thin veneer of obligation scrubbed off. Perhaps demons just couldn’t grasp the notion that there was so much more worth bleeding for: home, principles, love.

If so, it might be a kindness to them both to point that out as quickly as possible.

But when she finally gathered the courage to leave her bedroom, Naxi was already standing by the locked door, dressed in buttery yellow, a fuzzy pink shawl around her shoulders. And all she said – no greetings, no questions – was, ‘I forgot to visit the Labyrinth yesterday!’

So Thysandra unlocked the door and then ate breakfast alone, with only the monstrous plants for company, reminding herself with every bite that it was nonsensical, truly nonsensical, to feel envious of a mountain.

‘Your Majesty?’

She couldn’t walk halfway down a corridor this morning without being waylaid by yet another fae with questions, warnings, demands. This girl was young, too young to be allowed at court at all, really, and yet she came striding from a small salon with the air of an accomplished courtier, all fawn-eyed shrewdness and glittering confidence.She was holding a folded letter in her hand; on the inside of her wrist, green against brown skin, gleamed a single bargain mark.

‘Yes?’ Thysandra said, not bothering to force a smile.

‘The name’s Calaria, Your Majesty. Maleon’s house.’ A swift, artful bow; the girl’s long blonde ponytail swept down and up with the motion. She smiled brightly as she straightened. ‘My sister is one of the people who left with Bereas. I found a letter from her on my table this morning and thought it might be of interest to you.’

She held out the parchment as she spoke. A tempting offer, buttootempting – people did not betray their own kin without wanting favours in return.

‘And what would you require for your service to the crown?’ Thysandra said, not moving to accept the gift.

‘Nothing at all, Your Majesty.’ Calaria’s sunny smile grew even wider as she turned her wrist up. ‘I have already made arrangements with the Bargainer, as a part of which I am obliged to present you with this information.’

Silas?