Page 19

Chapter 19

HER PRESENCE SCOOPS MY INSIDES out, and devastation pings around the emptied space. Shame and uncertainty weigh down my steps, and a million inadequate apologies dance across my tongue. Fenox Lael doesn’t look my way. Her blue-hazel eyes are fixed on Karis as she discreetly sizes him and the others up.

When the human mentioned the designer’s name, it didn’t ring with any kind of recognition. But it wouldn’t, Ren always called her little sister Nixy, never Fenox. And I’ve never heard the last name Lael before; Renatta’s surname was Sagefor. I knew Nixy lived in Paragon and that she and Ren spoke every couple of months when they could, but last I heard Nixy worked for a tailor in the goblin district. I have no idea what she’s doing here.

Azo bows and Nixy drops into a deep curtsy. Her stare finally shifts to me, and the sorrow I find there is like a shot to the gut. The blow is visceral and I feel like I’m suddenly bleeding out right here in front of everyone as my worlds collide. Nixy blinks and the emotion is masked. The echo of it, however, reverberates within me, ringing like a haunting lament in the depths of my soul.

She knows.

She knows her big sister is gone.

I want to beg her forgiveness, explain what happened, and vow to avenge the incredible person we both loved, but I can’t do any of that. Not here. Not in front of Aeson’s drakes. This gaping wound needs to stay hidden. I won’t be the reason that Fenox Lael becomes a target.

I failed Ren.

I won’t fail her little sister.

Which means I can’t say or do anything that might tip my hand and clue the drakes in on any kind of history or connection here.

I lift the drawbridge and slam a portcullis down on the throng of emotion attempting to storm me. Blinking all recognition from my gaze, I wait for Fenox to speak while I discreetly watch Tove for any sign that she’s picked up on a tether between me and the wyvern. Thankfully, the observant drake’s attention is on our surroundings and not me.

“It is an honor, dragoness. My assistant has filled me in on your requests. I’ve endeavored to put together a small collection that I hope will meet with your approval. If you and your companions will follow me, I can show it to you. Then we can discuss anything else you might need.” With that, Fenox rises from her position of supplication and turns to lead us into the building.

The drakes move as one, a well-practiced unit with me at the center. I want to stop, to tell them I’ve changed my mind and then turn around and get as far away from Ren’s little sister as I can. Right now, Nixy is still on the fringes of what’s happening, but the minute I step into the building, that changes. She’ll be right in the thick of it with me. If I say something though, if I ask to leave, it will just make the guards suspicious, and the last thing I want to do is anything that will have them looking any closer at the wyvern than they already are.

With a heavy and conflicted heart, I follow the drakes into the building, silently screaming in protest every step I take. It’s brighter inside the windowless building than I anticipated. The interior is a wash of dark charcoal finishes, and it’s more modern than the outside facade would lead one to believe. It’s mostly empty, with the exception of a large couch shaped like an undulating snake, and a low glass table that’s the size of a small pond. Against the long wall of the barren room, several displays of clothing await my inspection, but I couldn’t care less about anything hanging over there. All I can focus on is Fenox.

That flash of loss I momentarily caught in her eyes haunts me. I can’t imagine she’s handling the loss of her sister well.

I know I’m not.

Yet here we both stand like strangers, pretending nothing’s wrong. Making believe that our hearts haven’t been ripped from our chests and pulverized beyond recognition.

Does she hate me?

Is she about to unravel the string of half-truths I’ve been knotting together to survive The Horde and insert myself here in their stronghold?

“Please have a seat, dragoness,” Azo instructs me, waving a hand toward the seating area. “Let me grab you something to drink.”

He scurries off before I can tell him no, thank you .

Aeson’s guards spread to each corner of the room. Tove stays close by, nudging me toward the oddly-shaped couch, and Jori must have stayed outside with the driver, because I don’t see him anywhere. Fenox watches the drakes carefully as she moves to the other side of the center table where she turns to face me. Her eyes soften as she takes me in.

“Allow me to introduce myself, dragoness. My name is Fenox Lael and I’ve been designing clothing for the last forty years. I’ve worked closely with several high-standing members of The Horde for the last fifteen of those forty years. I could bore you with the details of what I specialize in when it comes to design and styling, but I get the impression that you’re a female who knows what she wants.” A knowing twinkle enters her eye.

I force myself not to react, even though my chest aches and my throat grows tight with the effort. Everything I know about Nixy is through Ren. I was occasionally there when they would talk if we were out on assignment or working out together when a call came through. But now that the female is standing in front of me, I realize we don’t truly know each other, despite feeling that way.

“If it’s alright with you, I’d love to show you what I’ve put together, get your feedback, and then we can go from there?”

Azo hurries into the room with a tall flute of something golden, fancy and fizzy. He tries to hand it to me, but Tove quickly intercepts it and brings the beverage to her nose, inhaling deeply. She must not scent anything to be concerned about, because she takes a small sip and then waits.

“If you wanted your own, you could have just asked,” I tell the drake.

My taunt is met with an unamused look from the Seeder, and she hands over what I suspect is champagne, with a little more force than necessary.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think,” Azo sputters, his worried gaze darting from me to Tove and back again.

I wave off the apology. “Tove is just greedy. Don’t worry about it,” I reassure the flustered human.

I bite back a grin, giving myself a point in the petty game Tove and I are playing. Looking down at the drink, I swirl the golden liquid in the flute and watch the tiny bubbles grow frenzied with the movement. Alcohol like this is pricey. Ordering it anywhere down south is asking to be mugged by someone happy to relieve you of all the credits they assume you have. I’m tempted to try the delicacy, but I don’t know what kind of effect it’ll have on me. Probably best not to risk it.

I turn to Fenox. “Show me what you’ve got.”

“Excellent. Right this way,” she encourages.

I hand the flute back to Tove and follow Fenox, juggling concern over the fact that I didn’t know that she’d inserted herself into The Horde like this. I was aware that she occasionally passed information to Ren, but I didn’t know that she was actively building a network to help spy on our behalf.

It’s brilliant, but why didn’t Ren ever say anything to me about it? Why didn’t Enslee? I know I don’t usually show the same amount of interest in politics that my sister does, but I should have been in the loop of something like this. Coming off the back of the betrayal that landed me and Renatta in the hands of the Tainted, this tastes even more bitter and unpleasant.

What else haven’t I been told?

The shock of seeing Nixy starts to wear off, and in its place, a barrage of questions queue up, each one more pressing than the last. I debate how I’m going to ask Fenox what the bloody fuck is going on without the drakes hearing it, but a subtle hand movement from the wyvern draws my attention. Three fingers forming the shape of a W , telling me to wait , a familiar signal that my Flight and I use all the time.

Her hands are clasped in front of her. The W of her fingers rests on top of her other hand, and as soon as she sees that I’ve noticed it, she adopts a more natural, relaxed position, erasing the silent communication. So, I do as I’m told and continue to keep my mouth shut.

“Azo explained that the flashier fashions of the keeps didn’t appeal to you, that you were in search of more practical options. I can make whatever it is you require, but my suggestion would be to create a collection that satisfies both the practical and fashionable requirements of high society.”

I snort and Fenox’s benevolent gaze flickers with both amusement and reproach. It’s a look I know well, one Ren wore often. Grief wraps a fist around my lungs and starts to squeeze. If Fenox notices my distracted efforts to keep a stranglehold on my emotions, she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she continues on about marrying fashion with function and then starts talking animatedly about makeup looks and hairstyles.

I do my best to play my part and offer little sounds of interest and encouragement, but as we draw closer to the other side of the room, I pick up on a faint current of energy. Just as I’m about to pause to assess where this odd sensation is coming from, Ren’s little sister flashes me the hand signal for forward .

I wonder for a fraction of a second if I’m an idiot for blindly complying, but curiosity and my love for Ren has me continuing alongside her little sister, ignoring the weird static that’s starting to dance across my skin. Unexpectedly I cross a threshold, one I can’t see but sure as fuck can feel. It’s like walking through a collection of spiderwebs that are electrically charged.

My body tingles as the magic washes over me. The troubling sensation is quick to disappear when I make it through the undetectable barrier Fenox has erected near the display of clothing, separating it from the rest of the room.

“Don’t look over at the guards or try to see the muzzler we just walked through,” Fenox orders evenly. “Just keep looking at me and at the clothes. I programmed the spell to make it seem like we’re talking about outfits and other asinine shit, but they can still see us, so don’t do anything that could tip them off.”

“Won’t they be able to read our lips?” I ask, forcing myself to relax even though a barrage of questions are now yipping at me, begging for answers.

“No, the spell-tech accounts for that.”

“Nixy, what is going on? Are you here to get me out, because as much as I would love to get the fuck away from here, and fast, I don’t think this is the best way to go about it. How are they not sensing this muzzler? Ren wouldn’t want you to be taking risks like this. I don’t either, if that counts for anything.”

I force a smile to slip across my face and gesture to a folded pile of fabric that’s sitting on a floating shelf in an effort to keep up the ruse. I have no idea how this particular spell works, but hopefully this looks believable.

“Well, Ren wouldn’t have a leg to stand on in that argument because she died taking risks just like this. And no, I’m not here to get you out. If the queen is working on that plan, she hasn’t included me in it. All I know is that I was contacted days ago and informed that you’d most likely been taken by The Horde. They asked me to see what information I could find on where they might be keeping you and what’s going on.

“When the royal summons for a stylist came through, I figured that was our in. Azo was supposed to pitch to whoever called the meeting, wait to be dismissed, and then poke around the keep to see what he could find out. We didn’t expect that the summons would be for you or that they’d take Azo right to you. What happened? How are you here? Are you okay?”

She shakes her head as she grabs several items from a rack and starts showing them to me.

“Ignore that last question, of course you’re not okay.”

I snort and reach out to run my fingers over the fabric she’s displaying, pretending to be impressed by it. I sneak a peek over at the drakes, but none of them look even slightly concerned or suspicious of anything that’s happening. In fact, they look bored as fuck, which I take as a good sign.

“Four months ago, Ren and I were taken by blood brokers…”

“Those same ones you kept running into on missions?” she asks, clearly having talked to Ren about it at some point.

“The very ones,” I confirm. “I got out, but I didn’t get far before the dragons caught up with me. I’m so sorry, Nixy, but Ren—”

Fenox raises a hand, cutting me off. She masks the motion by reaching for some kind of vest and holds it up for me.

“Don’t go there, Your Highness. The queen told me what she knew, and while it wasn’t much, I don’t need to know any more than that. Not today. My sister died protecting someone she loved. It’s how she always expected to go, and she’d have no regrets. Not one. That’s more than any of us can hope for, so whatever it is you’re sorry for, don’t be.” Her tone is sharp, her cadence determined, yet her face is serene and warm, giving nothing away.

I nod once, but the rushing rapids of grief come for me despite her understanding, or maybe because of it.

“Ren loved you fiercely,” I tell her, knowing it’s dangerous to tug on this thread, but it needs to be said. If I can’t explain anything else, I need to at least assure her of that.

“Stop,” Fenox both commands and pleads. “If you start, I’ll start, and they’ll know we’re not talking about underwear and plaster suits.”

She turns toward the displays, taking a moment to blink her welling eyes free of any moisture. I nod again and force my way through the dangerous current coursing through me, intent on keeping my mask in place from here on out.

No more slipups.

“I assume you’re now my point of contact,” I observe, hating that Nixy is getting even more wrapped up in this mess than she already is. Not that there’s any way around it. From the looks of things, she’s in deep with The Horde. I’m both grateful and concerned, with a little guilt stirred into the mix, because it feels good to know I’m not completely alone in this like I thought I was.

Fenox nods and gestures to several dresses. “Yes. That direct assignment hasn’t come through, but I’m sure it will as soon as I pass along what happened today. Designing your wardrobe and dressing you is the perfect cover. I admit, I always hoped I’d be able to help. I never expected it to be like this though.”

A small laugh slips out as I wander over to a stack of pants and start looking through them. “Clothing companies have been saying for ages that fashion is life or death; who knew they had it right?” I joke, and Nixy giggles, the sound loosening the tension weighing on both of us.

“How can I help?” Nixy asks, and I don’t even know where to start.

“What do you know about what Ren and I were doing with our Flight, about our missions?” I ask, unsure if it’s wise to bring her in, not when the Syphons are already dealing with betrayal issues within our own ranks. Enslee obviously trusts Nixy, Ren did too, but I won’t pull her in any deeper if she doesn’t already know what we’re doing.

“You’re hunting down the sorcai that cursed you. Well, their bloodline at least. Blood Crafters, right? Isn’t that what they’re called?”

I nod and blow out a breath. “Do you know much about the sorcai covens here? I’m looking specifically for Relacours, but I don’t want to just go throwing their name around,” I explain, and Nixy looks thoughtful.

“I could keep my ear out, but wyverns and sorcai aren’t exactly on the best of terms. If I start asking around, it doesn’t matter how discreet I am, someone is going to notice. The Magic Licensing Bureau would probably be your best bet, if you’re looking for records, but I don’t think that’s the kind of place you can hack or even break into.”

I sigh. “I know, we’ve tried to hack it multiple times and haven’t had any luck,” I admit. I huff out a laugh. “Maybe I could request a tour for my mating present.”

Fenox makes a choking sound. “Mating present?” she croaks, clearing her airway of shock.

“Azo didn’t tell you?” I tease flatly. “I’m being held in Aeson Noctis’s mating suite. Initially, I thought it was just a coincidence—I got a little Source buzzed and mouthy, and they needed somewhere secure to interrogate me—but now I’m not so sure. The fact that they’re playing dress-up with me and practically soft launching my existence has me wondering if all of this is some kind of strategic posturing.”

Fenox considers what I’m saying as she pulls a measuring meter from her pocket and instructs me to spread my arms. She starts sizing me up and zipping the meter across my body. I take that opportunity to check on the drakes again. They look just as disinterested as they did before.

“If they’re maneuvering you for that, it would make sense that they’d attach you to Aeson and not Lorn. Lorn’s not officially spoken for, but there’s been an understanding between the king and Duke Warrik, Jesamyn Warrik’s father, for quite some time. Not to mention they wouldn’t want to give you access to the throne. They’ll give you a notable position where they could use you—or rather your name—when it suits them, but not place you in a legitimate position of power.”

Nixy squats down and starts measuring my legs and inseam.

“Isn’t it a little soon to be maneuvering me anywhere?” I challenge.

She smiles up at me. “They move fast, Your Highness. Even if they doubt you or your story, I guarantee they’ve already met with the king and his advisors and plotted a way to use this development to their advantage. This is what they do. They’re probably ten steps ahead of you already.”

“Only ten?” I quip, but it falls flat.

“With all due respect, this isn’t The Scorch. This is Four Tiers , and you need to catch up. If they think Aeson Noctis is the key to keeping you in line, you’re in bigger trouble than you even realize. That drake is as cunning as he is vicious. If they’ve already got you nesting in his rookery, he’ll have your wings clipped and your belly full of Noctis spawn before you know what’s happening. They’re trapping you, Your Highness, not playing nice, no matter what they say or how it looks.”

Moths flutter through my veins, and the truth of her words clocks me right in the kisser.

“Shit,” I grumble, knowing she’s right.

I spent the last few days resting and recovering. It was nice not to be interrupted by anything except food. It felt considerate and respectful. I’m realizing now, however, that’s not what it was at all. Of course The Horde didn’t care that I was sleeping the days away; it gave them the perfect opportunity to outfox me.

I should have seen that coming, but the Noctis brothers didn’t behave like I expected. To say that it threw me off is an understatement, which I’m sure was by design. Fenox is right, I need to wake the fuck up, because the last thing I need is some controlling dragon thinking he owns me.

“Technically he can’t clip wings I don’t have,” I point out. “Or fill my belly with Noctis spawn.”

“Unless they know how to reverse the curse,” Nixy counters.

“That is what I’m here to find out. I just don’t know where to start looking.”

“Start with Aeson Noctis,” Nixy proffers with a wag of her eyebrows and a wide grin. “If he wants to use you, use him right back. Males spill their souls when they’re spilling their seed. Pretend like you’re falling for the trap. Flirt with him, fuck him even, and then pump him for information.”

I laugh at the suggestion, but she does make a good point. As much as I’d like to never see another Noctis again, it’s not like bedding one would be some insurmountable hardship. Especially if it was the commander.

Interest and curiosity diffuse through me, but I snub the sensations and focus on the plan that’s starting to coalesce with Nixy’s words.

“I don’t have to stop with Aeson either,” I muse out loud.

“Meaning what?” she asks, handing me two different tops from a rack.

“Just that Lorn could be valuable too. Aside from hunting the sorcai that cursed us, I also need to draw out the dragons that turned on my father. Orbiting both the scions is a good way to do that.”

Nixy’s smile grows salacious, but she shakes her head. “Dragons don’t share, you know that. They’ll rip you in two just for suggesting it.”

I nod my head in agreement and study the flowy shirts she handed me. “I’m not actually trying to bag both, I’m just talking about leaving my options open until I know which one is more useful.”

“That’s a dangerous game, Your Highness, not to mention almost impossible to pull off. Their Wings talk; it won’t take long for them to catch on,” Nixy objects.

“Everything about this is dangerous,” I remind her. “If I’m smart about it and careful, I could figure it out.”

She shakes her head, not satisfied with that argument.

“If you’ve got a better plan, I’m all ears,” I challenge, handing the tops back to Nixy, or maybe they’re skirts, I can’t really tell.

She looks down at them thoughtfully and then sighs. “No, but just remember you’re dealing with dragons here. It doesn’t take much for them to get possessive. You need to tread carefully.”

She hangs the two items up and moves down to another clothing stand.

“How can I be a dragon and need a crash course in dragons? You don’t have a manual lying around or anything, do you?” I ask, and Nixy laughs.

“I can give you a rundown of all the court gossip and who’s wearing what for the upcoming Liberation Day celebrations, but my inside knowledge stops there.”

“Fuck the fae, I forgot about the Blood Rite,” I groan.

The ceremony doesn’t mean much to the survivors in The Scorch. For us, it does nothing more than mark the passage of time. No one knows we exist, and therefore we get to skip the required annual trek to Paragon City where the leaders of the Arcane and humans alike swear fealty to King Noctis and The Dragon Horde.

But in just over seven weeks, every Arcane Head of State, Alpha, Coven Leader, Chief, Premier, and their entourages will be arriving for the Blood Rite. Not to mention all of The Horde nobles. The blood magic involved is sacred and important, but the two-week long celebration is a whole lot of pomp and circumstance that mostly serves as a good excuse to drink too much, party too hard, and fuck as many Arcs as your orifices can handle.

I knew it was coming, but I didn’t even think about how I’d be in the thick of things or how that would impact my plans. Then again, it might create the perfect amount of chaos I need to really search and spy.

I look around at the drakes and then back to the clothes Fenox and I are standing next to. “Alright, Nixy, tell me all the drama while transforming my caterpillar ass into a butterfly.”

Fenox chuckles, and with a nod and a determined furrow in her brow, she starts pulling things from the racks and shelves.

“If said transformation into a butterfly could include hidden armor, plenty of places for weapons, and the ability to move without feeling like my outfit is trying to kill me, that would be great,” I add, trying not to wince at some of the items she adds to the growing pile in her arms.

“Ah,” Nixy exclaims. “One of those armor-winged, weapon-toting, camouflaging species of butterflies. Got it.”

I smile. “Exactly. I think they’re from the genus Fuck Around and Find Out.”

A snort sneaks out of Fenox, and she shakes her head. Her blue-hazel eyes glitter with mirth, and I find myself feeling a flicker of hope.

“Let’s get you out of that horrid dress then and see if we can give you wings,” Nixy teases as she looks me up and down, one eyebrow raised in obvious judgment. “May the Source bless us with a miracle. You’re going to need one to survive the Noctis brothers.”

I laugh and offer her a Cheshire grin. “Wrong, they’re going to need one to survive me.”