The faint tug in my heart was enough to take a chance.
I began to sing… hush, little baby, don’t you cry…
“Liar!” Amal exploded. The force of her menace fueled her hand, sweeping in a backward arc. I stumbled to the side, avoiding the blow.
“You lie to me, Amal,” I gasped, leaning against the wall and bracing for her next attack. “I lie to you. What did you expect?”
She was after me in an instant, clawing the stone from my hand. I spread my fingers, tried to syphon what I could from the air, the surrounding room, while the queen snarled her threats. “You’ll never leave. He’ll never—”
“It’s your wolf who will never leave. You’ll never find the words, Amal. Never sing the right song. The torture will go on.”
She screamed.
I ignored her. “They sang songs about the queens. The unimaginable courage. They wrote about you in the history books. But you’re a coward. You blame others for your sins. Hide behind grievance rather than face the truth. You go after the alphas. Try to destroy a dread lord—a man descended from the kings, forced to carry the king’s sin. When we are the victims that fate condemned because of what you did.”
“You can’t use magic—you’re not strong enough.”
“Neither are you without my help.”
Her hand moved; the blasting energy sent me crashing back into the stone wall. Agony bloomed in my arm. I cradled my wrist against my stomach as Amal turned toward Grayson.
“Wait…” I panted. “Don’t you see her?”
Amal halted in mid-stride. Her gaze skimmed about the room.
“See what?”
“Your wolf.”
Amal looked desperately for the rune she’d knocked away.
“She’s struggling. So weak.”
I pointed toward the stone that rocked slightly on the floor, my fingers trembling.
The blood queen smoldered with a horrible mix of yearning and despair. The stench thickened the air. And yet she held back, gripped those taloned fingers until her knuckles bled. “What color is she?”
I closed my eyes, let myself fall into the dark void, to the heart where I always found my mate, and slowly, slowly, images floated through the bond. Images Grayson had pulled from Amal’s mind and forced into mine.
“She’s silvery gray,” I murmured. “The fur is darker at the roots, like moonlight. One ear flicks more than the other, and she’s… shaking her head like she ate something sour.”
“Tricks. Illusions,” Amal spat.
“She’s trying to stand, but her legs are too weak. Don’t you see her? All queens have the gift of sight.”
“He’s doing this—I’m going to kill him.”
Amal wrenched the ceremonial knife from the table and charged toward Grayson. I threw myself in her path, but the blade still sliced down my arm, sharp enough to cleave the woolen tunic.
The Green Man’s inked runes churned beneath my skin; the light glowing in the patterns was blinding. The queen screeched and threw an arm across her eyes, hissing in pain. She stumbled backward, knocking over the bowl of coals. They spilled like the fires from the Night of the Beacons, flowing ruby sparks scattered across the stone floor.
I syphoned again, sent a spear of energy toward Amal. Caerwen said it was possible to overload an enemy, like a balloon taking in more air than the skin would hold.
Amal bared her fangs as she rose upward. Her feet no longer touched the floor. The black gown widened into feathered wings, beating through the air—a carrion bird above the dead.
Her lips moved with a bone-crushing chant. The words vibrated from the walls. The music stabbed beneath my skin.
Grayson… Grayson…
