“That took you long enough,” Maeve said, rising from her throne. Kade, the dark-haired and dark-eyed dragon shifter who had betrayed his kind, hurried to her side. She stroked his cheek and kissed him, letting everyone see the affection between them.
He approached one of his own kind, apparently dead, but he was indifferent. Did he know that Alasdair was banking the fires, or had Maeve put a splinter of ice in his heart, too?
Rania felt herself tense as the Dark Queen drew near. The court gathered closer, chattering and speculating. She strove to keep her own expression bland.
“An easy kill?” Maeve asked.
“Never, my queen. The Pyr are most resilient.” Rania eyed Kade, who returned her survey steadily.
Maeve stood beside Alasdair. “I can smell that he’s Pyr but why isn’t he a dragon?”
“They rotate between forms when in distress, my queen, then remain in their human form once dead.”
“Really? The last two who died in my court were dragon corpses.”
“But they weren’t actually dead, my queen,” a Fae warrior said, striding into the court. He was carrying a man on his back and to Rania’s dismay, it was Hadrian he flung to the ground. Her dragon shifter wasn’t moving any more than Alasdair was.
Was he dead or had he banked his fires? Rania wished she knew.
“Bringing presents, Bryant?” Maeve asked. She bent and peered at Hadrian. “But that’s the dead one.”
The Fae warrior, obviously Bryant, nudged Hadrian with his foot. “He wasn’t as dead as you thought he was, my queen. I found him in the armory, melting the weapons.”
Maeve inhaled sharply and spun to face Rania. “Is this your doing? Did you revive him so that you could kill him yourself?”
“Does it matter?” Rania asked, indicating Alasdair. “Here is my thirteenth kill and the Pyr you requested. I would ask you to free my brothers.”
Maeve looked between the two Pyr, then eyed Bryant. “Melting the weapons?” she echoed and he nodded. “How much progress had he made?”
“We are unarmed, my lady.”
A whisper passed through the court at that, a fluttering of wings and a hissing of speculation. Maeve came toward Rania, her gaze dark with intent. Rania felt the Fae queen’s will bend upon her and winced as Maeve began to probe in her mind. She tried to close her thoughts against the intrusion, squeezing her eyes shut as she fought off Maeve’s advances.
There was a shout and a brilliant shimmer of blue light. Hadrian had shifted shape to his dragon form. He roared and breathed a torrent of dragonfire over the Fae, compelling them to retreat. Bryant lunged at him, sword drawn, but Hadrian shifted back to human form. Rania’s dirk flashed in his hand. Bryant fell on him and the blade nicked Bryant’s shoulder. The Fae warrior moved quickly, thrusting the remnant of his Fae sword at Hadrian. Hadrian dodged the blow and Bryant slashed at his feet, moving so quickly that Hadrian fell to one knee. He shimmered blue, taking his dragon form, but Maeve cast a wave of red magick at him before he could defend himself.
Hadrian was frozen in place, trapped and powerless. His mouth was open, poised to breathe fire, and he was crouched low against the ground. His tail was raised, caught mid-swing, and his wings were raised high.
Alasdair had already started to shimmer blue and was changing to defend his cousin. Maeve flung a fistful of magick at him and he might have turned to stone, right in the act of snapping his great dragon teeth at Bryant.
“Do continue,” Maeve invited Bryant.
He bowed to his queen, then raised the last dripping stub of his sword to drive it into Hadrian’s throat. He lingered over the task, savoring his victory a bit more than a noble warrior should, to Rania’s thinking.
“No!” she cried, lunging forward.
Maeve spun to confront her. “Traitor!” she cried and froze Rania in place.
In the same moment, a Fae dagger sliced through the air, seeming to fly in slow motion. It was a masterful throw, and the blade turned end over end, flashing silver as it sped toward its target. Maeve turned from Rania and cried out as she spotted it but it was too late. The blade caught Bryant between the shoulder blades, burying itself so deeply that the tip emerged from his chest. He stared down as the silver liquid began to flow, his expression astonished, then he crumbled. He became a puddle