Page 101 of The Crimson Throne
As suddenly as it started, it stops. Samson’s body sags against the wall, my magic propping him up a yard above the floor.
Moyra moves behind me, placing a hand on my shoulder. “The potion’s worn off.”
I don’t let his body go.
“He’s a Red Cap,” I say, forcing the words out.
Because no fae could possess a Leth unless they had an affinity for them. The High Blade accessed Samson’s body only because Moyra’s potion lulled him to a hollow point, but the High Blade couldn’t have possessed him without sharing the same type of magic. And as the High Blade said, they’d been watching Samson. Closely.
“He’s a Red Cap,” I repeat weakly, hoping to will myself to not believe what I am certain now is true.
“I know.” Moyra’s voice is sympathetic.
Something unintelligible rips out of me in a scream, but Samson’s body is still, immobile, hanging impossibly on the wall. Tears choke me. This is everything—everything—I have trained my entire life to avoid.
The High Blade.
Not just Red Cap weapons.
Not even Red Caps themselves.
No, the feckingHigh Bladeis back. Ready to tear down the wall and invade.
I turn my blurry eyes to Samson.
He’s one of them.
A Red Cap.
A Red Cap who breached the wall and walked into Scotland.
“What are you going to do, lass?” Moyra asks in a soft voice.
Power wraps around my fists.
“You have to kill him.” Moyra speaks practically, I know.
I think about the needle.
I think about the way the man looked at me just before he died. That man, the one I killed, had been using a Red Cap weapon to call the Sluagh and terrorize an innocent village.
This man, the one hanging in the air in front of me,isa Red Cap.
He didn’t know.
That doesn’t change the truth.
But by every god, old and new, my heart breaks.
Because he’s been used. Born to be a tool.
Like me.
His father, Cecil, must be a Red Cap too, working under the High Blade. There’s still the possibility that Cecil is the High Blade—there’s ample evidence now that the High Blade is accustomed to English language and traditions, but since the Red Caps have been banished, that’s not enough proof. But Cecil whelped Samson with some hapless woman, purposefully breeding his vile blood to make a Leth.
Someone he could use. Why? How?
Samson moans, but he doesn’t yet open his eyes.
