Today's Reading
Bastien stepped closer. "You take umbrage with what I said?" He kept his voice even.
"I take umbrage with your very existence, filthy leech," the warrior ground out. "Nothing as paltry as a single arrow could kill Lady Silla. She alone wields the powers of air and of earth. None are her equal."
Loose-tongued lout. It was the first time any member of the Summer Court had acknowledged the extent of Lady Silla's abilities in front of Bastien. He was unsure if even Celine understood the magnitude of her mother's powers.
The Lady of the Vale commanded the air and the earth. In recent years, it had become a rarity for even the most powerful among the fey gentry to conjure more than a simple spell, much less wield elemental magic like earth, air, water, or fire. For Lady Silla to control two of the four meant she was formidable indeed.
Bastien studied the warrior for a moment. "I never said the Lady of the Vale was dead. But thank you for confirming the good news that she is not."
Despite the summer fey's pompous appearance, his hands shook. The burns on his wrists had chafed through the skin, exposing raw flesh to the wintry air. His eyes darted from one corner to the next. The Grey Cloak was agitated. Distracted by obvious pain. Perhaps he would not be as guarded as he should be.
"How many of you crossed the bridge to find the one responsible for firing the arrow?" Bastien asked him point-blank.
The Grey Cloak flinched and pressed his lips into a line.
"Definitely more than a single soldier," Bastien mused. "'You' would not be enough."
Irritation etched lines across the summer warrior's brow. "Two?" Bastien continued.
The warrior did not react.
Bastien stepped closer, letting his voice drop to a whisper. "Three? Four?" Something tugged at the corners of the Grey Cloak's lips.
Dark satisfaction warmed through Bastien's chest. "Four, then. It makes sense for General Riya to send at least that many soldiers to chase after Lady Silla's assassin."
"You are so certain it was a lone wolf?" the Grey Cloak said under his breath.
"I am," Bastien replied without missing a beat. "After all, your queen fell under the weight of a single arrow. Its high arc and speed suggest that it was fired from a far distance, which further supports the theory that the perpetrator worked alone. Four warriors fanned out in several possible directions would be a prudent effort to rout out the culprit." Bastien tucked his hands in the pockets of his trousers. "Though I must say, how embarrassing for your great leader—one with the power to control both air and earth!—to crumble in the face of such a paltry threat."
The Grey Cloak bared his teeth. "Soon Lady Silla will rise up and wreak summer's wrath on all you winter abominations, of that you can be—"
"Enough!" the centaur bellowed, his hooves striking against the stone floor with a booming clatter. "I grow weary of such talk, Sébastien Saint Germain," he said. '"Where is your justice?"' Fury mottled his features. "I suppose I should not be surprised. You are your uncle's blood, after all. A puppet master lurking in the shadows, afraid to sully your elegant hands."
His words struck a harsh blow in Bastien's stomach. The air left his body in a rush.
Bastien's failure to act had resulted in his uncle's execution and the destruction of his home. Just as his failure to mete out justice on his sister, Émilie, had led to the death of Pippa Montrose. No matter where Bastien looked, he was confronted by the cost of his indecision.
"Now is the time for action, Sébastien Saint Germain," the centaur continued. "Not speeches."
"This vile summer swine," the amabie said, yanking on the chain in her hand for emphasis, "carved a path through our kind on his trek toward the mountain. It did not matter whether he encountered the elderly or the infirm." Tears welled in her eyes. "He struck down younglings. 'Younglings.' The blood of our children is on his hands."
A single cry echoed through the cave, followed by a whimper.
Bastien took a careful breath. "Now is the time for justice," he agreed. "Not speeches."
"And what would be the appropriate manner of justice?" the centaur asked, his equine features appraising. "Should we kill him as he killed us? Should we burn his skin with flesh-flaying weapons, or perhaps feed him piece by piece to the ice sabers that lurk at the foot of our mountain?"
Discomfort knifed through Bastien's chest. He did not care for the way the winter fey watched him, stalking his every move. Like a predator to its prey, lying in wait for his next misstep. "The warrior's fate is not for me to decide," Bastien said.
The centaur looked to the curved ceiling of the cavern. "Then who among us should decide the fate of this summer swine? Who among us is to take responsibility?"
He was met with silence. His voice fell to a vicious whisper. "I say we place the weight of our plight on the shoulders of the one who brought this violence to our doorstep.
This excerpt is from the ebook edition.
Monday we begin the book DEAD THINGS ARE CLOSER THAN THEY APPEAR by Robin Wasley.
...
