cocktail shaker. Given the olive, it was probably a martini. The Dark Queen was wearing a black dinner suit with feathers around the collar. They shone blue-black. Rania saw that it was evening by the light of the sky beyond the windows.
She would have expected it to be noon or so, roughly the same time as at Hadrian’s place in Northumberland, but this wasn’t the first occasion she’d witnessed Maeve bending time to suit herself.
“Enjoying ourselves, are we?” the Dark Queen demanded, her tone petulant. “Ignoring that there’s a time element to this assignment?”
“It’s been more complicated than I expected,” Rania said, her manner deferential. “The kiss of death didn’t work on him.”
Maeve ate the olive. “Can’t find a knife in your collection?”
Rania didn’t admit that Hadrian had confiscated the ones she’d tried to use. “I haven’t found the right moment yet.”
“The right moment,” Maeve echoed, as if she’d never heard anything so ridiculous, then sipped her drink with care. “I’m becoming disappointed, Rania.”
“I promised, Maeve—”
“Excuse me? What did you call me?”
Rania blinked. “Maeve.” She’d always called the Dark Queen by her name, but now Maeve shook her head.
“Only my nearest and dearest can call me by my name. It’s intimate, you know.”
“But...”
“But you thought you were intimate. And maybe you were.” Maeve arched a brow. “I invite you to note the use of the past tense.”
Rania felt things were changing too fast. Had Maeve discerned the change in her?
She’d seen others bow before Maeve and thought this might be a good time for her to do so. In the past, Maeve had laughed and invited her to stand again. “My queen, I only want to serve your will.” She bowed low, then dropped to one knee.
Maeve just watched Rania, sipping her drink, and didn’t invite her to stand.
“I fear, Rania, that you may be becoming unreliable,” she said finally, her voice low with threat. “And that would be a terrible shame, when you’ve come so close to fulfilling your assignment and attaining your goal. It would break my heart to see you fail.”
Rania had heard the question of whether Maeve even had a heart debated before, but knew it was dangerous territory for speculation. Besides, she trusted the Dark Queen. Why would she even think of that at a time like this?
When Maeve could read her thoughts? It was a bad moment to even consider a treasonous notion.
“I won’t fail, my queen. I will finish the task.”
“Not before you prove your allegiance to me.”
Rania looked up in surprise.
“Tell me what you’ve learned.”
Rania faltered, unable to guess what relevance there was to anything she’d learned. “He has a workshop in Northumberland...”
“No, no, no. I want to know how they intend to fight me.”
Oh! “The dragon shifter and blacksmith I chose as my victim is making special gloves for his fellow Pyr.”
“What kind of gloves?”
Rania tried to remember the details. “They have blades that flick out, like a switchblade at the end of each finger. They’re made of steel—” Maeve hissed at the word “—and I think they can carry them through the shift to augment their dragon talons.”
“Kill him now,” Maeve said with heat. “Kill him before he finishes them.”
“Yes, my queen.”
Maeve drained her drink then glared at Rania, still on bent knee. “Are you still here?”
Rania was stung by the Dark Queen’s tone, but she understood that Maeve was frustrated. It was her own fault, for failing to finish her assigned task.
It was time to make that right. She stood up and wished herself to her collection.
There was no way Hadrian would end up seizing it all, one weapon at a time. This time, she’d succeed.
Of course, Sebastian didn’t answer Sylvia’s knock on the door of Reliquary.
And the other vampires had probably gone to Bones already. Had he gone with them?
She pounded on the door again, then looked up at the window of his refuge. The curtain flicked. She was certain of it.
And that made her mad. “Ducking me!” she called out, not caring if she offended him. She would have said more, but in that instant, she realized why the word Semyaza sounded familiar to her.
It was the name of an angel.
A fallen angel.
And the man in the vision had brought her a feather.
Hadn’t this whole battle started with a fallen angel stealing Maeve’s book? And Sebastian had been the one to claim it, when the fallen angel died?
Sylvia knocked one last time at the door, glared at Sebastian’s window, then headed for the library where she worked.