Page 52 of Vicious Fates and Vast Futures
Chapter Twelve
Bryn
We stalk quietly through the unseelie sithen. A few turns and we’re at the empty throne room. It’s early enough that we encounter no more than a handful of guards, which are easily dispatched. Weyland is very skilled at a solid tap to the temple with his hammer; enough to knock them out for a day. He is resistant to killing anyone not actively fighting against us and I see the value of it; we’ll want support from the members of this court.
Barclay is likely still sleeping. Our intel is that he’s been drinking himself to stupidity every waking moment.
No sympathy. He was sleeping with the snake that spelled Adelaide and me. Osmund gave her exactly what she deserved: a whole lot of electricity run directly through her nervous system.
En’s lean body is against my leg and she’s panting. It’s her magic we’ll need to pull this off. We’re lucky to have her.I’mlucky to have her.
“Filib,” I call softly.
He emerges from behind Weyland.
“It’s time, my horsey friend.”
He frowns, like he wants to say something, but he looks down at En and seems to steel himself. Hah. He’s still hurt by her blunt words. Good. He needs to find his bollocks and act like the creature of terror he truly is.
He steps aside, toes off his boots, and transforms. It’s a slower transformation than I’m used to, given the amount of power my ladies hold as shifters, and that slowness makes it more gruesome. I hear muscles popping and bones breaking and reforming. His jaw elongates in a way that would surely scare the shit out of any human. Little bristles emerge from his skin as his clothes rip with the increased size of his body. The hair on his head is sucked inward, for lack of a better description. He’s utterly defenseless during this transformation and I tuck that knowledge away in case it’s needed. His fingers curve and his hands widen as the nails on each finger grow and merge into a hoof. I avoid looking at his feet; I don’t need that image seared in my brain.
Within a few minutes, he stands in his waterhorse form: shaggy brown fur, gleaming eyes, and pointed teeth.
En whoofs softly and shakes all over. I feel her magic along our tightly controlled bond a moment before she releases it. She has power in glamour, and her magic turns Filib into a demon unicorn, more or less.
The glamour doesn’t truly change his form, merely gives the appearance of it. Now, his fur is black, his eyes are glowing red, his mane and tail are longer, lucious, and flowing. A black horn, dangerous-looking, emerges from his head. Long fur covers his fetlocks and his hooves are gleaming.
I pat En’s head. “Well done, love,” I praise her in my bedroom voice and she lets out a whine in response. I chuckle.
Filib’s voice emerges from his big flappy lips. “Are you both quite done?”
His attitude makes me bite my cheek to keep from smiling. I like him slightly better when he’s pissy.
“Yes, yes. Positions, everyone.”
Adelaide
RORY HAS PULLED OUTa notebook and is sitting at the large stainless steel prep table in the middle of the kitchen.
“Okay, so Marchara, though they’re all dead, goes in the ‘rapists and abusers’ category. Who else?” he asks the assembled Fae. More and more of the servants have piled into the kitchen as word of our presence has spread.
“Well, Cefyll should go in the ‘good’ category,” a small nervous brownie pipes up.
Rory nods and adds that to his page.
“We need a ‘doesn’t harm but doesn’t help’ column,” a thin wolver says softly.
“Mm-hmm. Adding a ‘only kinda sucks’ line,” Rory says as he writes.
“Put Quinn’s house in that one,” I say.
I step forwards to watch Rory. He indeed has three columns and is adding the eleven royal houses as Fae call them out and agree or disagree on where they should be placed. Lots of discussion and anecdotes, many that turn my stomach.Why had they never told me? I thought they considered me an ally?I mean, I had hoped they did.
Once the houses are figured out, we start discussing any individuals that veered from their family and may need placing somewhere else, though there are not many.
Eventually, Rory sets his pencil down and looks over our work, nodding slowly. Of the ten houses still standing, four are in the worst category, two are in the good category and the rest fall in the middle.
