The male smiled savagely, and my skin crawled. “For nearly two centuries now—though I’m the youngest and most promising.”
Mila asked, “What secured you such a coveted spot?”
“My tracking abilities and methods for extraction of pertinent information are creative, and my queen adores creativity.”
My skin chilled. As their conversation continued, Brystin answered each question with a slight twist of his words I was certain Malakai noticed.
I fell back a few steps, taking up Mora’s side.
“Who is he?” I asked.
“One of the queen’s most prominent guards.” I thought a bit of disdain hid in her tone.
“Why would she send him to escort us, then?”
“Do you not send your most trusted advisors on the most precious of missions?”
As we wound through gilded hallways, bloodied fae art adorning the walls, my mind flashed to Cypherion, my Second, on an excursion I trusted only him to carry out.
But we were in the queen’s palace—or at least, a temporary one somehow erected here. Could she not simply send any lowly soldier to escort us? Why one of her personal guards?
Mora’s expression remained impassive. Much more guarded than when I’d first met her.
I dropped my voice so even Brystin wouldn’t hear. “Why did you hide in the inn?”
Mora tilted her head, smiling endearingly. “I was not supposed to be trailing my brother. I certainly wasn’t going to reveal myself to him. That was a surprise.”
“You’re welcome for keeping you on your toes,” I said. “Was the story you told me true?” At Wayward, Mora had been pretending to be a battered wife, and I’d wanted so badly to help her.
“It was,” she whispered, keeping that small smile up. “A very long time ago.”
There was a story beneath her words, one laced with pain and the strength of a survivor. And something entwined within it tugged on my instinct to trust her, despite the fact that she was our treaty-born enemy.
“You’ve done well since then?”
“Very well,” she said, chin lifting. “Better than his rotting self.”
And I got the sense she meantrottingliterally. “Good,” I said.
Mora nodded in agreement and strolled ahead quietly, shrewd stare on Brystin.
I slowed my stride, falling back to the middle of our group between Rina and Tolek, away from prying fae ears. “Are you all right?” I asked Santorina.
“Fine.” But her voice was much too high to be honest.
“Santorina…” I whispered.
“I’m focusing on my task with the humans and studying my healing practice,” she said stiffly. “I’m proud to be able to represent the strength of a human force against the fae.”
“Rina,” I said even quieter, and she deflated a bit, “you can talk to us.”
“It’s—” Santorina’s hands curled in the fabric of her deep purple gown—the shade was so dark it was nearly black. The shining onyx trim framing the bodice and weaving throughout the skirts shimmered as we passed under another wide candle-lit chandelier. “It’s not the queen I’m worried about. She’s tied to the treaty with the warriors through some sort of magic. Her court may not be, but it’s a small comfort knowing the queen cannot harm me upon meeting her.”
“What is it, then?” Tolek asked.
But when Rina’s lips pressed into a line, I answered for her, “Lancaster.”
Santorina nearly growled at the fae’s name, the guards sparing us a glance at the inhuman sound. “You mean that cursed faerie who tried to kill me and then had the nerve to make bargains with both of you?”
