Mason’s soul was rocked by her proclamation. His blood boomed in his ears and bleached his vision. He was electrified all over. Cari awed him. And how amazing was it that he got to hump that woman whenever he wanted. It was a good day to be born stray.
Cari turned and looked at him with her fae-black eyes. He glanced at her lips, his favorite feature, and read happiness in their fullness. He gave her a smile of his own. He’d have to get to work on that ring right away and claim her right back. A little piece of jewelry, one of a kind, which would tell everyone that she was his, too. He wished he had it now.
“Dolan for the High Seat!” someone cried from the crowd.
“Dolan!” another seconded.
Moment over. More fighting now.
A clamor rose among the throng, Shadow rising as they got their blood up.
“The Dark Age needs no Order!”
“Give us pure blood!”
Mason refused the urge to grab Cari and put her behind him. Besides the fact that the violent rabble here wanted her, supported her, near-immortal Cari didn’t need his protection. Her blood was so pure, she was almost fae. It was Kaye, who’d taken an angel for her consort, who was threatened.
And Kaye stared them all down, even as her skin leapt suddenly with faefire. The red of her dress made sense. She was a living flame, untamable.
Jack Bastian must get burned every night.
Kaye raised her arms to heighten the stretch of the golden-hot light. “Dolan House, do you challenge me?”
The unmistakable sigh of a blade unsheathing turned the black gazes of magekind on each other. The crowd began to move, the Houses taking sides, men edging forward. Jack had a grip on Fletcher’s shoulders, which meant that Mason would do whatever he could for Kaye, if this came to violence.
Cari turned to Kaye, her profile to the gathering. “Greatmage Brand, I do not challenge you.”
“Honor your father!” someone shouted.
Caspar’s memory was probably her only weakness. Mason knew her father had wanted the High Seat for her, and Cari could do the job spectacularly. But . . .
In a voice that carried, Kaye said, “Prove it.”
It was simple really. Not much to do.
Cari caught sight of Mason as she lowered to one knee. Magekind was chattering behind her, people shouting, people who’d respected her father and had his high hopes for her. But this was by far the better solution, even if they didn’t understand why.
Already she could feel the hum of her House’s ward stones as she prepared to speak, binding her Shadow to Brand’s. “I, Cari Dolan, do promise and testify that my House will be faithful and bear true allegiance to—”
A tidal wave of Shadow rolled over the room, plunging it into darkness.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” said Maeve in her multi-toned voice. Fires sprang up to illuminate the space.
Cari quaked inside, but she stood and turned to face the fae. Back straight. Dolan chin high. This was what her father had taught her.
Maeve had taken on a solidity that made Cari’s heart quail. And there was intelligence in her eyes that mixed with the madness, as if she’d learned some things. Terrible, powerful things. And to her omnipotence, she would turn her world-wise cunning. Behind her, magekind cringed. Only Gunnar Martin stood forward, gripping a black sword. Mason had pulled two knives—one gold, one black—from somewhere. And Jack Bastian, who stared in alarm at Kaye, had put Fletcher behind him.
“I choose Brand,” Cari said to Maeve.
“How can a queen swear allegiance to a lesser House?” Maeve swatted toward Kaye, who burst into crimson feathers and flame and took flight. The phoenix circled the room with a primordial cry that together with abundant darkness and smoke, made the room seem as if it existed in a lost, ancient time.
“You, my dear”—Maeve stroked Cari’s cheek—“you rule magekind.”
“And what about you?” They weren’t ready for her. They hadn’t had a chance to plan with Shadowman and that angel Laurence. They were supposed to fight her together—that’s what this allegiance was about—but it seemed like they’d have to stand here, now. And Cari was certain that all the power in this room was not enough to counter Maeve.
“I rule the world.”
Maeve pushed Shadow at Cari, and Cari found herself buoyed up on magic to the pinnacle of a sudden high throne. Her silver gown disintegrated and gold filigree curled over her skin in an intricate lace that scrolled over her breasts, her thighs, her pubis—concealing nothing—and then rippled out into the flourishes of a decadent Otherworldly gown. The webbing pulled back her arms and hair and caught her in jewel-crusted splendor. The metal seeped into her every pore. She was an icon, rich in power, trapped in magic.
Magekind looked upon her in terrible awe. She was their queen. Not fire, not Brand.
Dark House, Revel House. Dolan House ruled.
Cari opened her mouth to speak to her people, and her first word was, “Run.”
Chapter Eighteen
Cut Cari down, or go for the fae bitch first?
Mason didn’t like how exposed Cari was, even if her skin was dressed in gold and wealth and beauty. She was trapped up there. In pain? Terrified, certainly. But Maeve was sentimental about her, so he concentrated on the fae. What would a Martin blade do to Maeve? Would the intent-to-kill work the same way? Or how about Xavier’s weapon-of-the-moment? Did it know how to sever a fae from this world?
“The wards, Arman!” Jack Bastian shouted.
The wards had clearly not stopped Maeve from entering Maya House, so it was unlikely that other House wards would work either. Magekind was at Maeve’s mercy. But none of the mages here could leave, nor any help get inside, if the Maya wards remained in place.
“You swore to me!” Mason yelled back at Jack, just in case he needed a reminder. Jack Bastian had promised that Light would protect Fletcher. Well, here was the moment. That thousand years of angelic experience now belonged to an eight-year-old mage boy.
Mason felt the burning attention of the fae queen before he had a chance to whip around.
“I remembered why I don’t like love,” she said to him. She’d grown in size and density in the past two days. Or maybe she had no sense of proportion and thought bigger was better. “Passion, and desire, and all the agonies of the flesh I do like. But love is a trap set by Order, and you have ensnared my daughter inside it.”
“You will not touch him!” screamed Cari. “He’s mine!”
“Dove,” Maeve said to her, “it will only hurt for a moment. I learned about time, too. And pain. Both are fleeting things. You’ll see.”
Maeve reached out with a jet of Shadow, and Mason ducked and lunged with his long knives. He drew an X on her belly to spill her guts.
Only the angel’s blade had any effect. The slash went crimson, then healed itself and even the faery gown she wore was whole again. But it stung her enough that she backhanded him into the wall. The blades flew out of his grasp—his fault—he knew how to hold on to a weapon. The impact had dazed him.
People were screaming and looking over their shoulders in their haste to get out.
And Fletcher yelled, “Dad!” from Jack’s struggling grasp.
Maeve struck down again.
Mason grabbed a drink tray—flutes of Black Moll crashed to the floor—and he held the platter overhead, while sending crackles of Shadow through the glass. His shoulders and back took the hot shock of the strike, but the tray itself held. A shield.
The phoenix dived from above. Maeve looked up, just in time for Kaye to take a faery eyeball from its socket. With a swat, Maeve sent Brand crashing to the floor.