She wasn’t like him: she wouldn’t fight because the queen ordered it. One late night, she’d admitted that she was only going along with her role as a Sleeper because of him. He was her reason—which meant he had to keep her on target. If not, she’d likely die.
“I still miss you,” he whispered.
“And I’m still right here. Always.” She leaned her head against his shoulder.
Zephyr lapsed into silence as he escorted her to the door of the bathroom. That was the problem: she was here, but not really. She was in his arms, but not the way he wanted. She was at his side, but not his to keep.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Alkamy urged as they stopped at the bathing room.
“Define stupid?”
Alkamy sighed and kissed his cheek. “Whatever you’re thinking, most likely.”
He grinned.
“I’m serious,” she said. “She’s not from our world—the fae one or the human one.”
“She’s the last of us, Kamy.” Zephyr opened the door to the bathing room. “She needs to know. We need to tell her.”
Alkamy ignored the opened door. “Can you at least not tell Endellion?”
He frowned at her and let the door fall shut. “Title only, Alkamy. No one speaks the old name casually. Not here or over there.”
“And isn’t that proof enough that we shouldn’t let her know about Lilywhite yet? Should we obey someone we are supposed to fear?” Alkamy was clearly trying to keep her voice level, but failing.
Zephyr sighed softly, “I live to serve her. We all do.”
Alkamy frowned. “I’m not saying you should lie to the queen . . . not really. Just omit what you can.”
She stepped away from him, pushing the bathroom door open again.
Zephyr waited until she stepped into the room, but as soon as she let the door fall closed, he turned away. He didn’t want to fight with her, but he couldn’t listen to her treasonous words. Hearing them meant he’d have to tell Clara—or worse yet, Endellion herself. He couldn’t even imagine what would happen if Alkamy were found guilty of treasonous thoughts or actions. The best-case scenario was that she’d be punished, and that would try Zephyr’s loyalty the way nothing else had.
He’d fight the queen’s war. He’d shed blood at her word. Those were decisions he’d made in order to protect his cell. But he wouldn’t lose Alkamy. For her protection, he’d face the queen’s wrath.
fourteen
WILL
Will curled up on the end of the sofa in Violet’s hotel suite, watching her pack an astounding number of blouses, skirts, trousers, and shoes into an array of suitcases. It was bizarre to have that much clothing. “You really ought to have someone do that.”
She leveled an unfriendly look at him. “No.”
“I could hel—”
“No,” she cut him off. “You read. I sort. I don’t mess with your coping strategy. You don’t mess with mine.” She had one hand on her hip and the other upraised, pointing at him. “And don’t think that provoking me is going to get any questions answered. I’m wise to your tricks now.”
Unapologetically, Will shrugged. He didn’t need a whole lot of tricks to guess what was wrong. Both Roan and Vi were being prickly. The news had a bit on a catastrophic tunnel fire, and the speculation that it was yet another attack by the Queen of Blood and Rage had been confirmed by one of her terse messages to a local news outlet.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Violet threw a boot at him. He caught it. Dealing with Violet’s temperamental nature was more of a game than a challenge.
“Don’t.”
“Roan doesn’t want to talk about it either,” Will continued as if she hadn’t spoken. He tossed the boot back toward her.
“It was horrible,” she admitted, her tense expression fading away for a moment.
“Isn’t it always?”
“Did you . . . were you given any work to do for her over the summer?” Very pointedly not looking at him, Violet tucked the boot into a bag with its match. “The movie has been . . . I should’ve checked in more.”
Will sighed. “I’m not actually your little brother, Vi. I’m just as capable as the rest of you.” He stared at her, looking for a sign that she understood. “I wear as many masks as you do. My mother’s dutiful son, the team’s quiet one, Roan’s supportive boyfriend.”
“But they’re all real . . . aren’t they?”
“They are, but I’m not just one of any of those things.” Will shook his head. “Don’t try to shelter me so much, okay? I know things are changing, but that doesn’t mean I’m not as capable—or as much under threat as you are. The same classes, the fighting, the requisite sword and gun and . . . all of it, Vi. I’ve been there too.”
“But you haven’t had to k—”
“I have,” he interrupted. “Zeph knows. Kam too.”
Violet’s mouth gaped open, and Will wondered—not for the first time—if he should’ve told her when he’d had to do so. He knew her though. She would do as she had with Roan, as Zephyr had done for both Creed and Alkamy. She’d have taken his task as her own to protect him.
“If I’d have known . . .” Violet’s eyes filled with tears.
Will shrugged. “That’s why I didn’t tell either of you.”
“But . . .” Fierce moody Violet folded her arms over her chest as if to stop herself from shaking. It was, oddly, all the proof he needed that he’d made the right choice. She wanted to protect everyone around her, and as much as he loved her for it, he wasn’t going to ask it of her—or allow her to do it on her own if he could help it.
Will was sick of everyone trying to shield him.
When he came home that night, hands still shaking but holding it together more than he’d expected when he’d received the orders from Clara, he thought he had managed it all well enough.
The door fell shut behind him with an almost inaudible snick. It was the only sound in the townhouse, making it seem louder than it really was. He slipped his shoes off and was about to go up to his room, when a series of soft thuds drew his attention as someone stood and walked toward him.
“I can’t protect you,” his mother said from the darkness of the foyer. “If you get in trouble, you’ll end up exposed for what you are. I can’t protect you then.”
“For what I am?”
“I know we don’t talk about things,” she continued on as if he hadn’t spoken, “and I know that what I did in order to be your mother might not have been right, but I don’t regret it and I wouldn’t want to change it.”
Her arms were folded tightly, and as she turned the light on, her fluffy yellow bathrobe looked oddly cheerful despite the conversation. They weren’t talkers. They debated, and they discussed. That was different. It was mental exercise. This . . . this was bordering on emotional revelation, and Senator Parrish simply didn’t do that.
“If you get exposed for whatever you sneak out to do, they’ll test you. It’s standard for arrests now.”
“I was out late once and—”
“Don’t,” she cut him off. “I see your friends, Will. Do you honestly want to try to tell me that they aren’t fae-blood? That you aren’t aware of what they are?”