“Nemain?” I ask, hardly aware of the servants loading the table with food. The spicy scents fill my nostr
ils and my stomach rumbles with hunger. “What does that mean?”
“Long ago, that was your name.” She cocks a smile at me. “Mine is Anand, by the way. I’m assuming that your Sentinel never told you. God forbid he humanize me in any way.” When I look confused, she laughs. “The Morrigan is my title.”
“What about her?” I ask, looking over at Anita.
“Macha,” the Queen replies. “Once upon a time, we were three strong.” She looks out the window at the rising moon. “Soon, it will happen again.”
Wine is poured and I help myself to a full glass. I watch as our plates are filled and forgo paranoia over the strange meal and dig in. The meat is tasty although of a mystery origin, and I don’t dare ask what sort of animal it’s from.
Bunny sits at the end of the table, just below ours. It’s obvious The Morrigan—or Anand—wants him in my line of vision. She watches us, small evil smiles gracing her lips as we avoid one another. I finally turn to her and say, “Why didn’t you kill him?”
She looks down at Bunny with sad apathy. “I admit he’s useless as a warrior, but his skills in the magical arts are extraordinary. It would be a waste to dispose of him.”
Bunny stares between the two of us. I’m unsure if he can hear our conversation. Anand tilts her head and says, “On the other hand, if you wanted to kill him, be my guest.”
Bunny’s wide eyes confirm that yes, he can hear our discussion.
“Me?”
“Far be it for me to judge a woman scored. I’ve burned a swath of revenge across this entire land. Bunny’s sins are his to contend with and yours to execute.” She takes a sip of wine. “But if I were you, I’d enjoy a slow and painful death.”
Anita laughs, choking on her wine, finding the entire thing hilarious. Three days with these lunatics, then I can take them down once and for all.
From his spot at the lower table, Bunny makes eye contact and I hold his gaze, unwilling to look away. My rage is palpable. My heart destroyed. The Morrigan knows me better than I assumed because slow and painful is exactly how I’d fantasized his death would be.
4
Bunny
Sitting in such proximity to Morgan is unbearable. So much so that the instant the Queen is distracted I escape the grand hall, bolting for my castle tower studio for a moment of peace.
I pass few people on the way to my studio, most still enjoying the entertainment and revelry of the banquet. The soldiers pay me little attention. They see me as nothing more than a pawn, a way to help the queen get her way, and I’m well aware she only keeps me around for my abilities.
Oh, and a reason to taunt Morgan.
Gods above, Morgan.
Seeing her in that dress, the way it accentuated all of her delicious curves, her presence, her beauty made men stop and stare at her. There was no doubt why The Morrigan needed her to bond. She was the epitome of youth and life.
I wasn’t sure what would happen when she saw me, if she’d leap over the table to throttle my neck, but the feeling the magic spark between us. The fates know we are still destined, but what I’ve done complicates things.
Actions can carry more weight than even fate.
I step into the room and busy myself with reigniting the dwindling fire. The wood takes a minute to catch and I lean back on my heels and watch the flame lick around the edges. Once I successfully captured Morgan and turned her over, I was rewarded with a bundle of firewood and a roll of new canvas. I eagerly used the wood while I was unsure what she wanted me to do with the canvas. There’s little doubt she’ll tell me when she’s ready.
The heat warms my small tower room but not the ice in my chest. If looks could kill…there’s no doubt Morgan would have slashed my throat with her dinner knife. I knew she was angry, but I’d hoped that working together to get the other Ravens back home and initiating the plan to end the Morrigan would bring us back together and I could attempt to salvage something between us.
Maybe not what it had been before, but at least perhaps she would listen to my apology. But no, we seem past that.
I don’t blame her.
And I don’t blame my brothers.
The blame lands squarely on my shoulders. I allowed my insecurity, jealousy, and lack of faith in Morgan and the others to put us all at risk. I stand and walk over to the canvas and pick it up one-handed and then roll it across the floor. I stand over the beige fabric and flick the blade from my razor open, thumbing the sharp edge.
I’ll have to figure out another way to get Morgan to forgive me, not only because I want her to understand but because there’s no way for her to win against the Morrigan without me.