A Court of War and Sacrifice

24. The Enemy's Progress

    Seren's eyes stung with weariness as they gathered around the breakfast table. The dread lord took a slice of bread and broke it into small pieces. He lifted a piece to Vassa's cage, which had been placed next to his seat. Vassa turned her head away from the meager offering. The dread lord shrugged and ate the piece himself.

    Seren found herself watching the Queen, waiting to see what she would do. Vassa began preening her red and gold flaming feathers.

    All I can tell you is that you must leave at once! Never come back here. Get out and remember! Tell them to remember. Tell them to be prepared. Don't let yourselves be fooled. Get out of here!

    She would tell the others what Vassa had said. They would leave and they would remember whatever it was they needed to remember. First, though, Seren would do a little more investigating.

    Breakfast passed in slow silence. The dread lord merely watched them. Jurian glared at the man. Lucien's gaze kept drifting to Elain. Elain stared down at her plate, poking at her food.

    Shadows hovered around Seren's shoulders, ever her wary sentinels. "I'm curious about the wraiths," the dread lord said, breaking the silence. "You are a Shadowsinger?"

    "No," Seren answered. "I'm not."

    "Then why do shadows cling to you?"

    Lucien shook his head vaguely. "Aren't all shadows attracted to light?" Seren asked innocently.

    "Not living shadows." The dread lord leaned closer, eyes glittering. "In my experience, living shadows prefer darkness. Light and anything that produces light drives them away."

    "These ones are different, then," Seren replied. One shadow brushed over the scar on her cheek.

    "Living shadows can't exist without a Shadowsinger. If the Shadowsinger isn't you, then who is it?" The dread lord smiled, drumming his fingers on the table. "No, wait. Let me guess. You travel with an Archeron sister and her mate. You must be from the Night Court. The shadows belong to Rhysand's Shadowsinger."

    "You seem to know a lot about Fae for a mortal dread lord," Seren said.

    "I have lived a long time. I have learned many things. The Fae and their seven courts interest me. I enjoy studying exotic things, as you may have noticed." He gestured towards Vassa. The dread lord leaned back in his seat and kicked his feet up on the table. "I mentioned to your companions that I could be persuaded to make a trade."

    Seren's hands warmed beneath the table. From the corner of her eye, she saw Lucien and Jurian tense. Elain kept looking at her plate, but Seren knew she was listening. "What kind of trade?" Seren asked.

    "An exotic trade. You are certainly exotic. Lovely to look at, despite those hideous scars." Seren's breath caught. Elain squeezed her hand beneath the table.

    They don't mar me, Seren recited. They are a prize. I earned them. I protected my family. They don't mar or taint me.

    "You are not a Shadowsinger, and yet, shadows cover you. They protect you. I have heard stories of the Illyrian Dragon. Are you her? The one who burns brighter than the sun, with shadowy wings shrouding her like death." No one answered. The dread lord's smile grew. "And given your current condition, I believe you to be the mate of Rhysand's Shadowsinger. Or, his wife, at least."

    "If you're insinuating that you will trade Vassa for me..." Seren began.

    "Not insinuating," the dread lord interrupted. "Stating. I will set Vassa free in exchange for you."