HE WAS the first thing I saw.
Always.
My heart and my soul knew exactly where to find him.
On his knees, covered in blood, Fisher knelt at the foot of a small series of steps that led up to the dais. He was covered in cuts and scrapes, his hair damp with sweat. The wolf-head gorget still shone at his throat, but it was splattered with blood, both red and black, and his leather armor was destroyed. Huge slashes cut across his chest protector. The bracers at his wrists were caked with gore. He looked exhausted, breathing raggedly through his mouth. He didn’t turn his head, but he looked at me out of the corner of his eye, and I saw the fear and devastation there.
You shouldn’t be here, Little Osha, he said in my mind. His words rang with defeat. His shoulders sagged, his eyes closing when Lorreth and Carrion emerged from the gate beside me, Harron close on our heels. I wanted to save you from this. I didn’t want you to suffer with me.
As if a bolt of energy suddenly ripped right through him, Fisher threw his head back, his teeth bared, the muscles in his neck straining.
“NO!” I tried to run to him, but my feet wouldn’t move. I was frozen in place.
“Greetings, friends. Welcome! We haven’t been formally introduced.” Cold as ice, the voice cut through the air like a scythe.
“Gods alive,” Lorreth hissed. I didn’t want to look away from Fisher, but I had to. I needed to know who—
Holy…
Fucking…
Hell…
The Widow’s Bane was making me hallucinate.
There was no other explanation for what I was seeing.
There, sitting in the center of the dais, was Malcolm. His fine features and long, silver hair made him instantly recognizable. It was he who had spoken. It could only have been him, because I had met the other figures who sat on either side of him. They knew perfectly well who I was.
To the right of the dais sat Belikon. To the left…Madra.
Both were dressed in regal finery, the Yvelian king in hunter-green velvet, the Zilvaren Queen bedecked in a high-necked, sparkling golden gown.
I tried to blink them away, but there they remained, impossibly, sitting beside the vampire king.
Carrion had blanched, his usual arrogance gone. He assessed the three figures up on the dais with open hatred in his eyes.
“I assume,” Malcolm said, “since no one appears willing to perform introductions, that you are Saeris. And from your stature and the wolf emblazoned across your chest, that you are one of Kingfisher’s Lupo Proelia. Not the general who’s caused so much trouble for me, though. No, I’ve met Renfis. So that must make you Lorreth. Lorreth, who shattered the towers at Barillieth and murdered thousands of my children.” His cool grey eyes flashed with rage. His anger stalled when his gaze landed on Carrion. “You, I don’t know.”
Carrion dipped into a low bow, but the gesture was not one of deference. It was designed to mock. “Carrion Sw—”
Malcolm nodded to Harron, and the guard brought the hilt of his dagger crashing down onto the back of Carrion’s head. The blow cut Carrion off and sent him crashing to his knees.
Fisher growled, still straining against the pain that was clearly still racking his body. Lorreth and I both reached for our swords, but Belikon let out a rumbling laugh, holding up his hand. “I caution all of you against foolishness. Your swords won’t do you any good here. Can’t you feel it in the air?” He grinned, gesturing up at the sky, and the flakes of ash that still floated down on the air. “This place is a graveyard. The air itself is full of
death. The ground beneath us is bones and ash. Your magic cannot reach you here.”
Madra, with her fair hair bound into a beautiful braid beneath her glittering crown, made a disgruntled sound. “You should have at least let them try, Brother. I was looking forward to seeing the look on their faces when they realized how much trouble they were in.”
Brother?
But…how could Belikon be her brother?
Human. Fae. Vampire. The three regents all adopted similar expressions of satisfaction as they took in our confusion.
I couldn’t hold my tongue. “You really think she’s your ally? You’re wrong. She’s the one who stilled the quicksilver and closed the gates between all of the realms.”
Belikon snorted. “Of course she was. We’ve always known it was Madra. And yes, we were angry at first. But it’s amazing how unimportant these little tiffs seem after centuries.”
“Indeed,” Madra agreed. “And after all, I did only close the gate because you sent that beast through to assassinate me. So there was much to forgive on my end, too.”
Belikon inclined his head, accepting this velvet-gloved accusation. “It’s true. You’re perfectly right, Sister. Mistakes were made on all sides. Lucky for us, we have the opportunity to make past wrongs right. And now that our Triumvirate is reunited, all three of us are more powerful than we’ve been in an age.”
Belikon had known? All these years, he’d known that Madra was the one who had closed the gates, and he’d blamed Fisher’s father. He had sent Finway to Zilvaren, to his death, and then had blamed him for the closing of the portals between the realms. He had named him traitor and cast shame on the House of Cahlish because of it. Edina had paid. Fisher had paid, over and over and over again.
A fury like no other churned in my gut as I stared at the king.
It seemed Lorreth shared my rage. “You’re a fucking disgrace,” he seethed. “How can you sit up there next to him? Our people have been at war with Malcolm for—for—”
“War?” Belikon sneered. “We haven’t been at war, you fool. I’ve simply been feeding my brother’s army.”
There was that word again. Brother. I still didn’t fully understand, but some pieces of this puzzle were snapping into place. Belikon had refused to send supplies and food down to Irrín. He’d embargoed silver—the only thing capable of permanently killing Malcolm’s kind—and had refused to send any of it south. And why would he waste supplies on warriors he didn’t intend to survive? Why would he arm warriors with deadly weapons if he didn’t actually want them to kill their enemy?
“Hadn’t you better give your plaything a break, Malcolm?” Madra purred. She eyed Fisher with keen interest. “Be a shame if he died before he could play your little game. I’d love to see if he beats you again. I missed out the first time.”
Malcolm started, chuckling softly. “Oh! Of course! I promised you a little sport, didn’t I? My apologies, sister.” He made no gesture to release Fisher from whatever invisible torture he was exacting upon him. Fisher just collapsed forward onto his hands and knees, gasping for air, suddenly free. Malcolm lifted a cut glass chalice to his mouth, and the thick, viscous liquid inside stained his pale lips red. His bloody smile was full of glee as he said, “You know, it does bring me such joy to be reunited, the three of us. You’ve missed much, Madra. We’ve been having a wonderful time. Especially lately. The fall of Gillethrye was a sight to behold, wasn’t it, brother?”
“Spectacular,” Belikon agreed. “You were there, weren’t you, Dog? You got to witness the whole thing from start to finish. You had a front-row seat!”
“Fuck…you…” Fisher rasped. “I’m going…to fucking destroy you.”
My heart slammed in my chest, my blood racing. Everlayne’s father got to his feet. His face contorted with hatred as he descended the steps toward Fisher. “Just like Finran. Foul-mouthed and arrogant. So superior. So self- righteous. But you are less than the dirt beneath my feet, Kingfisher.” He spat his name like it was a curse. “Why don’t you tell your precious friends what you did here, hmm?” He grabbed a fist full of Fisher’s hair and wrenched his head back. “What’s the matter, boy? Cat got your tongue? Oh, wait. That’s right. You can’t tell them what you did here, can you?”
Belikon moved with a speed that defied logic. His knee shot forward, connecting with Fisher’s jaw. The impact was brutal, sending Fisher sprawling onto the stone floor. The crowd erupted in cheers from the stands.
“No!” I started forward, but hands clamped down on my arms—guards from the Winter Palace. Normal Fae were here? My mind reeled. I locked eyes with the male gripping my right arm and saw the shame in his gaze. He knew this was wrong, yet he still obeyed the orders of a psychopath. “Let me go!”
Belikon spread his arms wide, spinning around like a performer basking in the spotlight. He laughed, his voice echoing across the dais. “What do you think, Malcolm? Should I tell them what he did, or should I release him from his oath and let him tell them?”
Malcolm took another sip from the blood-filled goblet in his hand, then shrugged casually as he surveyed the thousands of spectators in the amphitheater. “I think we should ask them,” he said, his tone light. “After all, they’re the ones he killed.”
“Liar.” Lorreth looked ready to leap onto the dais and tear Malcolm’s head off. “It wasn’t his fault!”
The ones he killed? What was Malcolm talking about? I forced myself to look up at the stands, to really see the people seated there. Row after row, the seats were filled with Fae, their clothing black, their skin…
Wait.
Their skin was burned. Their clothes weren’t just black—they were smoldering. Their mouths were frozen in eternal screams, and their eyes… Gods, their eyes. Some were missing entirely, others had melted into gelatinous masses running down their faces. Females. Children. Males. All dead. All burned alive, yet somehow still moving, trapped in their torment.
Carrion strained against the Fae guards who held him, taking in the nightmare that surrounded us. “Fuck me,” he whispered.
Belikon clapped his hands together, thoroughly enjoying our horror. “You’re right. We should ask them,” he said. When he shouted his question, his voice carried to every corner of the amphitheater, supernaturally loud. “What say you, Fae of Gillethrye? Should I remove the dog’s gag? Should he confess his crimes at last?”
The crescendo of shouts that followed was ferocious. I couldn’t make out whether they were in favor or against Belikon freeing Fisher from the oath that had prevented him from talking about this for so long. It was all just noise. Belikon seemed delighted with the response. “Wonderful. Wonderful. The Fae of Gillethrye have spoken.” He turned back to Fisher.
Slapping his hands down on his shoulders, the king gave Fisher a rough shake. “I release you from your oath to us, Kingfisher, Bane of Gillethrye. Now, go on. Tell your friends all about the deal you struck with us all those years ago.”
