Her gaze skimmed away as she gave a private little smile, and I wondered how that must feel. To love and be loved. To not be torn apart by your feelings but made whole by them.
I gave a bone-deep sigh. “It’s like my mind isn’t my own, and I don’t want to go away with her while I’m feeling so… unsettled. Logically, I know she’s forgiven me, and now I feel like… like I’ve not just said sorry but shown it. But something inside me…” I pulled on my lower lip as though I could pluck words from this nameless feeling. “At the Solstice, when she and I were about to… it felt like something was wrong. I thought it was my instincts warning me of danger. Then when I thought back on it later, all I could hear was ‘oathbreaker.’”
“I didn’t think you’d be so bothered about her marriage considering what her husband’s like.” Her normally bright expression darkened. “And by that I mean, a total fucking prick.”
“He is. You should meet him, Rose—he really fucking is.” My blood boiled at the fact of his mere existence. “I thought it was just that finding out was a painful shock. I knew so much about the situation, but I hadn’t seen that coming. I’ve had time to get used to the idea now, to understand why she never said. People have shouted that word at me, and it isn’t as bad as I expected. I’m willing, but part of me… isn’t.”
Her lips flattened as she pulled her eyebrows together. “And it goes back to the ‘oathbreaker’ idea?”
“I’m well aware how ridiculous it is. All the things I’ve done and yet this is the line some part of me can’t seem to cross.”
She made a low, thoughtful sound—the cousin of one of Faolán’s hmms. “I don’t think it’s ridiculous at all. In fact, it makes a lot of sense.”
“Then please explain, because I don’t understand.”
“You’ve told me before that you’ve broken laws and… people, right?”
Wincing, I nodded.
“Have you ever broken a contract?”
“No,” I snapped. “Of course not.”
The realisation was like being run over by a whole herd of deer. “Oh. Oh. Fuck.”
Killing. Torturing. Manipulating others. I’d done those things because I had to. The realm was more important than a stain on my soul.
The lives of hundreds of thousands of fae were more important than my father’s.
I’d weighed those things against each other and made my decisions accordingly. One fae was not more important than all fae.
So when they’d called me Serpent, I’d gladly stepped into that role. The snake who had helped create the world, then tried to destroy it. The betrayer.
It had pushed back my father’s death, made it something ordained by fate. It had made me a villain not to be crossed so my queen could be her people’s heroine.
If I had to destroy in order for others to live, so be it.
I wore the name Serpent as a badge of honour. A necessary darkness in the light.
But oathbreaker?
Not that. Never that.
I’d held on to a single ideal, kept every bargain and contract to the letter. I rarely even tried to twist them to my advantage. It was like inside, deep beneath everything else, part of me believed I could be honourable in this one area and that would go some way towards counterbalancing all my wrongs.
Not redemption—I was beyond that—but a dream of it.
I lifted my head, gaze skimming over the panel that hid my secret door. “My speck of light in the dark.”
Slowly, Rose nodded. “A speck you’ve been clinging on to for a long while. Long enough that it’s sunk right down to your subconscious. Deeply held beliefs aren’t easy to escape.”
“But logically—”
“We can’t just logic them away.” She gave a sad smile that said she spoke from experience.
“Hmph. Then, what can I do?”
“Be aware of it. Start arguing back. Decide whether you truly want to give up this belief—whether you’re ready to do that hard work on top of everything else. It will take time, if you do. Well, time or traumatic events.” She spread her hands. “Or, if you want to keep hold of that glimmer of light, you could try plan B.”
“Give up a belief. I’m not even sure how to do that. What’s this other option?”
“Solve the external issue. Resign yourself to waiting until Kat isn’t married. You could help her get a divorce.”
“Or rip him apart with my bare hands.”
She chuckled. “Normally I’d be against casual killing, but after what I’ve heard about him? I can get behind murder.”
Murder or divorce. Or battling a deeply held belief. Nothing in life was ever easy. But Kat was worth it.
We sat a while longer, talking, and while I didn’t have an immediate solution, at least I understood what was holding me back and had a path forward.
Being with Kat wasn’t a case of never, just not yet. I could remind myself of that as we travelled north—just the two of us.
57
Kat
“People of Tenebris, night owls of Luminis, we have endured much this past week.” From the royal balcony, a lodestone, the Night Queen scanned the crowd, Prince Cyrus at her side.
A show of unity, Bastian had called it.
Numerous folk from Dusk and a handful from Dawn gathered in the square opposite the balcony, eyes on the Night Queen.
Bracketed by Rose and Faolán and wearing a voluminous hooded cloak, I stood amongst them. Though, between the cloak and my friends’ large forms, no one would’ve realised it was me. I was supposed to be tucked up in bed, “ill.”
“My heart aches for you and for our losses. But know this—we have not been idle in our sorrows. No.” Even from here, the ferocity of the queen’s frown was impressive. The Crown of Night caught the light, glinting like moonlight on a blade. “We have captured an enemy operative.”
The crowd stirred and murmured, and the queen paused.
Technically, she spoke the truth. An enemy operative had been captured. She was just leaving out the part where he was already dead.
I’d seen his bloody uniform in Bastian’s office yesterday when I’d stopped to drop off some notes and pick up a new stack of books. A grisly piece of evidence, but the way he’d glowered at it had told me he got no information. His frustration had pressed on me—I could feel the weight on him. An extra load for every soul who’d died in the attack. I’d peered at it over his shoulder.
Torn, muddy, and bloody, the thing was a mess. The only part that stood out was the embroidered insignia, still glinting gold despite its ill treatment. So I’d asked for the patch.
“For some gruesome collection I should know about?” Bastian had asked as he’d cut it from the uniform.
“No, but there’s an expert who might be able to tell us something about it.”
For the first time in days he’d smiled and I’d never been so glad to be in possession of a piece of bloody cloth. “Ariadne.”
I’d taken it to her late that afternoon. It hadn’t led to any great breakthroughs, but she’d been able to tell us a few things. Expensive materials. Expert stitching. Silk thread, except for the Hydra, which was picked out using a distinctive two-ply thread made up of red silk twisted with real gold.