A Queen of Thieves & Chaos (Fate & Flame, #3)

She just tried to kill me—her daughter as far as she knows!—and she’ll try again once this shock subsides.

Any reservations I might have felt about murder vanish. “Yes. It’s quite the upgrade. You can thank Malachi for that.” I slip the black dagger from its sheath. “But you should be more worried about my blade.” I launch it at her like Jarek taught me and it lands true, sinking deep into her trachea.

She wheezes as she stumbles toward the elemental. Fitting, I should think.

“Kill … her …” she manages to croak.

But the elemental doesn’t move, and neither do the Shadows behind her.

Neilina falls to her knees, clawing at the elemental’s skirt.

The petite female looks from her queen to me, eyes wide with fright—afraid to save Neilina, afraid to let her die.

I won’t leave the weight of that decision on anyone else. I gather a thread of Vin’nyla and launch it at my dear mother, sending her glittering form over the bridge’s edge.

The Ybarisan queen falls without making a sound.

And I’m left to face off against Mordain, who has killed every key caster born in the past two thousand years. I swap one affinity for four and brace myself, waiting to see how this will play out.

The elemental is the first to drop to her knees. “My queen.”

The masked soldiers behind follow, taking a knee, their hilts pressed against their chests. Echoes of the same words reach my ears.

Behind them, Zander and the legionaries stand, swords at their sides, their attention shifting between the casters in front of them and the giant dragon behind me.

I allow myself a deep breath of relief as Zander and I nod at each other. It’s over. At least this part is. I fight the urge to rush for his arms.

As one, the Shadows rise and split into two groups, turning on their heels to form a path. One steps out of formation and approaches me. Zander makes to follow, but a swath of swords instantly appears, blocking his path.

“Allow him through,” I order. “Allow them all through.”

The swords drop instantly, and Zander rides along the makeshift aisle warily. The legionaries trail.

“Your Highness.” The Shadow dips her head. “I am Solange, Second in Mordain’s Guild of Casters and Master of the Shadows.” Her voice is husky. “We are yours to order.”

I study her, though it’s difficult with only her eyes visible. Did Princess Romeria not know this caster and that is why she introduces herself? Or does Solange know that I am not really Princess Romeria? I have no idea who knows what within Mordain. Gesine would have known. She could have helped me navigate this.

Zander dismounts and passes Solange without a glance. Where I hesitated, he doesn’t, his lips finding me in a deep kiss, the kind usually saved for private moments. It distracts me from all other thoughts. “I knew you’d find a way,” he whispers when he finally breaks free. His eyes sparkle as they take in my face, my dress, my wings, before shifting his focus on Caindra, a hint of amusement woven into his awe. “You learned how to fly.”

“More like cling for dear life.”

He smooths his palm over his nape. “How did you manage this?”

“It’s a long story.” That I can’t explain if I tried. Maybe Lucretia will be able to.

Hooves pound in the distance, drawing everyone’s attention to Jarek as he races up the bridge from Islor’s side. Even from this distance, I can make out the hard set of his jaw.

“He looks angry,” Abarrane notes with a smirk.

“Yeah. Caindra’s not a fan of his.”

Zander chuckles, but his mirth slips away. “What I heard you say about Gesine, was it true?”

I nod, swallowing the lump that instantly forms in my throat. I’ll explain it when we’re alone and I’m not worried about crying in front of people.

Zander, sensing my anguish, wraps his arms around me, offering me a few moments of comfort as Jarek closes in.

My commander dismounts his horse to find my side.

I peel away from Zander’s embrace. That will have to wait for later too. “I warned you not to call her a beast, didn’t I?”

The legionary’s steel-gray gaze narrows on the lingering dragon. He wears nasty, dirt-filled scrapes across his cheeks and neck from the tumble. His leathers protected him from worse. “What now?”

Good question. I didn’t get past the part in the cobbled, spontaneous plan where I kill Neilina and assume her throne. But, honestly, now what? The sun has shifted in the sky, heading toward late afternoon. Hudem’s moon is already brighter than when we arrived.

We are running out of time.

“Ybaris and Islor will not go to war against each other,” I announce.

Several of the Shadows’ shoulders slump. With relief or disappointment, I can’t tell. “Unfortunately, there will still be a war, against the Nulling.” I watch Solange as I deliver this news, wishing I could see her face to read it. But I see enough. “You knew this already.”

She dips her head once. “I think there is someone you ought to meet, Your Highness.”



Gasps sound as I ride through the Ybarisan camp on a borrowed horse, Jarek on one side, Zander on the other, the Shadows a blockade surrounding us. I don’t know whether people’s shock is that Princess Romeria is alive, that Queen Neilina is noticeably absent, or that Malachi’s demons are on Ybarisan soil.

Or maybe it’s the giant dragon perched on the top of the wall, her talons sending chunks of stone tumbling.

There are people wherever I look—many of them common folk, some children.

A regal-looking soldier with a gold breastplate rides forward, his lengthy golden blond hair swept back off his face. “Where is Queen Neilina?” he demands to know, sneering with hatred at Zander.

“Dead,” Solange answers, with a note of pleasure in her tone. “Caedmon Tiberius, bow before your new queen.”

This is the commander in league with Neilina? This is Princess Romeria’s real father?

His jaw clenches. “Your Highness.” His bow is delayed. The soldiers behind him follow immediately.

Do they know how deeply in bed he was with Neilina, both literally and figuratively?

What I know is that there is no way I can let him continue leading Ybaris’s army. My army now. “Tell me, was it you or my mother who drove the blade into King Barris’s chest?” I say it loudly, so all around us can hear. I watch his face as it morphs in stages—from shock to anger to grim determination.

He doesn’t deny it, though.

I see the moment he makes his decision. He knows his days as commander are finished.

“Don’t do it,” I warn a second before he draws his sword.

Solange moves faster than any of the legionaries, driving a blade through his throat. He collapses with a gurgling sound.

Jarek inhales sharply. A tell that he’s impressed.

Zander leans in to whisper, “You need to name a new commander for the Ybarisan army immediately. This cannot wait.”

I nod, thankful to have him by my side. In this instance, the decision is easy. I know the perfect, trustworthy soldier. “Send two legionaries to get Kienen.”

Abarrane nods at Iago and Drakon, giving the order.

“Good choice,” he whispers.