Page 163 of Trials of Dusk and Dreams
Styx freezes, guilt flashing across his face. “I . . . I can’t.”
“What do you mean you can’t?” I demand, turning to face him fully.
He shrinks back, looking more like a cornered canary than the powerful Sluagh he is. I’ve never seen him like this. It’s too familiar. My jaw hardens. My fist flexes with the need to shake sense into him, but I exhale and force myself to relax. Legion has made a sacrifice for the sake of our trust. I must prove to Styx I am doing the same.
“Losing her should be the only thing you fear,” I tell him. “Our natures have changed.”
When the bees realize the intruders’ true nature, it’s too late.The yellow jackets slaughter them, steal their honey, and leave nothing but destruction in their wake.
I freeze with the memory. I’m not sure what it is about that rant, but it fills me with dread.
“What?” Legion asks, seeing the look on my face. I relay Varen’s panicked rambling.
“Emrys tried to shut Varen up again,” Styx points out, then resumes his pacing, eyes wild. “Is he the yellow jacket?”
“Styx,” I say, my voice low and dangerous, “what do you know?”
He swallows hard. “I tried to tell you, but you didn’t listen. He . . . he was talking about making a deal. Not with Puck, but with someone worse.”
A rippling aura of darkness enshrouds Legion. “Titania?”
“No,” I growl, the pieces falling into place. “Someone else.”
An emptiness enters Styx’s voice as he stares at the swirling whirlpool; no soul is left swimming. “He’s the Third. I’m the Sixth. I know my place.”
“Haven’t you learned a single thing?” I growl, gripping his shoulder for attention. “We can’t be a hive again until we start acting like one.”
Legion nods slowly. “Remember what Varen said, Styx. You’re meant to be in the Subterranean for this final trial. We can’t join you down there, but you can stay connected to our minds.”
“Fuck you both.” Styx shakes me off, determination and menace returning to his eyes. “I’m done taking orders.”
The whiff of rot and despair rising from below makes my stomach churn. But beneath it all, I catch the faintest trace of Willow’s scent. She’s alive. She has to be.
“So don’t,” I tell Styx, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. “Do what you think needs to be done. We trust you.”
He disappears, and I meet Legion’s steady gaze.
“Well handled,” he intones, bracing the railing.
I join him and consider the past twenty-four hours. I was with Willow, seeing to her needs while he walked through the Clock Tower with Varen. Our Fourth is not the kind to waste an opportunity.
“Varen was lucid for hours,” I remark. “He must have warned you about this.”
“Naturally.”
Tension releases from my shoulders. That’s why they were so calm at breakfast.
“You know how this will end. Why haven’t you shared it with me?”
“When did we have time?”
My eyes narrow on him. He had time when he found Willow in my bed. Unless Styx’s wraith form was around, listening in. At breakfast, Emrys was there. Whole. Unpunished. He sees me calculating, and his lips curve briefly in that arrogant way of his.
“I see through your machinations,” I remind him wryly.
“I know.” His lips twitch. “But I trust you, and you trust me.”
“Invariably.”
