Rise of the Seven (The Frey Saga, #3)(40)

Chevelle waited for me at the door, where I took one deep breath before nodding for him to go on. We slipped in quickly, dreading what we’d find on the other side.

Ruby’s living area seemed smaller, though I couldn’t say whether it was owing to my memory or the pale blue fairy that hovered above the couch, flittering nervously from side to side.

“Myst,” I sighed, undecided if I was relieved to know her.

“Lord Freya,” she crooned, “so good to have a friend here.” Her expression was hopeful until she saw mine did not change, and then her shoulders fell.

I moved forward, taking a seat across from her as she dropped gracefully onto the couch. Her feet never touched the floor as her slender legs curled up beneath the wispy fabric of her skirts. It would have been too fragile for most fey, but Myst was more than a few decades old. Not that anyone could tell by looking. The fey were ageless, growing to full maturity within a couple of years and remaining as such until death, which came by some means other than old age more often than not.

I glanced briefly at Rhys, who appeared in fair condition. Myst would have been exceedingly well behaved in her current predicament. Given what she’d find outside, escape would be far worse than anything we could do to her.

She waited patiently for me to speak, though anyone could see it pained her to stay still. One corner of her pale bottom lip was tucked under her teeth and she picked at the poppy seeds detailing her skirt. But her colorless eyes remained on me.

“Tell me you’re not in league with Grand Council,” I said.

She laughed, but it took on a uneasy stutter when she realized I was serious.

I leaned forward. “Why are you here? All of you?”

“We were supposed to have free rein once council was removed.” Her gaze flicked to Chevelle and then back to me. “You know, before someone called war.”

I glared at her. We’d not even left the castle before they’d attacked, let alone given them reason to declare war.

She shrugged. “We got a little excited.”

I stood, suddenly no longer able to bear being in this room, this situation.

She stood as well, silk-covered feet landing noiselessly on stone. “What about me?”

I smiled. “You are free to go.”





Chapter Twenty


Messengers





She wouldn’t leave, I knew that, but I had to get away from her. So I was standing in Ruby’s tiny guest room, staring blankly at my reflection in the large ornate mirror when Chevelle came in.

“You were right,” I said numbly, unable to look at him as he approached to stand behind me.

He didn’t speak.

“I was about to cause a war. A war we couldn’t win.” I looked down at my hands, feeling helpless at my lack of control. “I nearly set into motion a conflict that would all but hand our world to the fey.”

His fingers slipped against my waist and the simple touch brought, if not relief, then reassurance. I turned to him, sliding my own hand up his arm, but when I finally looked up into the deep sapphire of his eyes, all I could think was, what now?

“Freya,” he started, but I cut him off.

“What is it?”

He held up a scroll with his other hand. “A messenger was here.”

I took two sideways steps to sit on the bed, not positive I could remain standing when he told me who’d been lost. “Who?”

“Two watchmen, a sentry, and a keep. The sentry was of Camber, the second messenger is with his family now.”

They had killed four. Masquerading as trackers, they had snuck onto the grounds, taking down anyone who’d seen them. Archer had attempted to steal the castings from the vault while the rest lay in wait. To burn and raze the castle.

I was abruptly standing again. Chevelle saw my fury, but he didn’t attempt to calm it. This would have to be answered for, if not now, then soon. The realization eased my temper enough that I could at least consider our options.

I began pacing. Asher had never allowed me to pace. It was a weakness, he’d said. But he was dead.

“I should see the family,” I said, a plan forming. It wasn’t a solid plan. It was based purely on faith, but it was a plan. And it was the only one I had.

Chevelle nodded. “As will I. Burne has a grown son. His wife is Camren. She’s known for her talent with wind.”

I came to a standstill, straightening my scabbard before gripping the hilt of my sword. “Yes, we will see her first.” My eyes met Chevelle’s but before I could decide whether to tell him, there was a crash from the front room.

I bit down a growl, muttering, “I hate fairies,” for what was almost certainly not the last time as I opened the door to the living area.

The pale blue fairy was perched on the arm of the sofa by the tips of her toes. Her hands were behind her back and she wore an all-too-innocent smile as she greeted me in singsong. “Frey-a.”

I grimaced at her as I asked Rider, “What did she break?”

He nodded toward the corner, where a gooey mess oozed from broken chunks of what I assumed was once a clay pot. “Not sure exactly, but it smells like the back end of a goat.”

Myst grinned wider, as if her perfect teeth could charm me into friendship.

“Clean it up and I will let you live.”