Page 29 of Lana Pecherczyk

The king glanced sideways at him, then leaned back on the bench’s backrest. “Have you heard about the bodies Cloud dumped around Crescent Hollow?”

River swallowed hard. “No.”

“All human. All refugees from Crystal City under Silver’s initiative.”

That wasn’t good. If Silver facilitated their escape, then those humans were innocent. The old Cloud would never have touched them. But the one who’d split the airship in half with his lightning, frying River while onboard … only the Well knew what that version would do.

“How do you know it’s him?” he asked.

Jasper rifled around near his clothes on the ground and retrieved a long, black primary feather.

“Could belong to anyone.” Except for the distinct UV patterns on the tip. The bastard had betrayed River, broken his wings. Yet somewhere beneath the fury, an unwelcome voice whispered:Was there something you did to him first?

“It could, but it belongs to him. You know it.” Jasper stared hard as he twirled the feather. “Tell me about this vendetta bullshit. How far will it go?”

After Rory died, Cloud painted a V across his face using the blood of her enemies, signaling the beginning of his vendetta. At first, River thought Cloud’s beef was relegated to Nero, Rory’s father. But it seemed his rage targeted all of humanity.

If the Seelie High King asked these questions now, he was preparing to deal with the problem. Cloud might be strong in mana capacity, being a Guardian with a body covered in his power-enhancing tattoos, but he wasn’t Well-blessed. He wasn’t a High King. In a battle against Jasper, Cloud would lose.

He’d lose against River now, too.

The knowledge didn’t feel as satisfying as it should have.

“Vendettas are crow business,” he said. Jasper opened his mouth to protest, but River cut him off. “Even if you knew, it wouldn’t matter. What Cloud’s doing … it’s not normal.”

“Do we need to be worried?”

Yeah. We need to be fucking terrified.

He checked his triad tattoo and sighed. Without Ash, then finding the cryptex was up to River. How the fuck was he the responsible one?

He scrubbed his face and replied heavily, “I don’t know.”

“When you do.” Jasper stood. “I’ll be the first person you tell.”

“Maybe,” River replied. He still fucking loved that word. “But I can promise you this—no more innocents will lose their lives if I can help it. I’ll stop him, even if I have to kill him.”

“Being a leader is hard,” Jasper said, scrunching his nose. “But being a good mate, a good parent, is harder.”

“Like I said, it makes you weak.”

Noise by the rose hedge drew their attention. Jasper’s worried expression melted away as Aspen appeared, carrying a small box of what River assumed were red coins.

“No, River.” The king smiled at his son. “It makes it all worth it.”

Chapter

Nine

There were five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally acceptance. Blake cycled through the whole gamut in two days. Whoever claimed that would be the end of it was a cunt. On the third day in Helianthus, she woke refreshed, thinking she’d accepted events and could move on. But clarity only meant she had emotional space to spiral once more.

Only days ago, Blake was married to Jeff, living a life she thought was perfect, despite the looming apocalypse. She believed herself surrounded by people who loved her. Now, her heart lay shattered in her chest, her mind fractured, and her arm covered with blue, glittering marks that tethered her emotions to a stranger by something called mana.

She wasn’t sure what was worse—total ignorance of Jeff’s contempt or experiencing River’s emotions, even when he bristled at her existence. He hadn’t returned since storming off, yet she sensed his nearby presence fluttering against her consciousness like a moth trapped against glass.

Sometimes the sense of him muffled, and she felt relieved. Other times, she was hit with a barrage of guilt, angst, and too many rapid-fire emotions that she couldn’t pick them out.

It was horrifying, humiliating, and embarrassing to know her innermost feelings weren’t private. Every time a memory of her father’s practical, no-frills parenting or one of her brothers’ stupid jokes surfaced, she had to physically clench her jaw to stop the sadness from leaking through the bond.