Page 138 of Between Fear and Favor

A small part of me hoped it hurt. I hoped it hurt because of just how much she had hurt me.

I gripped Estri by the back of the neck and pressed my lips to hers. Instead of the Sea Queen, my mind filled with images of red curls and indents in pillowy flesh made by my own fingertips. As I sought to convince Mairin, to show Estri that I could do what she needed me to do, I imagined kissing the merrow who laid bound behind us. I pretended we were leaning over the railing of the ship’s stern, Olistos to our left, and I’d ignored her declaration that I didn’t have a say in what she did. In my mind, I told Mairin to be quiet, and I kissed her instead. I poured every feeling I had for her, every insecurity she’d erased, every bit of confidence I’d found since I met her into the kiss.

Estri was merely a vessel for those feelings, and as my lips moved against hers, I couldn’t help but grow emotional. I kissed her like I’d never been able to kiss Mairin, and in doing so, I hoped it saved us all. Even if it doomed whatever might have been salvageable between the merrow and me. Even if we didn’t have a last kiss, and I never saw Mairin again after I got us out of this mess—this was the only time I would allow myself to imagine.

The Sea Queen pulled away as a sob sounded behind me. I couldn’t look at her. I couldn’t bring myself to see what my action had wrought. Despite what Mairin did to me, I didn’t want to see the evidence of my own betrayal.

“Very good,” Estri said, and then I began to scream.

She’d set my body aflame.

Chapter 62

RAINIER

I cameto within the maw of a disgruntled dragon, and it somehow wasn’t as frightening as what I’d learned while unconscious.

Cyran and Elora had appeared to me, rushing to explain everything they’d discovered about Lady Highclere. Her garden—full of winterfrost roses—and the prediction she’d made which had caused Cyran to slit Elora’s throat. It took me a moment to understand, considering the last moment of thought I’d had involved me tumbling head over foot, plummeting to my death. But, eventually, I understood.

What I didn’t understand was why my daughter was in a gods damned chemise and holding the little shit’s hand. What I didn’t understand was my mother’s daft decision to travel through the night with them toward Astana, transporting as many winterfrost roses they could carry from the treacherous woman’s garden. What I didn’t understand was the choice for all of them to mount dragons without me or Em. As if Elora had any fucking experience with the beasts without our guidance.

If Natara Highclere still lived, hidden in some shack in Evenmoor, I would find her and I would kill her. Prophecies be damned. Futures be damned. Elora was her flesh and blood and she’d deemed it appropriate to sacrifice her.

The only solace I found in this turn of events was that my daughter had five dragons to protect her on the journey. I’d have preferred Elora to send a messenger instead, but I knew my daughter. A lifetime of understanding myself, decades of knowing her mother, and a few months of learning her—she would do what she wanted and not take ‘no’ for an answer.

“Irses, put me down,” I commanded, followed by a softer, “please,” when his jaw squeezed me too tight. Despite my location, I’d stayed relatively dry. Though tremendously warm, his mouth wasn’t moist. While I wished I wasn’t privy to the information, Irses’ tongue was textured and coarse, like that of a cat.

I could feel the shift as Irses started his descent. The moment I’d woke, I’d had to close my eyes because I was feeling nauseous, and now, as we came closer to landing, the feeling returned in force.

When we finally landed, I rolled out of his mouth and onto the ground, grateful to be on my own two feet. I’d been lucky.

We were in a field, and with dry amusement, I scented cow dung on the breeze. I wasn’t sure if it was the same field I’d deposited the Supreme’s guard in, but it was empty. On the horizon, the flames bathed the night sky in orange, and I wondered just how long I’d been asleep.

“Thank you for catching me, Irses,” I said, reaching up to stroke above his nostril. He huffed a breath, and I accepted it as his appreciation, even if he only did it for Em’s benefit. “Now, will you please stay here? If you come back, you could kill her. Em. You could kill Emmeline. The person who made you. Your mother,” I said, feeling rather fucking silly for talking to a dragon so adamantly. But if there was a chance any of the words I said would stick, I had to try.

“Stay,” I repeated, turning my back on him and opening a rift back into the city.

As I stepped back into Lamera, the soldiers focused only on the fire instead of a dragon, I felt a tug from Em on the bond. Gold flared on the edges of my vision, her heartbeat slamming against the threads between us. And then it stopped.

With my eyes closed, I traced our bond. Gently at first, my intentions quickly grew frantic as I tried to find her on the other end. For long moments, I focused on the echo of our connection. She’d been there—just on the other end—and then she wasn’t. I had to hope it was enough, that the fading shimmer of gold in my mind would lead me to her. I opened a rift, not daring to breathe.

“Hold out your hand, Emmeline. If my assassin doesn’t hear from me by midnight, he will creep into Elora’s room—your old one, funnily enough—and slit her throat. Again.”

I wasn’t close enough to do anything. Though I was in the cavern beneath the Myriad Seat, I couldn’t see shit.

I stumbled in the direction of the voices, uncertain if I should speak. Did the Supreme have her in a precarious position? Would he kill her if I told her Elora was far from Ravemont, protected by the dragons?

At Em’s sharp intake of breath, I understood what was happening.

“She’s safe!” I shouted, rumbling the earth beneath us. I couldn’t get to Em, couldn’t feel her behind what must have been a wall made of obsidian. “Elora’s not at Ravemont!”

Em cried out, a gasp and a scream—and I ran. Despite the cracks forming in the ground from my divinity, despite my inability to see, I ran to her. Using that golden thread between us as a rope, the faint remnant of where she’d once been called out to me, and I finally saw the sliver of light through a stone door.

They were on the ground, and Em was kicking and flailing as the Supreme pulled her by the ankle toward an enormous pile of bones.

“My blood!” she screamed, reaching for me with wide eyes. Her veil had fallen from her face, and all I could see was her bloody hand. Her bloody arm. A rivulet of blood streaming down her palm, to her wrist.

All I could do was grab her, picking her up and kicking the Supreme’s hand from her leg.

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