Page 138 of Beneath a Shattered Sky
“He might not be working alone.” Bree appears out of nowhere, the fog masking his silent steps as his hands wrestle with the buttons of the thick cloak he begrudgingly donned at the start of our ascent.
A moment later, Lox bursts from inside the fabric with a caw of indignation, soaring into the mists.
“Why impersonate my brother?” I ask, feeling a little sick. “What was the aim?”
Lore cocks his head and nuzzles the neck of the imposter. “Please excuse my innocent little pet. I’m working on it.”
“Please, I wasn’t going to kill her. I swear.”
“Ah ah ah.” Lore taps the imposter’s lips with his knife. “I don’t care whether death was the end goal. You were going to touch her, weren’t you?”
The male grimaces, and Lore’s knife sinks deeper, drawing a delicate drop of blood to the fore. Then he turns back to me. “Why don’t you ask him with your sparkly eyes?”
Use my charm? On him?
Would it spare him whatever grisly death Lore has planned? Somehow, I sincerely doubt it. But it might save the others from danger at the hands of his accomplices.
“Please tell us what you’re doing here, and why you’re impersonating my brother. Oh, and while you’re at it, please drop your glamour.”
The charm layering my voice is potent; so much so that the male in Lore’s grip sags slightly. The illusion magic falls away, revealing a pale blond wearing the same armour, but with twin axes holstered at his hips.
“I’m here to capture you and take you back to his highness, to face trial. I used Prince Roark’s likeness as a way to get close to you without risking my neck trying to fight your Guard.”
“Trial?”
“For the murder of Princess Máel and collusion with the Fomorians.”
Oh shit.
“And the evidence?” Lore asks, voice silky, his blade sinking deeper until blood weeps down in a small waterfall.
“A bard,” the imposter-come-kidnapper chokes out. “He brought a letter from King Eero.”
A bard. My gaze flies to Bree, who’s staring at the blond with green eyes full of ghosts.
I rock back on my heels, stomach sinking.
Eero. Of course.
Mervyn may be dead, but we still have powerful fae enemies.
“Your Majesty!” A shrillfemale voice pierces the air. “Your Majesty, where are you?!”
Then, before I can say or do anything, Drystan is there. His hand fists in my cloak, dragging me away from the assassin and the echoing calls of the interloper.
“Nicnevin Rhoswyn, you’re in danger!” the female calls urgently.
“Kill him, Redcap, and do it quickly!” For once, Drystan’s bossiness is edged with panic.
Lore grins, slitting the male’s throat from ear to ear with a whispered, “No one touches my pet.”
Beneath him, the snow turns red, and Lore tuts as he shoves his cap into the wound.
Then he rocks back on his heels, examining the gasping corpse as it sinks to his knees. “That was far too quick, dullahan. You’re destroying my reputation with all these neat little murders.”
But Drystan isn’t listening. He’s too busy staring into the fog. Searching.
“Drystan, who is that?”
