Page 146 of Vicious Is My Throne

I replayed my final glimpse of Tavion, Raz, and Zor surrounded by monsters I’d created.

Fae I’d twisted into something foul and evil.

Endless darkness blurred past, cold creeping into my veins, turning my thoughts to sludge, Tristan’s talons cutting into my skin as I hung bonelessly in his grasp. He kept making those worried-sounding rumbles, but what could he do?

There was nowhere to put down, nowhere for us to rest, and by now we’d been flying for so long, if we didn’t reach the Wynter Palace before Tristan’s magic ran out…I supposed someday, if there was ever another cycle and the blight faded away, someone might find our bones down there in the forest.

I opened my eyes, something rough scratching across my burning cheek.

I ached all over, my muscles stiff and sore, my empty stomach cramping. It took me a full minute to realize I wasn’t moving. The cold seeping into me wasn’t from rushing air, but cold, damp stone.

That the rough scratching came from a scaled wyvern’s nose shoving at me, trying to wake me up.

“I’m good, I’m good. You can stop any time now,” I mumbled out of the side of my mouth, not sure I could even lift my head.

“Getting up right now, you overprotective wyrm.” A chuff of warm air flooded over me, making my cut cheek burn hotter, the reek of rot filling my nostrils.

Then I remembered. We were both covered in blighted ash, but while Tristan’s wyvern was immune to the effects, I was not.

I took a shuddering breath and forced my frozen, aching muscles into a sitting position, enough to see Tristan had flown us to the Wynter Palace. He’d crossed miles and miles of rotten forest, and the box was right beside me, still locked tight.

“You did it, Tristan. You got us here.” I cupped his scaled chin, peering into those red-gold eyes. “You saved me, and the knife, and probably this entire world.” I pressed my lips to his nose and tasted woodsmoke and fire. “I love you.”

He chuffed out another sound that might have been a laugh—I really needed to figure out his wyvern’s language—before nuzzling against my injured cheek. My skin was on fire, but that hurt was nothing compared to my leg. I took a deep breath before I looked down, not sure what I’d find.

The gash from the broken window was laid open, white bone gleaming through the red muscle, black veins spreading outward all the way to my knee and down to my ankle. Tristan peered at the wound, growling low in his throat.

“Okay, we have to get inside.” I peered up at the palace façade. Not a single speck of black anywhere, but if I went inside like this…I would contaminate our only refuge.

“There’s a fountain out back with standing water in the bowl if it hasn’t dried up. I’ll wash everything I can off before we go inside,” I decided, wrapping my fingers around one of his scales and heaving myself up, hopping on my good foot.

“The fountain’s around back.” I leaned over and picked up the box—hard to do on one foot—tucked it beneath my arm, and started limping toward the patio where Bexley had forced me to hold that flame aloft for hours.

The standing water in the bottom of the fountain was stained brown from fallen leaves and colder than the depths of the Great Beyond, but I set down the box and waded in, scrubbing my face then my leg, then stripped off the ruined shirt and breeches, leaving me in my skivvies.

Then I splashed across to the other side and washed again, gritting my teeth against the cold.

The only thing I salvaged was the keystone, washing it off five times for luck in the murky water, my stiff fingers gripping it so tightly I doubted even the Oracle could pry it out of my hand.

Tristan paced back and forth, tail lashing, knocking over ancient statues and the bench Bexley had sat on that night. “I’m fine,” I lied, my teeth chattering as I climbed out of the fountain. “Just need to get in front of a fire, and you can help with that, so nothing to worry about.”

In truth, I was worried about everything.

The virtual army of monsters swarming Ravenshade Castle when we’d lifted off into the air. The fact that Zor had wings and couldn’t walk, much less travel. The fact that Tavion and Bex couldn’t get themselves here.

Raz could only carry one person here. Only one.

And I knew him well enough to know he’d never leave anyone behind.

And Tristan needed time to recover before he attempted a return trip. Not that I could ever convince him to leave me since the Oracle could show up at any time.

Gods, we were so screwed.

I picked up the box and trudged toward the palace, then hesitated at the last moment before I rounded the corner of the palace, shoving the knife beneath one of the crushed statues, the white, broken edges of some ancient, forgotten goddess gleaming against the darkness. Not the best hiding place, but if the Oracle arrived to take back the Fae magic, I wouldn’t make this easy for her.

Tristan followed me to the front door, shifting at the last possible moment to catch me when I stumbled over the threshold. His skin was fire against my ice, too hot, almost, and I gripped his shoulders tight when he lifted me into his arms.

“Hang on, Anaria. Let’s get you warmed up, then I’ll take a look at your leg.”

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