Page 39 of Crown of Darkness
My hands still, the pulse kicking in my throat.
“Patience, friends.” A third man cuts through the undertone, his voice like a knife through velvet. “The Gray Guild is meeting on Elms Day. That bastard may present himself as prince all he likes, but he doesn’t rule beneath the city. And there are means to counteract his magic.”
Heart quickening, I slip closer, reaching up to ease the book I hold back onto a shelf. As I do, I catch a glimpse of three cloaked figures hiding within the next row of shelves.
One of them is tall and cloaked in dark gray, the others of middling height. The leaner one of those two wears black, and the other a dark green.
“They say he’s going to bind her to the lands and offer her up as queen,” hisses the one in green.
It’s me.
They’re talking about me.
I squat down, toying with several books as if I’m completely focused upon them, but every inch of me stiffens.
“If the bastard does that,” says the second man, “then the city will rise. She’s not one of us. She’s not—”
“Neither is he,” the green cloak points out.
But it’s the taller man who cuts them short. “These are the types of words….” He pauses, and then waves his hand in the air. Gold sparks form out of nowhere, widening into a circle around them, and then, even though I can see their mouths moving, I can’t hear what they’re saying.
A ward.
But if there’s one I learned in my mother’s court, it’s how to slip through one.
Splaying my palm against the floor, I let my conscious crawl across the floor and slip beneath the edges of the ward. If I stay as small and quiet as a mouse, they won’t even notice me. It’s not the sort of thing I’d try with someone of Thiago’s power—he’d sense me for sure—but the throb of power around these three doesn’t push at the skin, the way Thiago’s does.
The sudden crack of words is almost startling
“…doesn’t have the power to bind the lands,” murmurs the tall man. “My contacts in Asturia tell me she’s pathetically underwhelming. Can barely light a hearth. Be patient. This game is not over yet.”
“And if she does manage it?” says a cold, hard voice that I think belongs to the black cloak.
“There are pieces in play. Keep your mouths quiet until Elms Day. We have a plan that shall remove this blight from the throne forever.”
Silence falls as they both stare at him.
“He’s protected,” one of them says slowly.
“Not for long,” says the taller man. “The bastard may rule the dark, but he’s not the only dangerous fae in the city. And I have… friends who would very much like to pay him back for past endeavors. We can’t counter his magic, but maybe we don’t need to?”
They start toward me and I realize I’m not very well-hidden down here.
I turn and slam into a tall, hard body.
Before I can suck in a sharp breath, a tattooed finger presses against my lips, and a hooded stranger pushes me against the shelf.
Where did he come from?
A hand claps over mine as I reach for the knife at my hip, and the pressure of his finger intensifies. The shiver of magic slipping over my skin feels like cool water, rather than the molten glide of honey that reminds me of Thiago’s magic, but he’s clearly laying a veil over me.
Fine. I fall into stillness. I can be quiet. Besides, this is not the place for a sudden struggle, and I suspect he’s not involved with the trio of conspirators.
The man in the green cloak sweeps past, tossing his hood back as he slips out the door of the bookshop. Blond, handsome in a foppish way. He doesn’t even glance at us. The others have vanished, but that doesn’t mean they’re not still here. Glamor and illusions are gifts that many fae wield, though few of them are quite as skilled as Thiago.
The stranger is skilled.
The fae in the green cloak should have noticed us. We’re rightthere.
