Page 24

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A va realized, quite suddenly, that she had probably—once again—made a mistake.

How in the actual flying fuckballs was she going to hide Serrik’s bracelet?

Sure, it wasn’t huge. But it was definitely there.

And it was a telltale sign that she still had mixed loyalties.

Which, sure, she certainly hadn’t sworn allegiance to Valroy.

But she also was staying in his court, and blasting out signs that she was negotiating with and receiving gifts from Valroy’s half-brother and enemy was probably a really, really bad idea.

Especially seeing as she’d just told Bayodan and Cruinn she wanted to kill the guy.

Which she did want to do. Because it meant she’d be free of his genocidal plot.

But also. It was super complicated.

Should she take it off?

Stuff it in a drawer and hope nobody found it while she was gone?

That seemed like a bad idea. She was certain people went through her things the moment she stepped out of the room.

There was no telling if it would be there when she came back.

She stared down at the piece of jewelry around her wrist. Part of her expected to be unable to take it off at all—so she was relieved to see that the latch did, in fact, work. Not that she took it off, however.

Because when she woke up from her impromptu mid-afternoon nap, her tattoo hadn’t changed. It was the first time she had fallen asleep and woken up without the damn thing having spread farther up the side of her neck or down toward her elbow.

So she’d have to come up with an explanation as to why she’d accepted it.

Hiding it was only going to last so long.

Even seeing as she had picked a flouncy-ass top to wear to the council meeting, it was definitely going to raise suspicions, because Ava was someone who typically wore T-shirts and jeans.

And while she hadn’t been there that long, it was pretty obvious.

The black sleeves stretched past her fingers when she lowered her hands.

And they were oversized, draping when she moved.

The top had a drawstring detail that she figured out was meant to go off-the-shoulder.

Which was fine by her, she supposed. She paired it with a bodice that she found in the dresser.

Just what she always wanted—to look like she was dressing up to go to a gothic Renaissance faire.

At least she could still wear her normal jeans and boots and not look too ridiculous.

Tying up some of her unruly dark curls into a ponytail and letting the rest fall down along her back, she looked at her reflection in the vanity mirror and sighed.

She looked tired.

She was.

But there was something else about her reflection that troubled her. More than the dark green, nearly black tattoos that crawled along her skin.

It was the color of her eyes. They…weren’t what they used to be. They were brighter green. Almost… yellower? Like someone had taken the saturation slider and notched it up a bit. When had that happened ?

More proof of what she was becoming. Not like she needed it.

Glancing down at Book, she poked it. “What do you think I should do? Take lessons from Creepy Uncle Satan Bayodan, Lysander the Horny Tomcat, or wear the bracelet from Serrik the Broody Genocidal Spider?” She paused before adding, “That I, y’know, had sex with.”

Book just sat there. And did nothing.

“Y’know, you’re kind of a shitty sidekick, as they go.”

More nothing.

With a shrug, she went back to the wardrobe by the wall and debated whether or not she should open it for a moment.

“I wonder if there’s something I can use to fashion a carrying case for you.

Or a satchel. Or something. That’s what they’re called in Ye Old-e times, right?

Satchels?” She chewed her lip, her hand on the handle of the wardrobe.

The last time she’d opened one of these things, she’d had a bird jump scare her.

So she winced and jumped back as she threw open the door all at once.

When nothing came flying out at her, she felt kind of like a moron. But, once bitten, twice shy, and all that jazz. Digging around in the closet, she found—weirdly—exactly what she was looking for. To the point that she was suspicious that the damn wardrobe had heard her.

It was an old-fashioned, leather book-carrying strap. Something she could clip Book into and sling over herself like a cross-body messenger bag. “Oh, thank fuck.”

“I guess it’s time to go face the music, huh,” she said to Book as she did put it into the strap holder and put it on. It felt so nice to have both her hands free for a change. “Something tells me tonight is going to be interesting, to say the least.”

Silence.

“Good talk.”

She headed for the door, opened it? —

And promptly jumped nearly a foot in the air.

Standing at the door was a tiny, metallic-haired fae, wringing her hands in front of her.

“Jesus Christ almighty, Bitty—” Ava clutched her chest. “You scared the shit out of me. How long have you been standing there?”

“Um…” Bitty frowned down at her feet. “A—a while, I didn’t—I was trying to figure out what to say…”

Ava’s shoulders slumped. Poor thing. “C’mere.” She stood aside and waved the little Seelie creature inside her room. She knew it didn’t make much difference as to who was listening and who wasn’t. The hallway was probably just as private as her room in practice, but it felt better, all the same.

Bitty stepped inside, still staring down at the floor. “I didn’t mean to—I just didn’t know what to do! Ibin’s such a good friend to me and she said that if I didn’t we’d all die and I don’t want to die and I didn’t want to—” Her voice was getting shakier and shakier.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Ava put her hands on Bitty’s shoulders. “Slow down. Breathe.”

“I’m just so sorry—” Bitty looked up at her, eyes full of tears. Before Ava could respond, the little fae threw herself into Ava’s arms, sobbing.

What the hell was she supposed to do? She couldn’t stay mad at the little thing. Bitty had no magic. She was caught up in all this nonsense the same as Ava was. And Ava understood—Bitty was between a rock and a hard place. Helping Ava could mean helping her species go extinct.

After a pause, she hugged Bitty back. “It’s all right. I get it. You didn’t know what else to do. Just…please don’t lie to me like that again, okay? I don’t think I can take any more half-truths from the people who I want to be my friends.”

Bitty looked up at her, Large, metallic, multi-colored eyes shining with moisture. “We’re—we’re really friends?”

“Yeah, of course we are.” Ava smirked. “I mean, why else— gak!” She choked off as Bitty threw her arms around her neck, jumping off the ground to hug her so tightly she nearly fell over with their combined weight.

When the little fae finally dropped back to her bare feet, she sniffled and wiped her eyes. “I also came to come get you and tell you that there’s something going on, but I don’t know what.”

“No offense, hon, but that’s the story of my life right now.” She opened the door to the room back up and jolted in shock again.

Lysander.

“You all seriously need to cut that shit out.” She glared at him. “I don’t know if I can die from a heart attack anymore, but can you all stop trying to find out?”

He smiled sheepishly. “I simply came to see if you were ready to go and…” His eyes trailed down to her cleavage.

The bodice she was wearing over the flouncy off-the-shoulder number to make up for the lack of a bra pushed her pretty unremarkable assets up and center.

“I approve of the choice of apparel, my lady.”

“I’m sure you do.” She rolled her eyes before walking out into the hallway past him.

Bitty followed close at her heels, hovering close to her elbow.

As if she could protect her, if push should come to shove.

She supposed between the two of them, she did stand the better shot of doing something about matters if there was an issue—which was extremely sad.

Lysander chuckled and fell in step beside her. “You have made it clear that the path ahead before us will likely never lead to our joining. However, that does not mean I cannot appreciate the view or the company.”

“Mmhm.” She smirked. It was still flattering, she supposed.

She did feel rather stupid, still, being flirted with.

Her mood fell as she remembered the thing she had around her wrist. “Let’s get this out of the way now.

” She lifted her wrist to show him the bracelet.

“I had a conversation with Serrik this afternoon.”

“I—” His eyes fell on the gold and emerald jewelry. Immediately, he took her wrist, studying it in closer detail. When he finally continued speaking, his voice held no judgement, no disappointment, none of the anger or anything that she was expecting. Just simple curiosity. “Why do you trust him?”

“I don’t trust him.” She pulled her hand out of his grasp gently and lowered it, hiding it once more under her long sleeve. “Per our conversation with our new friends this afternoon.”

“You do. Do not mistake my meaning. Humans have come to adopt the word ‘trust’ as a shorthand for benevolence. I mean it in the traditional sense. You believe him when he speaks.” Lysander shook his head. “What did he tell you he imbued that charm with, Weaver?”

“He said he was worried about my having to broker deals with you, or Valroy, or Bayodan and Cruinn out of panic. So he gave me the ability to slow the Web’s spread.” She shrugged. “And yeah, I guess insofar as that goes? I do trust his motivations there.”

“See? You trust him. But why?” Lysander furrowed his brow, as if he truly could not process it. And maybe it made no sense. “You trust no one else.”