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

She shakes her head. “I was obviously seeing things. In a haze, I guess. I’m sorry. Do you still need to … I mean, do you need more?”

I graze her cheek with the back of my knuckles. She’s so soft, so delicate. I can’t get enough of touching her. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am sure.” Sure that I don’t regret killing Danthrin. Sure that I want to slaughter every male who’s ever harmed her and would be riding to Freywich tomorrow to do so, had Zander not beat me to it.

A tiny line of blood trails down her neck from a puncture wound. I lean in to catch it with my tongue, lapping at her skin before kissing the tiny marks. I was extra careful. They should be gone by tomorrow.

Her body shudders.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” I whisper against her ear.

She turns in, nuzzling her nose against my jaw. “It wasn’t bad at all.” She smiles sheepishly, tugging her collar up.

“Allow me.” I fasten each button, wishing I was working in reverse instead, and pulling every last bit of clothing off her body so I could lay her down and take everything I want from her. But it’s cold out here, and she will need to get back to her infant.

Her fingers test the fabric of the cloak. “This is very fine. I’ve never felt anything like it before.”

“It’s yours now.” As is anything else she might want. I’ll have to look for better quarters for her and her family as soon as we’ve gotten a handle on the poison within Cirilea and the risk to her is diminished.

Will there even be a need to, though? What if what Romeria said is true, and Hudem brings the end of the blood curse? The entire tributary system will come crashing down in days, and then what will Gracen be, besides the castle baker and a mortal I can’t shake from my thoughts?

I think I will still want her.

“I … thank you, Atticus.”

“Come. I’ll walk you back.” I help her down off the altar and lead her through the quiet, empty gardens, reveling in the feel of her clinging to my forearms and the quiet contentment that seems to surround us. With Gracen, there is no scheming, there are no lies. It is a relief.

The clock tower gongs the midnight hour as I spot the first of many guards.

And I know I am not ready to say good night. “Come to my chamber after you’ve fed your baby.” I didn’t mean for it to sound like a command, so I add softly, “Only if you want to.”

She gazes up at me, and I sense her mortal heart begin to pound with excitement. “I want to.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX




AGATHA


It is midnight by the time our ship eases into Argon’s port, the docks lit by countless lanterns. Only the outline of the grand castle shows. “Wait until you see it in the daylight, girls. The jewels will wink at you from a thousand angles.”

Beatrix and Cressida peer out from beneath their deep cowls at their new home, their gazes wide with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.

“We’re not ready, Master Scribe,” Cressida whispers, her hand smoothing over her forearm, where the emblems of Aoife and Aminadav glow—badges she does not deserve, since she has not yet mastered the affinities—after the Prime insisted on sending her off with them.

“It will inspire her,” Lorel had claimed. Fool.

I pat the girl’s shoulder, offering her what I hope is a motherly smile on my wrinkled face. “Do not worry. Your elemental sisters will guide you where your trainers have not had the opportunity. Learn, practice, and—most important—uphold the guild’s laws, and you will do fine.”

Their heads bob in unison.

“Disembark!” the ship’s captain hollers into the night.

As one, the Shadows step forward in strict formation, Solange in the lead. They look fierce within their armor, truly like their namesake. Unseen.

Brigitta’s healers are like startled doe by comparison, huddled as they follow. They are not here to appear fierce and fight, though. They are here to keep those fighting alive.

The hour is late, but Allegra warned me not to dally. “Come, ladies. The queen is anxious to meet her newest elementals.”

And I am anxious to find answers.



The guards draw open the doors to Argon’s throne room without a word to us.

“… And you do not feel you owe this to your murdered king?” Queen Neilina asks, her reedy voice quiet but cutting.

The man kneeling at the dais trembles. “My three sons have marched to the rift. I wanted to but, you see, my wife is very sick, and someone needs to remain behind to care for her and our livestock.”

“And why did you not request the services of a healer?”

“We did, Your Highness, but the healer said the sickness came from the Ill-Gotten River, and it was beyond her skill.”

Mordain has heard rumors of this lately—both mortals and elven alike afflicted by disease from these waters south of the Dead Wood. The mortals perish quickly, but the immortals suffer for years, withering away as their elven body fights whatever plagues it.

“Perhaps it is. But that was not for you to decide.”

The elven male keels over, his hands clawing at his throat.

Beside me, Beatrix gasps.

“Do not make a sound,” I warn in a hiss. The queen will consider it a flaw in her elementals.

We stand quietly and watch as Queen Neilina strips the air from the male’s lungs with her powerful affinity to Vin’nyla. Her connection is said to be unparalleled. A divine blessing. A mortal would last mere seconds, but it seems like forever before he stills, his face turning shades from pink to red to purple, his body convulsing as it struggles.

“And now your wife will suffer alone, anyway,” Queen Neilina purrs to the corpse. “Get him out of here.”

Two guards move in and, collecting a leg each, drag the man out.

Now it’s our turn.

“Come forward.”

I lead the two elementals down the aisle of the stately throne room, brimming with decadence—pristine white marble woven with gold, jeweled mosaic windows depicting three of the fates, Malachi conspicuously absent—and empty of life at this hour.

Queen Neilina’s ice-blue gaze feels heavier now than it did the last time I bowed before her in this very spot, almost fifty years ago. “The years have not been kind to you, Caster Agatha.”