Page 94 of Malice

“There are some who care nothing for such contracts.” Hints of bronze in Laurel’s gaze leap and dive with the flickering lantern flame. “Those bound by word and word alone.”

Word and word alone? There’s only one creature I can think of who fits that description. “Do you mean the Etherians?”

“I do indeed. As they cannot lie, theverbalagreements of the Fae are as strong as any blood oath. And they did grant Briar a blood oath, in the form of the crown itself.”

I think of the statue outside the palace gates. Leythana’s crown dripping with golden paint. But it wasn’t paint when the Fae blessed it. It was blood. And not even Tarkin has dared wear the wreath of bramble and thorn, knowing the power behind it.

“The Etherians have never interfered with Briar’s affairs before,” Aurora argues, wrinkling her nose at the bed of straw when a rat tail swishes into view. “Catalina started giving away her duties centuries ago, and the light Fae did nothing to stop her. And my father says they’ve been no help with the matter of succession. They don’t seem the least bit concerned that I’m the last heir.”

“Honestly, did you tworeadthe books you stole from the library?” When we don’t answer, she utters a low curse and exhales slowly. “As part of Leythana’s alliance agreement, the Etherians pledged to protect the rightful ruler of Briar. But she has toaskfor that protection. The whole point of Briar’s existence is so the Etherians don’t have to meddle with the borderlands. They only come if they are called.”

“But my father did call. He asked several times—”

“Your father is not the rightful ruler of Briar in the eyes of the Etherians,” Laurel interrupts. “Queen Mariel is.”

Aurora falls silent as realization hits. The handle of her lantern creaks in her grip. “Because the light Fae are bound by word alone. They don’t give a dragon’s tooth about the wedding contracts. Oh, I’ve been such a fool. How did I not see that?”

“It doesn’t matter now.” Laurel waves her off. “Based on the fact that the Etherians haven’t intervened, I assume it’s been only King Tarkin communicating with the Fae?”

“I—” Aurora is still dazed. “I thought my mother was negotiating with them about the succession, but…now I’m not sure. Whatever she’s done, it’s not enough for them to help us. Because they would help, wouldn’t they? They would cast my father down as a usurper.”

Laurel nods. “If Leythana’s heir named him such, yes.”

“How would Mariel do that?” I ask. “Endlewild?”

It’s suddenly clear why the Fae lord hardly gives the time of day to most of the court. Why he refused to discuss Briar’s future with Tarkin. He’s bound only to Mariel, and she doesn’t even realize the power she holds.

“The Lord Ambassador hasn’t been seen for some time,” Laurel says darkly. “I’ve been making inquiries.”

I was wondering why I didn’t see him at the curse-breaking celebration. And he wasn’t at Narcisse’s trial, either. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I saw the Fae lord aside from his visit to my Lair.

A rat rustles in the straw.

“That can’t be a good sign.”

“There could be many reasons for his absence.” Laurel sounds calm, but worry deepens the lines around her mouth. “Perhaps your mother has spoken with him and he’s gathering reinforcements.”

“Or he’s dead,” I mutter.

Laurel scowls.

“I doubt it. Mother was as shocked as I was when we learned of Father’s plans. She can’t have gone to Endlewild now—even if he’s at court, Father will be watching. The council vote is in three days. If we can’t summon the Etherians—”

The bread and cheese curdle in my stomach.

“Tarkin will be expecting resistance,” Laurel cautions. An errant wisp of her emerald hair shivers in the dank chill.

“We need to distract him,” Aurora says. She chews her bottom lip, as she does when she’s thinking. “My mother can only stay the vote for so long, if she manages to stay it at all.”

This is a mess. Not even a year ago, I could not have cared less if Briar smoldered to ash. Now I want Aurora to rule. Want the future we could have, one in which I don’t have to spill my blood and curse brooches and—

An idea strikes, hot and cold at the same time. “The sleeping curse.”

Two pairs of eyes pin me to the stone. “What?”

“I can make another, like I did with the brooches. We can put your father to sleep. For as long as it takes to call the Etherians and set things right.” I’m nearly tripping over the words, the plan taking swift flight in my mind. “He’ll wake up dethroned and powerless.”

Or not at all. The thought brings me more joy than it probably should.