Tears slid down Elain’s pallid cheeks as she adjusted an errant flower on our father’s chest, white-petaled and delicate, and then backed away to my side with a nod.
Nesta’s face did not shift as I sent that fire to ignite our father’s body.
He was ash on the wind in a matter of moments.
We stared at the burned slab of earth for long minutes, the sun shifting overhead.
Steps crunched on the grass behind us.
Nesta whirled, but—
Lucien. It was Lucien.
Lucien, haggard and bloody, panting for breath. As if he’d run from the shore.
His gaze settled on Elain, and he sagged a little. But Elain only wrapped her arms around herself and remained at my side.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, coming toward us. Spying the blood speckling Elain’s hands.
He halted short as he noticed the King of Hybern’s decapitated head on the other side of the clearing. Nesta was still showered with his blood.
“I’m fine,” Elain said quietly. And then asked, noticing the gore on him, the torn clothes and still-bloody weapons, “Are you—”
“Well, I never want to fight in another battle as long as I live, but … yes, I’m in one piece.”
A faint smile bloomed on Elain’s lips. But Lucien noticed that scorched patch of grass behind us and said, “I heard—what happened. I’m sorry for your loss. All of you.”
I just strode to him and threw my arms around his neck, even if it wasn’t the embrace he was hoping for. “Thank you—for coming. With the battle, I mean.”
“I’ve got one hell of a story to tell you,” he said, squeezing me tightly. “And don’t be surprised if Vassa corners you as soon as the ships are sorted. And the sun sets.”
“Is she really—”
“Yes. But your father, ever the negotiator …” A sad, small smile toward that burnt grass. “He managed to cut a deal with Vassa’s keeper to come here. Temporarily, but … better than nothing. But yes—queen by night, firebird by day.” He blew out a breath. “Nasty curse.”
“The human queens are still out there,” I said. Maybe I’d hunt them down.
“Not for long—not if Vassa has anything to do with it.”
“You sound like an acolyte.”
Lucien blushed, glancing at Elain. “She’s got a foul temper and a fouler mouth.” He cut me a wry look. “You’ll get along just fine.”
I nudged him in the ribs.
But Lucien again looked at that singed grass, and his blood-splattered face turned solemn. “He was a good man,” he said. “He loved you all very much.”
I nodded, unable to form the words. The thoughts. Nesta didn’t so much as blink to indicate she’d heard. Elain just wrapped her arms tighter around herself, a few more tears streaking free.
I spared Lucien the torment of debating whether to touch her, and linked my arm through his as I began to walk away, letting my sisters decide to follow or remain—if they wanted a moment alone with that burnt grass.
Elain came.
Nesta stayed.
Elain fell into step beside me, peering at Lucien. He noticed it. “I heard you made the killing blow,” he said.
Elain studied the trees ahead. “Nesta did. I just stabbed him.”
Lucien seemed to fumble for a response, but I said to him, “So where now? Off with Vassa?” I wondered if he’d heard of Tamlin’s role—the help he’d given us. A look at my friend showed me he had. Someone, perhaps my mate, had informed him.
Lucien shrugged. “First—here. To help. Then …” Another glance at Elain. “Who knows?”
I nudged Elain, who blinked at me, then blurted, “You could come to Velaris.”
He saw all of it, but nodded graciously. “It would be my pleasure.”
As we strode back to the camp, Lucien told us of his time away—how he’d hunted for Vassa, how he’d found her already with my father, an army marching westward. How Miryam and Drakon had found them on their own journey to help us.
I was still mulling over all he said when I slipped into my tent to finally change out of my leathers, leaving him and Elain to go find a place to wash up. And talk—perhaps.
But as I strode through the flaps, sound greeted me within—talking. Many voices, one of them belonging to my mate.
I got one step inside and knew I wouldn’t be changing my clothes anytime soon.
For seated in a chair before the brazier was Prince Drakon, Rhys sprawled and still bloody on the cushions across from him. And on the pillows beside Rhys sat a lovely female, her dark hair tumbling down her back in luscious curls, already smiling at me.
Miryam.
CHAPTER
79
Miryam’s smiling face was more human than High Fae. But Miryam, I remembered as she and Drakon rose to their feet to greet me, was only half Fae. She bore the delicately pointed ears, but … there was something still human about her. In that broad smile that lit up her brown eyes.
I instantly liked her. Mud splattered her own leathers—a different make than the Illyrians’, but obviously designed by another aerial people to keep warm in the skies—and a few speckles of blood coated the honey-brown skin along her neck and hands, but she didn’t seem to notice. Or care. She held out her hands to me. “High Lady,” Miryam said, her accent the same as Drakon’s. Rolling and rich.
I took her hands, surprised to find them dry and warm. She squeezed my fingers tightly while I managed to say, “I’ve heard so much about you—thank you for coming.” I cast a look at where Rhys still remained sprawled on the cushions, watching us with raised brows. “For someone who was just dead,” I said tightly, “you seem remarkably relaxed.”
Rhys smirked. “I’m glad you’re bouncing back to your usual spirits, Feyre darling.”
Drakon snorted, and took my hands, squeezing them as tightly as his mate had. “What he doesn’t want to tell you, my lady, is that he’s so damn old he can’t stand up right now.”
I whirled to Rhys. “Are you—”
“Fine, fine,” Rhys said, waving a hand, even as he groaned a bit. “Though perhaps now you see why I didn’t bother visiting these two for so long. They’re terribly cruel to me.”
Miryam laughed, plopping down on the cushions again. “Your mate was in the middle of telling us your story, as it seems you’ve already heard ours.”
I had, but even as Prince Drakon gracefully returned to his seat and I slid into the chair beside his, just watching the two of them … I wanted to know the entire thing. One day—not tomorrow or the day after, but … one day, I wanted to hear their tale in full. But for now …
“I—saw you two. Battling Jurian.” Drakon instantly stiffened, Miryam’s eyes going shuttered as I asked, “Is he … Is he dead?”
“No,” was all Drakon said.
“Mor,” Miryam cut in, frowning, “wound up convincing us not to … settle things.”
They would have. From the expression on Drakon’s face, the prince still didn’t seem convinced. And from the haunted gleam in Miryam’s eyes, it seemed as if far more had occurred during that fight than they let on. But I still asked, “Where is he?”
Drakon shrugged. “After we didn’t kill him, I have no idea where he slithered off to.”
Rhys gave me a half smile. “He’s with Lord Graysen’s men—seeing to the wounded.”
Miryam asked carefully, “Are you—friends with Jurian?”
“No,” I said. “I mean—I don’t think so. But … every word he said was true. And he did help me. A great deal.”
Neither of them so much as nodded as they exchanged a long glance, unspoken words passing between them.
Rhys asked, “I thought I saw Nephelle during the battle—any chance I’ll get to say hello, or is she too important now to bother with me?” Laughter—beautiful laughter—danced in his eyes.