Page 50 of The Crimson Throne (Spy and Guardian #1)

Alyth

I see the auras before I see the soldiers. I was too worried about Samson to really note the way my simple privacy bubble has been far too efficient nor how the few people remaining in the courtyard all have the same crimson-streaked auras.

The same magic.

When I raced through the entry of the stone wall and erected a barrier to keep other people out, I saw the men and women dousing flames and searching in the rubble and thought they were looking for survivors, attempting to help.

But now I know they are all a part of Cecil’s cadre, and they had only been ensuring that Cecil’s orders were carried out.

They line up behind him, about a dozen or so, fanning out so that I am essentially cornered. They must have copies of the amulet Samson had to get across the border. Some are stronger than others—most are Leths, descendants of Red Caps, but Cecil at least seems to be a full-blooded fae.

But he’s not the High Blade.

Samson stiffens beside me as he watches the Red Caps encircle us.

I reach for his hand.

He steps away from me, his own hands in fists at his sides.

My eyes drift to Darnley’s body, the way his head is twisted unnaturally on his neck, the way his eyes stare at me, empty.

“I will not kill the barrier guardian,” Samson says, his voice loud and clear, and the sting of the way he wouldn’t hold my hand evaporates.

Cecil’s eyes narrow. The Red Caps surrounding us grin, excited. Now that I look properly, I can see their eyes are hungry. Starving.

Samson raises his hand to call for a stop and takes another step away from me, toward his father.

“She is useful to our cause,” he says. “I’m angry obviously that I had to find out all this information for myself.

Had you trusted me,” he snarls, “you would have learned that I am quite good at deception. It took me only a few days and some flattering words to get Lady Alyth to tell me more about the fae than you ever did.”

Each word falls upon me like a blow.

I’m grateful for the years I’ve spent at Queen Mary’s court, the way it’s made it easy for me to mask my emotions. My face is hard and blank, despite the bile rising in my throat.

“Had you told me what I could do, what this bloodlust felt like, I would have joined you much sooner,” Samson continues.

His father is not as adept at hiding his emotions as I am. The old man’s eyes are a mixture of wariness and surprise.

“You think I liked being a guttersnipe in Southwark? Imagine what I could have done, a city full of people like London…all those humans I could have taken care of.”

My face remains a mask.

But before, I hid my shock and disappointment.

Now I’m hiding my hope.

I see the play he’s making. Convince the Red Caps to let me live so perhaps we can find a way to escape together later.

I train my stony gaze on Cecil.

It’s working, I think, slipping a different mask over my features, one of falsely suppressed rage, shock, and betrayal, all for Cecil’s benefit. I note the grim satisfaction that flickers through his aura.

“She’s the most powerful Leth in Scotland,” Samson continues. “I have witnessed firsthand how she pulls the strings of all the other Leth.”

Cecil meets my eyes. “All the more reason to kill the bitch.”

I let a flicker of fear pass over my features, and it disturbs me how close to the truth that emotion is.

Cecil is so devoid of any compassion or mercy, insatiable bloodlust leaking through his aura, barely suppressed.

This is worse than staring down a wolf; those enormous beasts kill for survival and food, and they act on primal instinct.

Cecil’s desire to not just kill but also hurt me is so visceral, I don’t need my power to see it, and the spark of interest in his eyes tells me that he will take profound pleasure in my carefully calculated demise.

Samson shakes his head, all easy confidence in his father’s view. “I thought you were better at strategy than that.”

Cecil’s attention yanks back to his son.

“Waste your time hunting down every single individual Leth if you like.” Samson shrugs. “Or use her to call them together in one spot, slaughter them all, and then open a portal to the fae realm.”

My mind screams in panic, but I keep my body still, my face blank.

Cecil’s not taking the bait.

Samson laughs, no humor to the sound at all. “Do you have any more of those weapons Darnley kept bragging about? Use one on her.” He jerks a thumb back toward me. “Make her kill her father with her own hands. I’ve seen how much she loves him. Adores him. Nothing will hurt her more.”

A lie, but not one Cecil can identify. And the cruelty of that suggestion…

That’s what tips him over.

“Bind her,” Cecil orders, and two of the Red Caps peel off toward me.

Desperately, I throw a bubble of protection up, but one draws a black dagger from her belt.

She slashes the air, and although she is several yards away from me, I feel magic slice through my barrier as easily as a hot knife through butter, the force of the blow so strong and toxic that it sends me to my knees.

Before I can get up, much less raise my own defenses again, I feel a binding spell making my body grow tight.

The more I struggle against the invisible constraints, the more it feels as if the air is ripping from my lungs.

Panic swells inside me, and black dots dance in front of my eyes.

Samson doesn’t break his cover. He turns and watches as the magic constraints squeeze me into submission, no emotion on his face.

But when he purses his lips, I catch the soft strain of a redwing’s short whistle.

Trust me , he’s saying. I have a plan.

In this moment, we are loyal only to each other. I can see it in the purple weaving through his aura, and I’m grateful that Red Caps don’t share that magical ability. No one else knows Samson is on my side.

“Get her on a horse,” Cecil orders.

I’m yanked from behind and tossed onto a saddle, my stomach on the seat, as if I were a sack of flour. I’m too paralyzed by magic to move more than my head as the other Red Caps—and Samson—mount up.

“My son is proving himself valuable tonight,” Cecil announces, and there’s clear pride in his voice. “We’ll give the Leth princess to the High Blade.”

There’s nothing more I can do but hope my blood isn’t the first spilled as the High Blade brings war to both Scotland and the fae.

A gentle icy breeze kisses my cheek. I don’t know if that came from Beira or not, but it gives me a little strength.

My eyes meet Samson’s.

Despite everything, I am left with one thought:

I am not alone.