Until then, I consider, kneeling on the floor and scoring the canvas with the blade. I’ll cope like I always do. Deep within my art.
5
Morgan
When The Morrigan finally releases us from her never-ending dinner party, I’m past tipsy and on the way to drunk. The wine here is strong, the food salty, and the company unbearable. Nevis escorts me back to my room and I proceed to blabber about my thoughts on everything.
“You’d think, with so much power, the Queen would pick a nicer place to live. Somewhere with central heating and carpets on the rugs. Running water. Electricity.”
We pass a window that looks out onto the desolate landscape. “And a place near the sea. That’s warm. Why not Florida?”
I stumble over the hem of my dress and Nevis grips my arm to hold me upright.
“And Bunny? Did you see him? With his messy bronze hair and those adorable glasses?” I scoff. “I want to punch him in those pretty little lips.”
She stops in front of my chambers and I sway back and forth before leaning against the wooden door.
“He hurt us so bad,” I tell her in a whisper. “Sent my mates to the dungeons to be terrorized and beaten. Separated us, divided us to make me weaker—all for her. I can’t forgive him.”
“Are you sure of his motives?”
“I don’t need to know his motives, Nevis. I saw what he did to the others. What he did to me the last time we were together. I feel my pain and I healed the wounds of my guardians. Forgiveness isn’t an option.” The wine swirls in my belly. “If anything, he deserves what the Morrigan suggested. Death.”
Nevis opens the door to my room and nudges me in. With assistance I make it to the bed, where I push her hands away. Lying face down, the feather pillow envelops me and I grip the mattress. The spinning room finally slows.
“Go away.” I tell her as she starts to help me undress. “I just need to lie here. Just sleep. Now.”
“Morgan.”
“Go.”
I’m half asleep by the time the door clicks shut.
6
Clinton
Cirice pushes the two bottles of ale across the bar and wipes up the wet droplets left behind with a towel. She studies them with her vivid green eyes, the gold flakes sparkling.
I swallow half the ale in one gulp and Sam drowns the whole bottle. It’s been a long day.
“Didn’t know if I’d see either of you back in here again,” the bartender says. Sam pushes his empty bottle toward her and she slides him another. She nods at me. “What about you Clint?”
I guzzle the rest and wipe my mouth. “I’m fine.”
I’m here to assess the crowd, not get trashed. Scanning the crowd, I spot a few familiar faces. The Shaman’s table is empty and as much as I hate it, he’s the one I’m here to see.
“Word in the alley is that you guys came back without Morgan,” Cirice says.
Sam puts down his bottle. “What else did you hear?”
“That you left the prisoner of the Morrigan but came back free men—carrying a cure to the sickness plaguing the city. But you left your girl and one of your guard behind. What gives?”
“How the hell did you hear all that?” I growl.
“Part of the job.” She shrugs and the neon lights behind the bar shine off the top of her smooth head. Her ears point slightly and her canines are a tiny bit elongated. I’ve heard she’s from a fae realm but that’s outside my concern or worry. “But you obviously came here for something. Want to tell me what it is?”
Sam and I share a look, but we both know we’re short on time. Dylan estimates we have three days before the phase of three moons turns full, and that is when the Morrigan will have her ceremony.