Page 115 of Realm of Nightmares
“We can’t align ourselves with him, he’s a fucking assassin. Too rash and too volatile.” Merrick’s gaze stole around the table before finally landing on Tiernan. “He’s dangerous, my lord.It’s risky.”
“One might think every risk is worth taking,” Ceridwen murmured quietly, smoothing the skirts of her gold gown, “considering our current circumstances.”
Merrick’s jaw tightened and his nostrils flared, but he said nothing to counter her.
“The High Princess is right.” Casimir shifted in his seat, fully aware of the daggers Saoirse was launching at him with her eyes. He cleared his throat, shoving his hood back. “I have seen the strength of Parisa’s numbers. She is a well-equipped foe with a seemingly endless supply of resources. Volatile or not, we need all the help we can get.”
Resigned, Merrick glared at his sister, who smiled approvingly at Casimir.
“Now,” she continued, rolling her shoulders, “I can send a letter to Prince Drake and call in my favor. However, I cannot guarantee a hastened response. It could take a week. Perhaps two.”
Merrick snorted. “Or you could justfadethere and ask him yourself.”
“It’s out of the question.” Malachy snapped, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword fastened to his waist. “Fadingthroughout the Four Courts is one thing.Fadingto an entirely different realm is something else altogether.”
“My sister will be the first to tell you she can do anything.” Merrick edged forward, slamming his hands on the table. “I doubt it’s that difficult.”
“Then might I suggest you be the first one to try?” Malachy challenged.
Tension throbbed in the air between the two males, dense like a heady wave of humidity.
Lightning flashed across the darkened sky, striking a nearby tree, and splitting it down the middle. It groaned as its trunk tore in half, then turned to cinders and ash, the scent of burnt palm wood tinging the air.
“Enough!” Tiernan demanded, irritation churning through him. “Ciara, send your letter to the prince of Brackroth as expeditiously as possible. Aran, sail for Wenfyre as soon as you can. Now, if everyone is done bickering, might I suggest we redirect the conversation to the other tasks at hand?”
Brynn, who’d been relatively quiet most of the evening, reached into her pocket and pulled out a crystal siphoning tools, setting it on the table for everyone to see. “This device was used to extract the dark venom from Maeve when Garvan attacked her. Thanks to Aran, we now have a small arsenal of them in our possession. I’m not saying they’ll be enough to save the fae who are locked away in Spring’s dungeon. In fact, I doubt it will help at all.”
She rolled her toothpick between her lips. “But they could still be useful to us. That being said, I’d like to speak with every notable healer in the other Courts as well to see if we can devise a cure or antidote. Maybe even a means of sedation.”
“If it’s healers you need, it’s healers you shall have, my lady.” Dorian inclined his head, a smooth smile gracing his composed exterior. “I’ll send the best Kyol has to offer.”
“I’ll send mine as well,” Ciara added, reaching for her flute of sparkling wine. “You know, with all this talk of gathering forces and joining armies, I can’t help but wonder how easy it would be to vanquish Parisa if we had a legion of drakon on our side.”
Taking a small sip, she glanced pointedly at Casimir, eyeing him from over the rim of her glass.
“I wish I could offer such a service, my lady.” The drakon bowed his head, his dark brown hair tumbling forward. “However, I am the last of my kind.”
“Here,” Aran corrected. “You’re the last of your kindhere, in Faeven.”
Casimir’s face darkened, his pupils morphing to thin vertical slits, like that of a dragon, the beast granting him his namesake. “Are you saying you’ve seen other drakon in your travels?”
“I’m merely suggesting they might exist elsewhere.” Aran swirled his empty whiskey glass so the remaining cubes of ice clinked together. “One cannot be so bold to assume they are the sole survivor of their kind without having overturned every rock, every tree, in search of others.”
“A discussion for another time, perhaps,” Dorian mused, running his thumb along his jaw. His emerald gaze locked onto Tiernan. “What else, High King?”
“I think we’ve covered most everything so far. Our ranks are fortified, our legions are prepared for battle. They know what is expected of them.” Tiernan gauged every face at the table, ensuring each of them met and understood the determination he set forth. “Once Aran and Ciara receive word from our prospective allies, Parisa will know the true wrath of the Four Courts. She will feel the cold sting of our blades, the callous might of our magic, and the pure strength of our will.”
Lir glanced over at him, his voice sharp with warning. “My lord?”
“I will no longer sit idly by and allow Parisa to control the game of war. We are not her pawns, we are her enemy.” Tiernan shoved back from the table and stood. “And we will attack first.”
* * *
Later that evening,Tiernan found solace in the silence surrounding his Court. Dorian and Aran had returned to Kyol, Ciara and Malachy to Ashdara, and Casimir had shifted back into his drakon form, taking to the sky. Where he’d gone, Tiernan wasn’t sure, presumably back to Suvarese, the Crown City of Spring. He could only hope the next time Casimir returned, Tiernan had a way to break through the shroud surrounding Spring. It was the single flaw in his plan, the one slight weakness. He knew how to attack, how to incapacitate Parisa. The only problem that remained was actually crossingintothe border.
An insignificant detail.
One he planned on deciphering tonight. There had to be a way to invade the shroud of Suvarese. Parisa was smart, but she wasn’t well-versed in warfare. She would likely rely on someone else to do that for her. But for her to obscure the entire Court, she must’ve expended a great deal of energy, or at the very least, magic.
