“Stay back,” she ordered.
Behind her, Violet and Creed were silent. She’d seen them struggling—wanting to help, but not wanting to do something that ended up distracting her or Torquil.
As she defended against Nacton’s cuts and swings, she turned round so that she could again see Torquil and Calder. They were both fighting aggressively. At the moment, Torquil seemed better poised. He transitioned into the ox—his sword jutting forward like the horn of a beast—and thrust forward.
But Calder leaned back, avoiding being impaled and allowing himself a moment’s respite. He swung back and brought the sword down in a clockwise arc. In barely the next moment, the point of Calder’s sword was plunging downward while simultaneously pushing Torquil’s sword to the left.
As Lily’s attention wavered from Nacton, he twisted his sword in such a way that her own blade was knocked out of her grasp. She met his eyes, and he smiled. “Foolish girl.”
There was a brief moment before the tip of Calder’s sword pierced Torquil’s side. Then, the flicker of hesitation was gone, and steel vanished into flesh. The sword’s tip pierced Torquil under his ribs on his left side.
“Are you going to kill me then? Kill us both? Kill us all?” She stepped back out of Nacton’s range, gaze darting to Torquil and then to Creed and Violet.
Nacton laughed.
Was she a threat to them? More importantly, did they think she was?
Nacton kept his sword lifted, but didn’t strike.
Lily wasn’t sure whether she or Torquil was in more danger. She couldn’t help Torquil. All she could do was watch as he stumbled to his knees.
Again Calder pulled his sword back, and she knew from the angle that this time it would be a killing blow.
“Stop!” she cried.
But Nacton said nothing.
Calder didn’t even hesitate. His blade slashed down from the left.
Just as the sword was mid-arc over Calder’s head, Creed charged. He caught Calder around the waist, using his mass and momentum to propel them forward. As they fell, the sword was caught between his shoulder and the ground.
Instinctively, Creed tried to stop their fall, reaching forward with his right arm. The combined weight was too much, and Creed cried out as his wrist snapped upon impact. A second, almost simultaneous, cry came when the sword—which had been trapped between Calder and the ground—sliced into Creed’s leg.
“No!” Lily tried to run to him, heedless of Nacton’s upraised sword.
In a blink, Nacton’s blade flashed out and the tip rested at the hollow of her throat, not near enough to draw blood but so close that she couldn’t move.
“Once we’re wed, your behavior will need to be remedied.”
Lily wanted to laugh. Unfortunately, there was no levity in the Seelie prince’s words.
“Once you’re what?” Violet asked in a tone Lily had come to realize meant trouble.
“Wed,” he repeated. “She is the daughter of the true heir. Marrying her will allow me the throne that should’ve been mine all along.”
Nacton spared Violet a glance. “Whose get are you?”
When Violet opened her mouth to reply, Lily spoke over her, “The heir’s betrothed is injured, as is my friend.” She refused to let her voice crack or her attention drift to either of the injured. “All of the queen’s fae know where I am, and—”
“Calder,” Nacton interrupted. “Contain them until I’m ready to wed my bride.”
thirty-two
ZEPHYR
Zephyr had no great desire to speak to the Seelie King, but he wasn’t keen on being left behind either. His only other meeting with the queen hadn’t filled him with optimism, and his first meeting with his father had resulted in unpleasant truths and drunkenness.
Rhys had followed the queen silently when they left the rest of his friends, as if the queen’s very glance told him all he needed to know. It struck Zephyr then that this was his lot in life: to live or die at her whim, to always be attentive to her will, to know that her attention would never waver. Short of death, there was no reprieve. Up until this day, he realized, he’d held some measure of hope, some glimmer of a dream that there was another future possible.
That hope had just died.
The queen led them to a small room inside a palace that looked to be carved of the cliff itself. The floor inside the room was as white as bone. Swords and other weapons were mounted on the walls. The weapons and a diminutive throne of wood and vine were the only things inside the room.
Endellion settled on the throne as it seemed to reshape around her. Rhys walked to stand at her side, not quite behind her this time.
“So you know,” she said.
It wasn’t exactly a question, but Zephyr still answered, “That Rhys is my . . . biological father? Yes.”
“No.” She waved his words away and clarified, “That I am your grandmother.”
“I do,” Zephyr said as emotionlessly as he could. He walked closer to the queen and stopped directly in front of her. He wasn’t as afraid as he’d been when he’d kneeled before her and offered her a necklace wrought of his own blood, but he wasn’t so foolish as to assume that she was suddenly harmless.
“Do you no longer wish to be Unseelie then? You sound less thrilled than I would expect given our earlier meeting.” Endellion’s tone wasn’t exactly mocking, but it was a near thing.
“You knew when I came here before,” Zephyr half asked, half stated.
The queen looked not at him, but to her side where Rhys stood as she replied, “I’ve always known. Family matters more than anything in either world. My son, my once-heir, had a child. I knew that my grandson would be loyal to me.” She turned her head to fix Zephyr in her gaze again. “I’ve always known who you were, Zephyr. I’ve known what you were doing, and I’ve done what was necessary to have you trained as best you could be while in that world.”
Zephyr nodded. There wasn’t much else to do. The most feared being in both worlds was the head of his family. A darkly ludicrous thought of confessing childhood misdeeds flitted through his mind. Somehow, he doubted that Endellion was as tolerant of his “boyish mistakes” as his mom had been. His mother was indulgent. The Queen of Blood and Rage wasn’t known for being . . . tender.
“What would you have of him?” Rhys asked, interrupting the silence and drawing the queen’s gaze back to him.
“I want him to do as he’s always done, be my eyes, be an instrument of my will.” Endellion smiled at Zephyr and prompted, “Are you my subject?”
He dropped to both knees without pause and bowed his head. “Without doubt or disobedience.”
“No matter what tasks I order?” she continued.
A trickle of dread slid over Zephyr. He kept his head bowed, but lifted his eyes to his queen as he swore, “I am yours to command. That is unchanged.”