Page 4 of The Blood Queen

Her eyes go from Cecil to me.

To Alyth.

Her dark eyes are emotionless, so unfeeling they may as well be dead. But her lips curl in what seems like a mimicry of a smile.

“Cecil,” her voice rings out. Chatter around the room ceases. “What have you brought us?”

Alyth keeps walking forward, and that’s the only reason I stumble back to alertness. I gain speed and haul her with me, playing the role, throat constricting as all the soldiers’ eyes lock on us. Some of Cecil’s Red Caps file in behind, taking up spots on the outskirts.

We’re well and proper screwed, aren’t we?

“Partridge,” Alyth whispers again, a barest brush of noise.

It’s fine. Calm down.

She’s the one comforting me? Christ, I need to pull myself together.

But my vision goes wavy again, my hands sweating in my gloves. I’m not blacking out though, not here. Not ever again if I can help it.

I stop us next to Cecil, who dips into a bow.

No. I’m not bowing to her. I won’t.

My waist bends against my will, survival overriding my pride. I hold there, supplicant, as Elizabeth—the High Blade—stands.

“We have Alyth Graham, my liege,” Cecil says, waving a hand at her. “The Leth barrier guardian.”

“And she is alive,” Elizabeth notes. “Why?”

My hand clamps on Alyth’s arm, and I straighten.

“She can be useful to us,” I say, voice clear and level. “To you.”

Elizabeth studies me with dead eyes. I thought I’d perfected hiding my emotions, but she’s entirely blank, as though emotion has never once lived in her, never once sparked to life anywhere on her. She’s nothing and she’s all things, and it’s utterly terrifying, like looking straight at death.

Elizabeth cocks her head in an abrupt jerk. “What do you know of use, Samson Calthorpe?”

It’s a harsh crack of a question, meant to intimidate. Cecil’s lip arches in a snarl at me like he thinks I’m going to embarrass him, cost him something; he should really know me better than this.

I hold Elizabeth’s eyes. “I know I’ll be a lot more useful now that I understand the game we’re playing.”

“And what game is that?” Her tone is duller. Almost growing bored.

“Invade the fae realm. Take back what is yours. But to do that, you need her.” I don’t think; I toss Alyth at Elizabeth’s feet.

Part of me withers up and rots away.

Alyth falls, the binding spell keeping her arms at her sides, but she lands on her knees and hunches there, shoulders jerking in stunted breaths.

“You need her,” I continue, “because she can gather all the Leth in Scotland for you to get rid of before they become a problem. She can lead you to the open portals. She can be a catalyst to coerce her father into surrender. Her use is more potent alive than dead, and I would see that use benefit you, my High Blade.”

I drop to one knee, head bowing, hair falling around my face. My breath strains to come out of my lungs in gasps, but I choke it down, holding, holding.

Elizabeth doesn’t move. It’s so quiet, the crackling of the fires sounds like thunder.

A thud echoes through the room as Elizabeth takes a step down off the chair’s elevated platform.

I expect her to stop in front of Alyth. She’s the prize here, after all, the one who’d been in charge of keeping the High Blade out of Scotland.