Rayghast prowled closer to Rhia. She tensed; the other ladies and servants in the room stared guilty at the floor.

“Apparently, this is a concoction that prevents pregnancy.”

“What are you implying, Husband?” asked Rhia, drawing herself up. “That I purchased that bottle? That I purposefully drank its contents to avoid having your child?”

“That is exactly what I’m implying,” he snarled. “Although, I’m sure you had one of your loyal ladies purchase it for you.”

His jaw ticked as he shot the women a glower. One of the servants bit her lower trembling lip.

Rhia screwed up her face into an expression of pity and heartbreak. She collapsed to her knees dramatically. “I was afraid, my dearest! Afraid of those rumors. Can you blame me for not wanting to die like your other wives?”

She should have been an actress instead of a wife.

“You went behind my back.”

“I meant no harm, Husband—”

“And I heard your wretched sister. She begged you to break off the betrothal with Lord Silex.”

“She’s too young,” Rhia said in desperation, body shaking with sobs, though Rayghast saw no tears. “She’s not ready to be a wife. Lord Silex would be quite disappointed in her. If we delay a year or so, she will—”

He had no time for this distraction, for her lies and deception, for her weakness and folly.

“Lord Silex doesn’t care how young she is. He cares that he’s getting a princess in exchange for his loyalty to the crown.”

Rayghast crushed the vial in his fist. The fragile glass pulverized to dust, as plum liquid dripped through his fingers and onto the rug.

“How dare you undermine me. This is treason. I should have you and all your ladies hanged for this.”

The servants and ladies-in-waiting gasped and shuddered. One cried silent tears. Another wet herself; the odor of urine assaulting Rayghast’s nostrils.

Yes, yes, urged the darkness within. It lapped at their fear like flames in a pyre. Kill them all.

Rhia, however, didn’t flinch. She got fluidly to her feet; her face wiped of emotion. “Do what you feel you must, Your Grace.”

The whirlpool of magic in his chest ceased. It fed on fear and hysteria, but Rhia’s voice, as cool and steady as stagnant water, doused the flames in his veins. The magic was once again bored by her.

Rayghast rolled his shoulders back with a crack.

“You’re fortunate I have a war to win. I don’t have time to deal with you,” Rayghast said through gritted teeth. “You won’t leave this room. You speak to no one. Your ladies and servants won’t be allowed entry.” He glanced up, and the other women scattered like mice into the hallway. “You may be the Queen of Tacorn, but I am your master. Your king. You belong to me.”

Rhia didn’t move. She didn’t shiver. She was done playing the innocent doll.

Rayghast stalked out the door and slammed it behind him.

Chapter 21

Marai

The Tacornian unit, dressed in their matte black armor, marched along the dirt road between Gloaw Crana and what seemed to be their next intended target of Dal Riata, a small mining town. Marai and the fae hid amongst the trees on the side of the road. She smelled the blood and fire on those thirty soldiers, who laughed, sharing tales of the slaughter. How many they’d killed, which Nevandians screamed and begged for their lives. How many women they’d raped.

Aresti ground her teeth. Raife nocked his bow. Leif’s fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword.

These soldiers were the embodiment of the wickedness of humans. The type of people who relished in hunting down the fae, who delighted in the massacre. Not all humans were reprehensible, but these ones were.

Marai and the fae had first portaled to Gloaw Crana, a quaint town now in smoldering cinders, civilian bodies strewn about, lying in puddles of dried blood. The other fae had gone quiet at the sight of such violence. Leif had squeezed his eyes shut, overcome by anguish, unwilling to look any longer.

They’d tracked these soldiers in silence for several hours, spurred on by incandescent vengeance. Marai would have portaled them directly to the unit’s location, but she’d summoned a lot of magic in the past few days; enough that her well would have previously been depleted. Thanks to her work with Keshel in the Badlands, she was stronger than before, but Marai had to be careful how much more she used.

They caught up to the unit quickly, however; five agile faeries moved faster than thirty heavily armed soldiers.

Keshel flicked his long, thin fingers. An invisible barrier surrounded the soldiers and the fae, trapping them in a confined space. Easy targets with nowhere to run.

For a moment, the unit kept walking, unaware, until the front of the line bumped into the barrier, a solid creation from Keshel’s magic. Confusion and curses traveled up and down the ranks.

“What’s the fucking hold up?” called one soldier to the front.

A man put out a hand. It lay flat against an invisible wall.

The Lady Butcher charged from the tree line and severed the soldier’s arm. Marai proceeded to swipe across his neck. He didn’t have time to scream.

The phantom of death was upon them.

Her sword sailed, whistling in the air, slicing through anything in her path. Tacorn soldiers leapt into action. Like a swarm of furious bees, they surrounded Marai. Swords chopped and jabbed. Marai danced away from the blades, all too slow to make contact.

As the soldiers closed in, she gathered her magic into a ball of burning light inside her. A wave of magic burst from Marai’s hands, spewing dust into the air. Marai’s ears popped at the concussive sound as the impact knocked soldiers off their feet.

She’d transformed Keshel’s defensive barrier into a weapon.

The other fae joined. Silver blades cleaved through the mass of black. Marai heard the whoosh and thunk of Raife’s arrows sinking into flesh. Orange flames engulfed soldiers. Their screams echoed through the trees, causing birds to screech and fly off. Leif’s fire ravaged a whole row of men.

A blur appeared at Marai’s side. Nosficio’s face grinned back at her.

“I couldn’t let you have all the fun, could I?” he asked, then grabbed hold of a soldier and brought his teeth to his neck. A moment later, Nosficio ripped off the man’s head. Crimson blood poured from his mouth, down his chin, and onto his velvet cape.

Marai didn’t bat an eyelash at the savagery.

Keshel erected more barriers, sectioning off the soldiers into smaller groups. Aresti called forth a wind, blowing a line of soldiers over onto their backs. Down the line she went, plunging her short swords into the gaps in their armor as they struggled to rise. Wind fed Leif’s flames, spreading them across the road, engulfing men in a whirlwind of fire.

It felt good to be the Butcher again. There was a sense of rightness to this moment. Marai’s breath was as calm as still water. Her mind wholly focused on this one task. For the first time in a day, Marai wasn’t thinking about Ruenen’s mouth or his body or his hands. It was just her and death and gore.

She became their nightmare.

The bloodstone ring pulsed, tightening around her finger, urging her onwards. This is your purpose, it seemed to say. The cursed object savored every drop of human blood spilt.

More soldiers, another thirty or so men, came barreling up the road. A second unit. Reinforcements.

Damn.