Page 50

Morgana

A fire burns in Leon’s eyes, full of a hatred I’m not used to seeing from him.

As he lifts his sword, the rest of the fae on the beach follow suit, which puts the strangers back on the defensive.

Will only just got the fighting to stop, and now Leon’s seems poised to ensure we have a bloodbath on our hands.

“Leon, wait,” I say. “Maybe we should listen to Will.”

He stares at me. “Don’t you see what they did to Alastor?”

I follow the direction he jerks his head. It’s only then that I see Alastor lying on the ground. He’s completely still, his eyes closed and a sheen of sweat across his pale face.

My stomach lurches, and I push the stranger aside without looking at him, dropping to my knees beside my unconscious friend. He feels hot when I lay my hands on his forehead, and I frantically reach out my magic toward his inner flame. I’m relieved to find it still burning strong.

“It’s alright,” I say to Leon. “At least, he’s not dying anytime soon.”

“Morgana, you must stop them before someone else gets hurt,” Will says, eyeing the tense stand-off on the beach.

I nod, looking up at Leon. “Tell them to put their weapons away, for gods’ sakes. Alastor’s not going to get better any faster with a battle raging around him.”

At first, Leon doesn’t move, then he growls angrily and turns, calling to his soldiers.

“Stand down,” he says.

Leon’s unit slowly sheathe their weapons, but they continue to hold themselves alert and at the ready. I know that any one of them could break out their sensic magic and start incapacitating these people anytime they wanted.

There’s so much going on I’ve barely glanced at the man standing behind Will, but he speaks now, his voice bewildered.

“You called her Morgana,” he says to Will, before turning to me. “ You’re Morgana Angevire?”

The man’s probably a few years older than me, with brown eyes and a round face. He looks mostly human, but there’s a distinctly green tint about his skin and, though his hair is cut brutally short, it’s got some of the same emerald color in it.

I narrow my eyes at him. “Why are you here?”

Instead of answering, the man holds up his hand to his friends on the beach, beckoning them over.

They slowly sheathe their blades, and all together the fae and humans do a strange kind of march toward the porch, never taking their eyes off each other for a moment.

It’s a fragile truce, but a truce nonetheless.

“It is her,” the man says, his voice excited now. “This is Morgana Angevire.”

To my surprise, they bow.

“Your Highness,” one of them murmurs, and I raise my eyebrows. I’m wondering how they found me, but I’m also caught off guard by their deference to my rank. I didn’t really picture it from subversive types like the Hand, especially after their hostile approach.

“Now no one’s in imminent danger of getting stabbed,” I say. “What the gloam did you do to my friend?”

Leon glares at the green-skinned man, who suddenly looks sheepish.

“I just gave him a little fever,” he says.

I blink. That doesn’t sound like any kind of terrial magic. That sounds almost viatic. From the man’s appearance, I’d assume he has some dryad blood in him, except everyone knows dryads don’t deliberately hurt people. I file my curiosity away. We have more pressing things to worry about.

“A fever made him pass out?” Leon asks, clearly skeptical.

“I made sure it spiked quickly.”

“But he’ll be okay, won’t he?” I demand. “He doesn’t feel weaker.”

The green-skinned man tilts his head, my statement confusing him, but then he shrugs.

“He’ll be fine. Really. It’ll burn off in a day.”

“Hyllus, will you take Alastor inside?” I ask.

“There’s a bed in the back,” Will says to the fae as he easily scoops Alastor up and carries him into the cottage. I round on our visitors.

“Who told you I was here?” I demand. “Was it you?” I turn to Will. From his reaction to the fight, it’s clear he knows these people, but I don’t want to think what that might mean. I can’t have another person betray me, not after everything.

“No,” Will says forcefully. “I didn’t know they were coming.” He throws the rebels a frustrated look. “I’ve had some contact with the Hand since I retired, but I would never have shared your location with them against your wishes.”

“Someone better start explaining how you knew where to find her, or the Hand’s going to be short a few fingers,” Leon says, his voice low with warning.

One of the rebels clears her throat, a redheaded woman with her hair tied back in a severe bun.

“We keep tabs on a lot of our contacts. We got a message there was an unusual group in Gullert asking for Will Mercer, including a woman who looked a lot like the missing princess.”

“You got here fast,” Damia says suspiciously. “Are you sure you weren’t lying in wait for us?”

“The one who sent us word is an aesteri,” the redhead says. “Their messages get to us quick.”

“And why are you so interested in the princess?” Leon asks.

The redheaded woman exchanges an unreadable look with the part-dryad.

“Because ever since the palace announced that Elowen and Alaric Angevire had a daughter, our leader has wanted to speak with you for a very pressing reason.”

Leon

Stupid, arrogant humans. They think they can march in here and demand Ana speak with their leader after they attacked us?

I stare into their faces, wondering if any of them were there the day my parents died.

Of course it’s possible none of these people were directly involved, but if they’re part of this organization, they still have blood on their hands.

Clearly, the rebels haven’t changed since they started calling themselves the Hand of Ralus.

All they care about is their cause—and to hell with the innocent people who get hurt along the way.

“What is this pressing reason?” I ask.

The woman gives me and my soldiers a cold look. “I’m under orders not to share that information. Our leader wishes to discuss it in person.”

“So you expect her to just go quietly with a band of strangers who tried to sneak up on us and attacked one of our own?”

“He attacked us first,” the woman points out. “And we weren’t sneaking up on you. We were being cautious. Our message said that the princess was with a group of dangerous-looking people. After the rumors of her being kidnapped by the fae, we couldn’t be sure she was here of her own will.”

She’s staring at me so hard it’s like she’s trying to look straight through my glamour.

I scowl. “She is.”

“I’d rather hear that from the princess.” The woman scowls back.

We both look over at Ana, waiting for her to speak, but she’s conflicted. I’m about to suggest she tell these people where to shove their demands when she appears to make a decision.

“You said kidnapped. So you don’t think I conspired with Filusia to murder my parents?” she asks.

Alastor’s attacker scoffs like the very suggestion is ridiculous. The redheaded woman gives him a disapproving look before she answers.

“No, we don’t. We’ve long had our suspicions of Lady Oclanna—and her husband, who is such a rabid Ethiran that it had started to create a rift between the deceased queen and her sister.

It was highly convenient, then, that Their Majesties should turn out to have a secret heir, only for Lady Oclanna to become regent and the heir to be branded a murdering heretic.

It has the reek of Temple lies about it. ”

Ana stiffens at her choice of wording. “I’m considered a heretic? Why?”

“They say you’ve killed clerics and tried to stop a purge.”

Ana’s shoulders relax. It seems these people don’t know she’s a solari, which is interesting.

It means the Temple hasn’t shared that fact with the general population yet, though the bearer who escaped from Otscold must’ve told Caledon by now.

Is the Temple’s leader waiting for some specific occasion before playing that card?

“I did do all those things, for the record,” Ana says.

The woman smiles darkly. “Good. Then you’ll fit right in, Your Highness. Killing clerics is our business.”

Ana glances at me, but I can’t read the look. “And if I were to come meet with this leader of yours, how would that work?”

“We’ve been given permission to take you to one of our bases where our leader will be waiting.” The woman gives me a disdainful look. “I suppose you can bring your bodyguards, if that makes you feel safer.”

“ Bodyguards ?” Eryx growls, insulted by her assumption.

“They’re my friends,” Ana clarifies. “And I’ll need to speak with some of them in private before I make a decision.”

The woman bows her head. “Very well, Your Highness.”

“Let’s go inside,” Ana says to me and Tira. She sweeps her gaze over the rest of the group, the mix of human rebels and fae soldiers. “Now, do you think you can avoid attacking each other until we get back? Will, would you mind?”

He understands her immediately, stepping forward to put himself between the two groups. “I’ll make sure the peace is kept,” he says.

Inside the cottage, Ana’s first action is to find the back bedroom where Hyllus is watching over Alastor.

“No change?” Tira asks as Ana leans over Alastor, touching his wrist and closing her eyes.

“He’s not stirred at all,” Hyllus says.

Ana opens her eyes and nods. “That man was telling the truth—Alastor’s running a fever, but he’s definitely not getting weaker.”

“That doesn’t mean we can trust them,” I say. Ana leads us back out of the small bedroom and into the living space.

“The way they approached us was messy,” she admits. “But it doesn’t necessarily mean we can’t trust them either.”

I stare at her. Why is she ignoring the glaring problem?

“Well, I think we should hear them out,” Tira says.

“The whole reason we came to Will was to try to find some allies, right? They could help us. They obviously have some kind of spy network, given what they know about Lady Oclanna and your parents, and about what happened in Otscold. I bet most people don’t know how badly that purge went for the Temple.

The clerics wouldn’t want people thinking they’re not in total control. ”

Ana nods, then turns to me, trying to read my face. “You disagree.”

“I do. And you know why.”

Tira looks between us, curious.

“These rebels might be different from the ones involved in your parents’ deaths,” she says.

“Or maybe their leader personally slit my mother’s throat himself,” I say.

She winces at my blunt wording, but reaches out, taking my hand.

“True,” she says. “And it would be hypocritical of me to pretend that doesn’t matter when Tira and I are here to avenge our parents.”

It hadn’t occurred to me, the way we’re all in the same, fucked-up boat as angry children of murdered parents. Tira obviously didn’t know either—maybe Ana thought it wasn’t her place to tell her—but I meet her eye now, and we share a moment of mutual understanding.

“So what do we do then?” Tira asks.

Ana looks at me, watching my reaction closely as she speaks.

“If any members of the Hand did have something to do with your parents’ deaths, meeting with their leader on their territory might help us find out the truth.”

“And when we confirm it?” I ask. “If we find out whoever’s in charge of the Hand was responsible?”

“Then I will stand by your side while you do whatever you need to do,” Ana says.

I pull Ana into a deep, fervent kiss, which leaves her breathless and Tira loudly clearing her throat.

“Next time, wait until I’ve left the room, please,” she says, rolling her eyes.

As we exit the cottage to tell everyone outside about our decision, I already know I won’t waste time at the rebels’ base. The man who attacked Alastor said it would take a day for him to get better, at which point I’ll have him get the answers I need out of the Hand’s leader.

And if Alastor isn’t awake by the time we get to our destination, I’ll just have to get the truth my way.