29.
Thalia ran.
She didn’t have much time, after slipping away outside the kitchens. Instead of searching for the fictitious Eldred, she had to hunt down Ruark Gilbraith and kill him. Maybe she had Ferith to thank for the distraction, but whatever the case, she still had a job to do. Braithwaite was in utter chaos, thanks to the explosions still booming to the west.
Mentally she reviewed the plans she’d memorized and tried to guess where Gilbraith would be. A strong leader might be at the front, directing his troops, but since he’d never once attacked her in person, that seemed unlikely. No, he’ll be hiding somewhere in case the danger is severe. Workers ran past her, fleeing from various parts of the house, which was old and built of pale stone, too many windows to be considered secure.
A soldier stopped her, as she headed for Ruark’s private quarters. “Who—”
Thalia ended it there with a twist of a poison blade. The guard gurgled and fell; she hurried away from the body. No time to waste. Now the clock was ticking. With people running everywhere, they’d know the enemy had gotten inside but covering her tracks wasn’t worth it. The survivors would all swear fealty, no matter what she did here.
Thalia kept her head down, and though she got a few looks, due to her Animari disguise, nobody cared enough to chase her down. Deeper into the wing set aside for Ruark and his cronies, she saw fewer and fewer people. It seemed like many of his followers were scrambling to loot the place and save themselves in case this was a full-scale invasion.
Timing it carefully, she waited out a couple of guards who seemed to be on alert and patrolling the wing, but most of them had gone to investigate the bombardment. Lucky me. The explosions finally stopped, which meant she didn’t have long. Ruark’s officers would knock the lower ranks back into place soon enough.
They won’t get the chance.
On her way through, Thalia heard fighting in other parts of the house. Ferith must have found a way in. Her own progress was burning luck—and life—each moment she ran unchallenged, but it was worth it. Once she found Ruark, she might never need to use her gift again. A flicker of a feeling led her to turn right, and toward the end of the corridor, she glimpsed a squad of six fully armed Noxblades. All their weapons would be poisoned, and they were on high alert.
Ruark is behind the door they’re guarding.
Taking a deep breath, she stilled just around the corner to assess what she could use to turn the situation to her advantage. The six needed to die quick and quiet or Ruark would be ready to fight the second she walked in, and she might need the element of surprise to guarantee a win. Pushing her luck too far might kill her. Literally.
And I don’t want to keel over from blazing out here. I want a life. With Raff.
That certainty leveled her out, so that her heart stopped hammering in her ears and she surveyed the scene with a second stolen glance. Lights overhead. A shot from her bracers might short them out, a gamble worth taking. Before she could overthink, Thalia wheeled out into the open and sent a streak of lightning zinging into the light strip overhead. The lights dropped, as she’d hoped, and she fired twice more, then sent a glass vial spinning at them. That was one of Ferith’s favorites, a smoke toxin that would melt their lungs and leave them vomiting blood, but it would take a while before she could pass safely to kill Ruark.
One of the Noxblades stumbled toward her, slashing with clumsy hands. It was hard to be a graceful, elegant dealer of death when your eyes were oozing blood. She backed away as the emergency lights built into the walls flickered on. The red strobes lent the dying assassin a surreal air. He lunged at her and hit the wall as she danced away. Really, she should just shoot him, but it was more fun to watch him slide down the wall, leaving bloody handprints. The rest of them stayed in the poison cloud, choking and dying in such a painful way that Ferith might have even winced.
“Darien?” A male voice called from behind the door. “What’s happening out there?”
Darien must be dead, she figured.
She didn’t answer. It would be funny if Ruark stumbled into her poison trap, but she should’ve known he wasn’t brave enough. In the end, she killed two more patrols while waiting out the cloud. The rest of her poisons all required contact or ingestion, as it was dangerous to carry too many of those vials. If you ever put a foot wrong, it was an easy yet excruciating way to die.
She tossed a meter strip to make sure the air was good and when the test paper came back yellow, she rushed to the door, stepping over the bodies. The door was locked, but she found the keys on a Noxblade’s body, the one who had gotten closest to her. Probably Darien. Silently, she unlocked the door, using all her strength to shove aside the furniture Ruark was trying to hide behind.
Thalia rolled into the room and came up on one knee. Ruark’s knife slammed into the wall just above her head. She fired once with her bracer. Not a kill shot, but current strong enough to leave him twitching on the floor. Without hesitation, she rushed at him and didn’t say a single word as she slit his throat. He tried to gargle at her, but it was probably bullshit anyway, so she put her foot on his face until he quieted.
That’s for Lileth.
“I win,” she said. “I guess it’s my lucky day.”
Closing her eyes, she focused until she heard the chime in her left ear again. No need to push her luck further. The next step was fucking gruesome, but she still sawed through his neck to take his head. It would go on a spike next to Tirael’s, right after she let everyone know the war was over.
I hope I never have to do this again.
Boldly, she strode from Ruark’s room to find that ten guards had gathered outside. They hesitated until Thalia lifted the bloody trophy for their inspection. If they wanted to fight, she’d oblige. Her bracers were at half, and she was used to the strobe of the lights, now. She waited one heartbeat, two.
Then they dropped to their knees and bowed their heads. “Long live the queen!”
It was impossible to tell who started it, but soon they were all chanting. She let that go on for a moment, then said, “Where’s the comm room? I need to send a message on all channels, all frequencies.”
“This way,” said a slight woman with dark gold hair.
Warily she followed in case it was a trap, but as their group moved through Braithwaite, they gathered others, none of whom seemed inclined to challenge her while she was toting Ruark’s severed head.
Raff was right. We are rather monstrous.
And she wanted to change that. Taking the silver throne would be a fresh start.
“Here we are, Your Majesty.”
“I’m not crowned yet.”
“You will be,” the woman said.
Thalia hoped that was true, but it wasn’t the time to rest on her laurels. “Get me on the air,” she ordered.
The closest technician scrambled, fiddling with the equipment and then he handed her the headset. “Audio only, I’m afraid.”
“Good enough. The rest of you can bear witness.” She plopped Ruark’s head onto the nearest table and the Eldritch lowered his eyes in respect. “Play the following message on repeat for the next hour.”
“Understood.”
She donned the headset and spoke calmly. “This is Thalia Talfayen. House Gilbraith has fallen to me, and their lands are mine. I claim, by right of conquest, the silver throne. You have three days to send emissaries to Daruvar to pledge fealty, or you will share this traitor’s fate. That is all.”
Hours after the drone strike on Braithwaite, Commander Olwyn woke Raff with an urgent shake. “You need to hear this.”
Still groggy from dozing off in his chair, he processed the words slowly, followed by a wave of relief so profound that he might have fallen over, if he wasn’t already sitting. “She did it.”
Gavriel’s shoulders slumped and he closed his eyes, lowering his head in a moment of silence. “Looks like you get to live, beast.”
“I’m grateful,” Raff said.
He couldn’t even bring himself to bare his teeth at the Noxblade since he knew Gavriel had served Thalia well, and she couldn’t have come to this point without him. Sky was curled up on the floor, asleep at Raff’s feet in wolf form, and he considered waking her to share the good news, but since she’d been operating with some level of apprehensive dread ever since her first vision, he let her rest.
Mags came up next to Gavriel and set her hand on his shoulder. To Raff’s astonishment, the Noxblade not only let her touch him, but he also appeared to take some comfort in the gesture. Tension slipped from his body in the few seconds they were in contact. Interesting.
From all around the keep, the sounds of celebration echoed in the night. Music and exuberant shouts suggested that the rest of Daruvar had heard the message as well, and while food might be in short supply, they were probably tapping the casks that had been in the wine cellar for heaven knew how long. Never in his life had Raff been the one to shut down a party, and he wasn’t about to start now.
He eased to his feet and avoided waking Sky, still managing to dream on despite the ruckus. Commander Olwyn was cracking open a decanter of good whiskey, pouring shots for Gavriel and Magda, but Raff shook his head. Without making his excuses, he left the strategy room at last, feeling like he’d aged a hundred years in these hours.
The drones would be returning soon, and he set the first one to scan for Thalia. She should be back soon. He paced the walls until he couldn’t feel his feet, then he went to the kitchen to get some more of the tea Mags had disparaged. The housekeeper beamed at his request, her blue eyes bright, and filled a thermos to the brim.
Didn’t want that much, but…
“Thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure, Prince Raff.”
He almost dropped the steel cylinder in surprise. “What did you call me?”
“It’s your title, now that you’re married to the queen. Well, she will be at any rate. I expect we’ll have the fealty pledges and the coronation soon. More properly, it’s Prince Consort, I suppose, but that’s such a mouthful. You don’t mind the short form of address?”
“Er, no,” he said.
Until then, it hadn’t really sunk in—what her victory meant. I’m married to the fucking Eldritch queen. Korin would laugh her ass off.
“Will there be anything else?”
“Get in touch with your usual supplier. We can’t have people going hungry longer than they need to.”
“I will,” she said. “And…thank you.”
He scraped a hand over his beard, suddenly self-conscious. “For what?”
“Thinking of us, of course. Old Lord Talfayen never stepped foot in a kitchen, and he lived well over five hundred years.”
Mumbling a response he hoped made sense, Raff made his escape and drank all his tea in solitude. It felt like he had been waiting for Thalia for a thousand years.
At dawn, she finally came, in a vehicle painted in Gilbraith colors. When she stepped out into the courtyard, Raff went to her at a run, ignoring the dirt and the bloodstains. He picked her up and twirled her. In his arms, she felt warm and perfect, but he was afraid that maybe he couldn’t hold onto her because she might melt into seafoam or shimmer into a sunbeam that disappeared when he blinked.
“I’m taking her,” he said to Ferith, currently climbing out of the Rover.
“Please do.”
Thalia didn’t fight as he carried her bridal-style toward their quarters. “We need to talk,” she said.
In a way, that was worse than kicking and screaming. Those words weighed as much as four huge stones, but he kept moving. Past the cheering throng, onward to the dim corridor that led to their room. The fire in the hearth was nearly burned down, just ashes from tending it the night before.
“About what?”
“Our future.”
Frantically, he tried to remember exactly what the fucking contract said. Now that she’d secured her crown, did that she mean she wanted him to go? I’m supposed to stay for three months, I think. Hell, he didn’t even know what he’d done wrong—that she’d leave with such an ice-cold note.
Raff folded his arms across his chest, knowing he looked defensive, but he was starting to get pissed. No greeting, no apology? She’s the one who left.
“Go ahead,” he said.
“I want to strike the no-fidelity clause from our agreement.”
That startled him so much he almost fell over, and he clutched the wall in a vain attempt to recover the composure he was trying to project. “What?”
“I’ve thought about it, and I’m an only child. I can’t help that. It means I’m completely opposed to sharing.”
“Sharing…me?”
“That’s what I said,” she snapped.
“Do you think I’m sleeping around or something?”
She lifted her pointed chin, and that look was pure adorable spite. “I don’t know what’s going on with you and Sky, and I don’t care. It stops now. I’m claiming you.”
What the—oh.
Realization filtered down slowly, and he put the pieces together of what she must have seen—and how wrong her conclusions had been. Amusement and tenderness vied for dominance, and he savored both those feelings, because her aggravation meant she cared. A lot. That note hadn’t been cold. She’d written it while she was pissed as hell.
Damn, I love this woman.
“Like a tract of land?” he suggested.
“Exactly. I’m planting my flag.”
“What about the agreement?”
“We’ll renegotiate.”
“What if we just burn it and be together? We’ll be here when we need to be, and in Pine Ridge when that’s right.”
“I want to meet your father,” she said softly. “And Catrin, of course.”
“You’ll hate him. He’s awful. He’ll probably insult you. A lot.”
Thalia smiled. “I can take it. If you hadn’t noticed, I’m pretty damn tough.”
“That you are. You’re also brilliant, beyond lovely, and you’ve become every bright star in the night sky of my life.”
He moved to pull her into his arms, but she stopped him with a look. “Really? You actually said that?”
“Too much?”
The sparkle in her eyes said she thought he was charming but would die before admitting that she liked his flavor of cheese. “Just a bit.”
“Then how about…I love you. And…please don’t walk out on me again.”
“Better.”
There was a lot more to say, but Raff wanted to fuck. She smelled like blood and violence, and it shouldn’t have been so hot. “Looks like you saw some action. Are you hurt?”
“Nothing major. I’ll be fine.”
“Anything you want to say before I put your mouth to better use?” That was so filthy he couldn’t believe he’d said it, but her eyes glittered even more with sheer, delicious lust.
“Mm, just this.”
He listened as she explained that she had been wrong about her gift—that it was luck after all. She told him everything that he’d missed and how she’d activated her power, and that the bombing saved her at exactly the right moment. Possible, he supposed, but it might be coincidence, too.
Raff cocked his head. “How can you be sure?”
“Because,” Thalia whispered. “I married you.”
Since he remembered saying that to her before, it was the perfect answer.