Maeve’s eyes glowed. “She cost me my kingdom, my throne. My circle of trusted warriors. Any neutrality I might have had in this war, any mercy I might have offered, vanished the moment she and her mate left.”
They’d found her. Somehow, they’d found her. And Anielle—did he dare hope Chaol might also be there?
Dorian might have roared his victory. But Maeve continued, “Aelin Galathynius will come for me, if she survives you. I do not plan to allow her the chance to do so.”
Erawan’s smile grew. “So you think to ally with me.”
“Only together can we ensure Brannon’s bloodline is toppled forever. Never to rise again.”
“Then why not kill her, when you had her?”
“Would you have done so, brother? Would you not have tried to turn her?”
Erawan’s silence was confirmation enough. Then the Valg king asked, “You lay a great deal before me, sister. Do you expect me to believe you so readily?”
“I anticipated that.” Her lips curved. “After all, I have nothing left but my own powers.”
Erawan said nothing, as if well aware of the dance the queen led him in.
She extended a moon-white hand toward the center of the room. “There is something else I might bring to the table, should it interest you.”
A flick of her slender fingers, and a hole simply appeared in the heart of the chamber.
Dorian started, curling himself farther into shadow and dust. Not bothering to hide his trembling as a horror only true darkness could craft appeared on the other side of that hole. The portal.
“I had forgotten you’d mastered that gift,” Erawan said, his golden eyes flaring at the thing that now bowed to them, its pincers clicking.
The spider.
“And I’d forgotten that they still bothered to answer to you,” Erawan went on.
“When the Fae cast me aside,” Maeve said, smiling faintly at the enormous spider, “I returned to those who have always been loyal to me.”
“The stygian spiders have become their own creatures,” Erawan countered. “Your list of allies remains short.”
Maeve shook her head, dark hair shining. “These are not the stygian spiders.”
Through the portal, Dorian could make out jagged, ashen rock. Mountains.
“These are the kharankui, as the people of the southern continent call them. My most loyal handmaidens.”
Dorian’s heart thundered as the spider bowed again.
Erawan’s face turned cool and bored. “What use would I have for them?” He gestured to the windows beyond, the hellscape he’d crafted. “I have created armies of beasts loyal to me. I do not need a few hundred spiders.”
Maeve didn’t so much as falter. “My handmaidens are resourceful, their webs long-reaching. They speak to me of the goings-on in the world. And spoke to me of the next … phase of your grand plans.”
Dorian braced himself. Erawan stiffened.
Maeve drawled. “The Valg princesses need hosts. You have had difficulty in securing ones powerful enough to hold them. The khaganate princess managed to survive the one you planted in her, and is mistress of her own body once more.”
Valg princesses. In the southern continent. Chaol—
“I’m listening,” Erawan said.
Maeve pointed to the spider still bowing at the portal—the portal to the southern continent, opened as easily as a window. “Why bother with human hosts for the six remaining princesses when you might create ones far more powerful? And willing.”
Erawan’s gold eyes slid to the spider. “You and your kin would allow this?” His first words to the creature.
The spider’s pincers clicked, her horrible eyes blinking. “It would be our honor to prove our loyalty to our queen.”
Maeve smiled at the spider. Dorian shuddered.
“Immortal, powerful hosts,” Maeve purred to the Valg king. “With their innate gifts, imagine how the princesses might thrive within them. Both spider and princess becoming more.”
Becoming a horror beyond all reckoning.
Erawan said nothing, and Maeve flicked her fingers, the portal and spider vanishing. She rose, graceful as a shadow. “I shall let you consider this alliance, if that is what you wish. The kharankui will do as I bid them—and will happily march under your banner.”
“Yet what shall I say to my brother, when I see him again?”
Maeve angled her head. “Do you plan to see Orcus again?”
“Why do you think I have spent so long building this army, preparing this world, if not to greet my brothers once more? If not to impress them with what I have made here?”
Erawan would bring the Valg kings back to Erilea, if given the chance. And if he did—
Maeve studied the seated king. “Tell Orcus that I grew bored of waiting for him to come home from his conquests.” A spider’s smile. “I would much rather have joined him.”
Erawan blinked, the only sign of his surprise. Then he waved an elegant hand, and the doors opened on a phantom wind. “I shall think on this, sister. For your brazenness in approaching me, I will allow you to stay as my guest until I decide.” Two guards appeared in the hall, and Dorian braced himself, paws tensing on the stones. “They will show you to your room.”
To remain in this chamber for too long might lead to his exposure, but he had not sensed the key on the Valg king. Later—he could keep looking later. Contemplate the best way to kill the king, too. If he was foolish enough to risk it. For now …
Maeve gathered her cloak, sweeping it around her, and Dorian rushed forward, ducking into its shadows once more as the Fae Queen prowled out.
The guards led her down a hall, up a winding stair, and into a tower adjacent to Erawan’s. It was well-appointed in polished oak furniture and crisp linen sheets. Likely a remnant of the years this had been a human stronghold and not a home of horrors.
As the door shut behind Maeve, she leaned into the iron-studded wood and sighed.
“Do you plan to hide in that pathetic form all day?”
Dorian lunged for the gap between the door and the floor, but her black-booted foot slammed down upon his tail.
Pain speared through his bones, but her foot remained in place. His magic surged, lashing, but a dark wind wrapped talons around it, choking. Stifling.
The Fae Queen smiled down at him. “You are not a very skilled spy, King of Adarlan.”
CHAPTER 71
Dorian’s magic struggled, roaring as her dark power held him in its net. If he could turn into a wyvern and rip her head off …
But Maeve smiled, weary and amused, and lifted her foot from his poor tail. Then released her grip on his magic.
He shuddered at the dark, festering power as it caressed talons down his magic, brushed the shimmering, raw core, and vanished.
It was an effort not to gag, not to touch the pale band on his neck just to be sure it was gone.
Maeve’s smile remained on her red mouth, his magic still shivering as the feel of her power lingered. The power to break into minds, to rip apart the psyche. A different sort of enemy. One that would require another route. A reckless, fool’s route. A courtier’s route.
So he shifted, fur becoming skin, paws into hands. When he at last stood before the Fae Queen, man once more, her smile grew. “How handsome you are.”
Dorian sketched a bow. He didn’t dare reach for Damaris at his side. “How did you know?”
“You did not think I beheld you, your scent and the feel of your power, in Aelin’s memories?” She angled her head. “Though my spy did not report your interest in shifting.”
Cyrene. Horror crept through him.
Maeve strode deeper into the chamber and took up a seat on the bench before the foot of the bed, as regally as if she sat upon her throne. “How do you think the Matrons knew where to find you?”
“Cyrene was only at the camp for a day,” he managed to say.
“Do you truly believe that there are no other spiders, up there in the mountains? They all answer to her, and to me. She needed only whisper once, to the right ones, and they found me. And found the Ironteeth.” Maeve ran a hand along the lap of her gown. “Whether Erawan knows of your gifts remains to be seen. Before you killed her, Cyrene certainly informed me that you were … different.”