Page 29 of The Crimson Throne (Spy and Guardian #1)

Alyth

The Green Lady looks down at us, an eyebrow arched.

“That’s…” Whatever Samson means to say, his words die on his lips. His eyes are wide as the moon, color draining from his pale cheeks.

“Lady Alyth,” the glaistig says, dipping her head in respect. Then the Green Lady’s gaze slides to Samson. She narrows her eyes. “What manner of half breed is this?”

I bite back the sting of those words. The Green Lady respects my father and my position, but I can never let myself forget that to many fae, I will always be lesser.

“I, er,” Samson says.

“So eloquent,” I say coolly, not letting my endearment for him show in front of the glaistig, who would mark it as a weakness.

“Green. Person?” Samson’s eyes shoot to the Green Lady’s goatlike legs. To all the humans celebrating tonight, she looks like another costumed player. But Samson can see her for what she truly is now that he no longer wears the necklace.

I explain quickly and then add, “The Green Lady is a glaistig. Behave.”

Samson swallows. Hard. He may not entirely understand what a glaistig is, but he can tell from my tone that this is serious.

“We aren’t sure what his heritage is,” I tell the Green Lady.

I feel a pang of sympathy for him. I may not have had my father around to instruct me, but I’ve been surrounded by other Leths who’ve helped guide me, a human grandmother who knew and respected the legends, books and resources, and even some kind fae.

It must be disorienting for him, despite his constant show of confidence.

But there are more important matters at hand. I keep my attention pinned on the glaistig. She would never have interrupted me unless it was important. “Was there something else?”

The Green Lady nods once, solemn. “The one you watch for.”

I asked her to tell me when the king consort arrived.

She points to the south end of the hall, but she makes no move to get out of our way. She keeps her gaze on Samson. “I have never seen a kind like him before.”

“That’s me, all special and unique.” Samson tries to make a jest of it, which is incredibly imbecilic. If the Green Lady thinks he’s mocking her…

Her jaw tightens.

I grip Samson’s arm, digging my fingers into his elbow in a way I know hurts. Let him focus on that pain rather than experience worse.

The Green Lady doesn’t even glance at me. “He has more power than he displays.”

I whip my head to Samson, whose eyes somehow go even wider. “I don’t have any power!” he protests, which is patently false. But perhaps he just doesn’t know what type of power he has or how to tap into it.

He’s not an idiot; he’s just ignorant, I remind myself, which is really me saying he’s not lying to me.

What would my life have been like if my father had never told me of the power I had or how to use it?

The arsehole who sired me didn’t do much, but at least he let me know who and what I am.

Perhaps one of Samson’s parents is not truly his biological parent; that lie would have repercussions for Samson to deal with now.

I dip my head low to the Green Lady, who returns the polite gesture before melting back into the crowd.

“Come on,” I tell Samson, dragging him toward the corner where the glaistig said Darnley was.

“We need to see what the king consort is about. Or would you rather argue with a being who would gleefully water the trees in her forest with your blood?”

“What, literally?” Samson asks, craning his neck around.

“Yes.” I can always tell when someone didn’t take their fairy tales seriously. The legends are not bedtime stories; they are warnings.

“That just doesn’t seem good for the trees, all I’m saying,” Samson says conversationally. “Water is definitely better than blood for growing things.”

“I thought you lived in the city. Do a lot of gardening there?” I snap. “Besides, I assure you that the Green Lady doesn’t care.”

“Just pointing out facts. You do like threatening bodily harm,” Samson says. He smiles down at me as if he doesn’t believe my threats. I think it’s easier for him to bluster now that the Green Lady isn’t towering over him.

I don’t like that.

I don’t like that he thinks she’s scarier than me.

But I do like the easy way we talk, the teasing, the sparkle in his eyes.

His gaze drifts to my lips, his smile softens, and my heart stutters. I turn, striding away and ignoring the deep chuckle that follows at my heels.

“Stay back.” I toss the command over my shoulder, and Samson’s wise enough to at least listen.

If Darnley thinks Samson’s on my side, Samson will be useless as my spy.

He drops away from me without a word, finding a spot in the corner where he can see most of the hall while still far enough away that no one could guess his meandering eyes linger on me.

It doesn’t take long to find the king consort.

He’s drunk, as usual, and loud, as usual, and being a complete and utter arse, as usual.

He’s off in a corner behind the wooden mock castle with some of his cronies, several bottles of wine at various stages of being empty nearby. Somehow, the man is still upright.

He’s remarkably not drawing too much attention to himself. Had I not told the Green Lady to tell me of his arrival and to watch him carefully, I doubt she would have even noticed him.

Darnley’s red-rimmed eyes narrow as I approach.

“Oh, here she is, the queen’s lapdog!” Darnley bellows, sweeping his arm toward me. “Come to yap at me?”

I throw up a glamour so that the people around us will suddenly remember they want to go elsewhere in the hall. Human eyes glide off us; human ears hear nothing but loud music and indistinguishable chatter. Darnley’s “friends” are lost in their bottles.

Darnley may not be as drunk as he looks. He narrows his gaze at me, jaw tight. A part of me is relieved that Samson at least can see me and knows where I am, who I’m with.

“What are you smiling about?” Darnley growls.

I hadn’t even realized I was, but now my lips stretch wider, my teeth sharp. A plan forms in my mind—and it all hinges on him losing his temper. Fortunately, it’s easy to poke a bear.

I grin wickedly, all my teeth showing, no light in my eyes. “It must eat you up inside.”

“What?” he snarls.

“You’re not King of Scotland, not really. Just the consort. And you know Mary will never give you the Crown Matrimonial and elevate you to her rank.”

“She will, and—” he starts to protest, but I cut him off.

“And you’re not a powerful Leth either, so you’re forced to obey me.

A woman. Who has more power in her little finger that you have in all your pathetic body.

” I cluck my tongue at him. “You can’t stand that, can you?

The two most powerful people in this country are women who hate you.

And there’s nothing you can ever do to even come close to our level.

You’ll never have her crown. You’ll never have my magic.

” I huff a humorless laugh at his impotent rage.

Darnley lunges toward me, but with a wave of my hand, I create a barrier he cannot cross.

His body bounces off it, and he lands on his arse, legs splayed.

One of his friends looks up, blearily chuckling at what he thinks is Darnley’s drunken stumble.

The mock castle hides most of what we’re doing from anyone who brushes too closely against my distracting glamour.

I look down my nose at Darnley.

“You think you’re better than me?” he growls.

I know I am.

“You called me a dog,” I say idly. “Yet you’re the one on the floor.”

“You’re not a dog, you’re a bi—” he starts, but with another wave of my hand, his lips snap shut.

There are limits to my magic. Leths cannot change the substance of the world, only the appearance. But just as I have persuaded the humans nearby to wander elsewhere and ignore us, I can cast a strong enough glamour on Darnley to make him think he has to shut his mouth.

I bend at the waist, a tendril of hair falling over my shoulder as I glare at him. “You should go to bed now, dog,” I say sweetly.

His mouth works, but he cannot convince his lips to part. If he were a stronger Leth, this would be nothing.

But he’s not.

And that is what enrages him.

He scrambles up, but before he can do anything, I add, “I know that you’re working with the Red Caps.”

He blows air through his nose, and somehow, the sound is sardonic.

“You have no power of your own, so you’re resorting to using Red Cap weapons,” I continue.

“It’s a smart plan, so it probably came from your mother, not you.

Honestly, how pathetic. You really would be nowhere at all if you didn’t have women better than you in your life.

Let her know for me, would you? I do think Lady Lennox is clever.

Smuggling in Red Cap weapons, knowing the wall keeps out fae creatures, not their devices… ”

I wave my hand, casting aside the silencing spell. Darnley keeps his lips pressed close.

“I just wanted you to know you’ll fail,” I say.

And he…

Smiles.

He does not say a word.

He just smiles at me before he turns and walks away.

And that? That makes ice run down my spine.

As soon as he’s out of sight, I lower the bubble of magic and scan the crowd. Samson has done a decent job of lingering by the wall, as if he doesn’t care about me, although our eyes meet with an electric shock. His aura is laced with forest-green concern…

For me.

I hold my palm to my lips and whisper, “Follow him and make sure he goes to his rooms without causing any trouble.” Magic swirls in my palm, the words trapped in a bubble. I lift my hand and blow gently.

To anyone else, it may look as if I were blowing a kiss. But any Leth—and clearly Samson—can see the magic bubble floating. It pops near him, my words audible only to his ears. His eyes widen in utter shock at the magic I sent his way, but then he listens, growing serious.

He nods.

I’m still not sure if I can trust him, but this is simple. And a good test.

Besides, I’ve riled Darnley up well enough now that he’s surely primed for Samson. Darnley is both proud and stupid, a fantastic combination for someone clever like Samson to coerce information out of his slack-jawed mouth.

Samson turns and leaves the party, following the path Darnley took.

I cross the hall to where the fires burn in the hearth. It’s crowded enough that the hall is warm, and near the fires, it’s almost oppressively hot.

But fire doesn’t bother a brownie.

It’s not Kitty I see lurking in the chimney but one of her friends, one who doesn’t really like to talk.

Respecting his wishes, I lean close as if warming my hands and say, “I’ll put out a whole pitcher of cream tonight if you and yours watch both the red-haired Englishman and the king consort and tell me what they do. ”

A spark pops in the flames. Message received.

Now to go get some cream.