“She would have offered one by now if she did.”
“And Liora sent me here to die.”
She wasn’t exactly wrong. “It’s never possible to know where Liora truly stands. That’s how she’s reigned as long as she has. We shouldn’t count on her, but she’s not known for viciousness.”
“I’m of her court. Does that count for nothing?”
“So were Rhiannon’s four sisters.”
“You think Liora is another night-bitch?”
“A night-bitch?” I smirked; it was an apt title for the previous autumn queen. “Maybe.”
In front of me, Eury was silent. “So I’m without allies.”
“You have me. Haskel. Faun. Finch. Eleyrie.”
“And none of you can step onto the Killing Fields.”
If I could, I would. But could and would were meaningless when it came to battles for power.
Around us, the trees had gradually become taller, fatter. The lands had become lusher, heavier with green as we neared Sylvanwild. I pressed my heels tighter into the horse’s side.
“Dorian, I know I’m no match for them as I am.” Eury’s voice was tight, hard. “What’s my best bet?”
Her best bet was underhanded. It followed no rules of nobility. When I didn’t speak, she said, “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”
The weight of those words lay heavy on my shoulders. “Each champion can choose one weapon. Yours must be the dragon’s tooth.”
She stiffened against me. Then, “You told me Carys was killed for that.”
“Not for holding the dagger. She wielded feralis and noxveil—she broke the courts.” The sight of her appeared again in my mind’s eye, her body wreathed in shadow and water. “When I saw her die on the Fields, it was herveyrewho struck her down. The gods just watched.”
“So it’s allowed.”
“Or they let her win and punished her through him.” I didn’t know. That was the truth of it—I’d seen aveyredrive a blade through his queen, and I couldn’t tell whether it was duty or divine will wearing a man’s hands.
“Either way, it’s the only chance I have.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
“The dagger quickens your power,” I said with gritted teeth. “So you make them kneel under your acid rain. Quick, easy, done.”
I said the words like their simplicity made the act so. Like making Iseris—Maeronyx—Liora—kneel would be that easy.
Eury didn’t answer. Even she, new to the courts, knew nothing was so simple in Feyreign.
We arrived at the iron gates before nightfall. At my birdcall whistle, two whistles answered from somewhere high up; for as far back as history went, Sylvanwild fae had always, always guarded our gates. I dismounted the horse, directed a tiny flow of air magic into the lock, and it unlatched for me. I opened the gate with a creak, then led the horse through.
Feyreign washed over me like a salve. Any aches, any pains—all were pressed away by the stag’s magic. Up on the horse, Eury’s eyes fluttered shut as she clung to its mane.
The spiritstagwanted us fit. Hale. Ready.
“We’ll need a new horse,” she said as the gate creaked shut behind her. “This one’s ready to drop.”
I stepped up to it, set my hand to its chin. Yes, this one was at its limit. But now we were in Sylvanwild, we didn’t have to rely on one poor animal any longer.
Tilting my face, I let out the three-note call. It resonated through the trees in the almost-dusk. One second passed, two, three?—