“Try to bind me, harpy, and you’ll regret it,” Lore spat out.
The female laughed, the sound effervescent as a bubbling brook.
Lore had heard that laugh before.
She studied this newcomer. Same lustrous, mahogany skin. Sharp, elegantly painted nails. Long braids that swayed when she stepped farther into the room. The small, brown wings sprouting from behind her were new.
The other fae from the apothecary.
The one who’d accompanied Syrelle, searching for Aunty Eshe all those months ago.
She’d been so rude about the conditions of Duskmere, complaining that the muddy streets had ruined her slippers.
Lore had convinced the female to pay ten times what a book was worth. She’d planned to use the funds for new boots for the twins. Lore had been so proud. And then the earth had split open, devastating Duskmere.
Had that been in this lifetime?
It seemed as if that day had happened to someone else entirely, so altered was Lore. She felt as though she were a husk of that person—a ghost. She felt like she had less power now than she did then, because now she knew what it was to be powerful, and she’d had it ripped from her grasp.
“You dare threaten me? I should have you whipped.” The female’s laugh was shocked, delighted.
This was a game to her. Lore’s life and all the lives trapped in Duskmere were a game. What a despicable female.
“I would love to see you try, spoiled brat,” Lore retorted.
“Syr, I thought surely you would have taught this feral creature some manners, with all that time you insisted on spending with her.”
“Coretha, there will be no further threats to Lore. She’s still under the effects of the solace-root.”
Coretha... so this was Syrelle’s cousin.
“Have I mentioned how exasperating you are to insist the human mustchooseto locate the book? Surely she isn’t so stupid—she must know that choice is an illusion. If the king wills it, it must be done.” She tossed her braids behind her shoulder and heaved a dramatic sigh. “I thought even the scum of Duskmere would realize that.”
Syrelle growled. “I’m sure you have better things to be doing than minding me. Leave us.”
“Oh, there are a plethora of things I would rather be doing thanbeing on this ship, period. But Uncle said you weren’t to be alone with the human beast. You’re untrustworthy now... or have you forgotten that you’ve fallen so out of favor? I can’t leave you; the king’s orders must be followed.” She cut her eyes at Lore. “Something you should be relaying to your pet.”
Pet? “You—” Lore started, but Syrelle cut her off.
“Coretha, at least wait outside. You are hindering my plans.” He recalculated. “Theking’splans.”
“Fine, but he expects results—and fast. He won’t wait forever before taking matters into his own hands.” She backed into the hallway and leaned against the wall, her wings fluttering as she watched the two of them, her expression giddy.
Lore didn’t have to know the female nor the cousins’ dynamic to know that something had changed—and recently. Coretha liked having power over Syrelle. It seemed that Syrelle had made a grievous error by withholding information from the king—his leash had been shortened, and he was clearly unaccustomed to it.
The guard from before cleared her throat. She’d returned with a plate of food. The aroma made Lore heave into the vase.
“Are you unwell?” Syrelle asked.
Lore’s shoulders shook with laughter as she wiped saliva from her lips.
Was she unwell? She didn’t think she’d ever beenmoreunwell. Not even when she was close to death from being poisoned. Or when the steward was whispering all the terrible things that he wished to do to her, his decrepit knee pressed to her chest.
“I’ll feel better when you and your deplorable cousin have left my presence.”
“I see. I’ll leave you to eat. You need your strength. Someone will be by shortly with water to wash up... and a new vase. There are clothes in the wardrobe. Please make yourself comfortable.”
The guard placed the plate of food on the table.