Road To Winter (Fae's Captive #2)(17)

“How do you change into a bear?” Curiosity coats her tone.

“My magic is transformative. It runs in my line. My sire could turn himself into anything you could imagine, even other fae.”

“Wow.” She presses a palm to her cheek. “That’s unbelievable.”

Thorn would usually parlay a comment like that into a joke about his sexual prowess, but he abstains, which is good, because it would end in a brawl. One that I’d win.

We all sit around the fire as Beth hands out the small bowls of food. I scoop some of my carrots into Taylor’s bowl. She gives me a long-suffering look but eats without complaint. My feral side is appeased that I’ve provided for my mate, even in this small way.

I chew my food, my mind working over the news of Yvarra’s death. She was a strong tracker, skilled with the bow and blades. For someone to get the drop on her, there had to have been seriously dark magic at play. This will require more than a simple spy.

“Send Brannon to Silksglade.” I stare into the fire.

Thorn whistles. “You sure we shouldn’t start smaller?”

“No.” I set down my bowl. “Yvarra’s death can’t go unanswered. Brannon will be able to track the dark magic if there are still traces of it in Silksglade. He can then report back. Maybe this is our chance to finally find the trail that leads to the king beyond the mountain.”

Gareth sucks on his teeth. “Last time we set Brannon loose, we almost lost an entire village.”

“I’m aware of the risks. But we need a wielder of the dark. It’s the only way. Brannon is loyal to me and to the Phalanx.”

“He’s dangerous, Leander.” Thorn shakes his head. “What if he takes innocent lives this time around? He’s changed, sure, but how far can anyone stray from their roots?”

“Far.” Taylor’s soft voice resonates. “People can change.” She lowers her gaze. “But not always for the better.”

Where did that come from?

“So Brannon was bad before?” she hurries to ask.

“Bad is a massive understatement.” Thorn passes his bowl to Beth. “He was born from the Spires, and he has a particular talent for the dark magics. His powers are without equal, save for perhaps a necromancer or an Obsidian witch—” he shudders “—but what are the chances of a run-in with one of those?”

Taylor laughs, the sound a little too gleeful, and gives me a knowing glance.

Thorn, though perplexed, continues, “Brannon is a member of the king’s guard, the Phalanx, but he’s had to prove himself, to show us he’s truly turned from his old ways.”

“What made him turn?” Beth scoops the dredges from the cooking pot.

“Leander.” Thorn inclines his head toward me.

Taylor turns and peruses me with her impossibly blue eyes. “What happened?”

“It’s not important. We should be on our way—”

“Don’t be so modest.” Thorn waves me off. “Brannon was in league with Shathinor, the previous king of the winter realm. He was the bane of realms, burning villages, terrorizing and pillaging wherever he went. A vicious creation of the Spires. When Leander began the winter realm uprising, Shathinor sent Brannon to kill him.”

Taylor clutches her hands in front of her. “Go on.”

“Brannon shows up at our war camp with over a hundred shadow warriors at his back. We had thousands, of course, but shadow warriors cannot be killed by simple combat. They can strip a soldier’s flesh in seconds and move on to the next. We were on the verge of a battle that could very well have ended our rebellion. Brannon strolled into Leander’s tent, and Leander ordered all of us out. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done—walking out of that tent and leaving my king with such a vicious creature. Our soldiers were surrounded by the shadow demons, all of them screeching for blood but waiting on word from their leader.”

“I think I lost a century off my life that day,” Gareth grumbles.

“What went on in the tent?” Taylor’s wide eyes hold so much wonder.

“That’s the thing.” Thorn punches me in the arm lightly. “He never told us why Brannon sent his shadow warriors back to the Wasted Lands and joined our cause.”

“That is for Brannon to divulge, not me.” I’ve gotten used to deflecting their inquiries on this point.

“And Brannon won’t say?” Taylor asks.

“Brannon isn’t particularly talkative.” Thorn smirks. “Besides, most fae take one look at him and run in the other direction.”

“Something wrong with him?” Beth grabs the stew pot.

“He looks … interesting.” Gareth has grown more diplomatic in his age.

“Why won’t you let me help you with that?” Taylor reaches to collect the bowls.

“No way.” Beth grabs them before Taylor can. “You’re the queenie of the winter realm.”

“I’m your friend.” Taylor darts forward and lifts the pot. “Let me help.”

This time, I agree with Beth. Taylor is my mate and queen. She shouldn’t feel the need to perform menial tasks. “Taylor, you aren’t expected to—”

She shoots me a hard look over her shoulder. “Don’t you start, too. I’m not helpless, and I’m definitely not royalty. It’s time I pull my weight on this little adventure.” With a hard stride, she stalks off through the forest.