“My brother,” the king whispered, before his voice grew strong again. “My brother, you leave me no choice. It is with regret that I accuse you of treason. Kneel and accept your punishment.”

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. After everything we’d been through, everything that happened, this was going to be it? Jarl would be gone, and I’d finally be free to live my life?

As if sensing my confusion, Anyan reached down and took my hand in his huge paw, squeezing gently to let me know he was there. I moved in closer to the big man, unsure whether I could watch anyone—even Jarl—executed in front of my eyes.

Orin’s power surged, forcing Jarl to his knees. Morrigan was still sitting and I noticed she was clutching the arms of her throne with both hands.

This has to be a shock for her, too. I mean, she suspected her brother-in-law, but still… I thought, watching as Morrigan rose from her chair and approached her husband from behind.

What happened next will always be a blur in my memory. One minute Orin was standing, his hand raised to smite his own flesh and blood; the next he was gasping. Then the Alfar monarch was on his knees, and then he was lying prone, facedown, the sudden absence of his tremendous power leaving a tangible void in the room.

There was a lovely, ornamentally hilted knife sticking straight up out of his back, from where it had slid in between the king’s ribs to pierce his heart.

And then the king’s wife, and murderer, held out her hand to her husband’s brother. Jarl stood and took Morrigan’s fingers, bending gracefully from the waist to plant a fervid kiss to her knuckles.

Right about then, holy hell broke loose, allowing Lord and Lady Macbeth to flee, together, through a door hidden by the tapestry behind them.

Never saw that one coming, my brain commented, awed, before retreating behind a fog of pure adrenaline.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The first time I was involved in a fight at the Alfar Compound, I’d been defenseless. I’d crept about, and hidden, and tried to stay out of the way.

This time, things were different.

Making sure their master and mistress had time to get away were a coterie of minions, mostly relatively weak Alfar, who had taken the dais to make their stand. Orin’s body had been unceremoniously kicked aside and lay awkwardly on its back, propped up at a weird angle by the hilt of the knife that had killed him.

Anyan led the attack, Ryu at his side, both men battling as ferociously as lions. Their differences put aside, they were an intimidating team. They were backed up by other powerful beings. The remaining force wasn’t going to last long, although I knew Jarl would have a good getaway plan.

So I did what I was best at: I guarded a group of Compound servants, surrounding them with one of my expansive barriers so nobody got killed. Slowly but surely, they added their own power and, however weak those individual shields may have been, I stitched them together with my water force so that our defenses were soon well nigh invulnerable.

Meanwhile, my well-guarded corner of the main hall offered me a good view of the battle, and Morrigan wasn’t the only being to surprise me.

For example, the person who appeared the most poleaxed by the queen’s treachery was Nyx. Over and over I’d been told that Nyx was in Morrigan’s pocket, that she was Morrigan’s Jarl. So I’d totally expected her to be part of the force covering Jarl and Morrigan’s retreat. After all, the female baobhan sith loved a fight and she certainly loved her monarch. But she didn’t move once throughout the whole brawl. She just stood, staring at where Morrigan had once sat, as if by willing her queen back she’d reappear.

The master manipulator was manipulated, I realized. But I then admitted I shouldn’t be so hard on Nyx.

Morrigan was gooooood, I thought, remembering all the Alfar queen’s kind words, and all her control. While there had always seemed to be a lot more simmering under that superficial calm, I’d thought it was so easy to interpret that simmering, just as Morrigan had undoubtedly intended. I remembered walking with her through the Compound on my first visit, listening to her talking about their fertility problem. The way she’d introduced the issue, but then seemed so resolved in her assertion that all would end well, had made me believe that she was surrounded by other people who worried her about the subject. But it must have been her own feelings all the time, elegantly masked.

And her apparent mistrust of Jarl? The Alfar queen was practicing the lesson learned first around third grade but honed by master adulterers worldwide: Act like you dislike the object of your affection.

I watched the battle unfold, occasionally flicking a mage ball at whoever wandered too close without making their intentions known. Most creatures were other servants wanting to take shelter behind my shield, but there were a few beings who must have been Jarl’s flunkies who thought I would be easy pickings. A glowering goblin nearly got close enough to me to do some damage physically, but instead I watched, wincing, as he was neatly beheaded. A grinning fat man was revealed by the goblin’s falling body, until my rescuer stood uncovered before me, clad only in loose pantaloons and curly-toed shoes.

Wally, I salute you, I thought, raising my fingers to my forehead to complete the gesture. The djinn, Daoud’s uncle, grinned even broader in response and gave me an air smooch before turning back to join the fray.

After about a half hour of intense fighting, Jarl’s remaining force was either dead or overpowered. But not until Anyan came over—bloody, bruised, and grim—to retrieve me did I let my shields drop.

“You all right?” he asked.

“Yup. You?”

He nodded, and we stood facing each other awkwardly. I was pretty jacked up by the adrenaline of tonight’s events, and I knew Anyan must be, too. But what to do about that fact?

Be bold, whispered Capitola’s voice. So I tried.

Stepping forward, I leaned into Anyan, wanting to know, for real, that he was solid, and whole, and healthy. He was so tall, my forehead was basically resting against the top of his flat stomach, but it would do.

His long arms wrapped around me and he held me gently. We stood like that for what felt like an hour, but could have been only a minute or two. Finally, I looked up to meet his eyes.

“What’s gonna happen now?”

“Chaos. Jarl was Orin’s heir. There’s no one to replace him; no Alfar, that is. Most of the court Alfar have just run off with Jarl or just been killed. Of the innocent remaining, we’ve got a scholar, a historian, a bard, and a wannabe stand-up comedian. So none of our remaining Alfar are exactly leadership material.”

“Is that going to be a problem?”

The barghest’s nose twitched. “We’re not exactly a democratic society, Jane. And we’ve only ever been led by Alfar. So yeah, there’s going to be a lot of sorting out to do.”

“You’ll be busy,” I said mournfully. I figured I would lose the barghest to this mess. He was, after all, one of the supernatural community’s strongest and most respected leaders.

A big hand stroked through my hair and I shivered. “Yup,” he said. “I’ll be busy.”

I frowned. “How long will you have to stay?”

“We’ll be out of here by tomorrow night.”

“We?” I asked, figuring he meant me and whomever he sent me home with as my guard.

“Maybe earlier if everything goes quickly. I want to get you home as soon as possible and start your real training. Jarl’s not gonna stop gunning for you, and we have to be ready…”

“We?” I asked again, my voice small and hopeful.

“Yes, Jane, we. You didn’t think I’d let you out of my sight with Jarl running free, did you?”

“We?” was my oh-so-clever response.

Anyan laughed and crouched down. He took my hands in both of his, then gave me a serious look.

“War is coming, Jane. I don’t know what form that war will take yet. But war will come. This Territory is now undefended and leaderless. Not to mention there’s the little matter of Jarl and Morrigan. Despite their actions, after a few months many people will think they’re our most obvious leaders. It wouldn’t be the first time an Alfar monarch has arisen to take a throne he or she first bathed in blood.”

I shuddered at the thought.

“So we must be ready. But we’re relatively safe in Rockabill. There we can plan, and there we can prepare. And I’m not leaving you. Not again.”

“Why?” I squeaked, unable to believe Anyan would give up his chance to lead to be with me.

“I don’t want any part of the political clusterfuck that’s gonna be the next few months,” Anyan growled. “And I told you once about my loyalties. I care for few creatures here, Jane. My loyalties are elsewhere.”

With that he sat back on his heels, looking up into my face. I behaved with my usual dignity and grace.

I shuffled and hemmed and hawed as I turned beet-red. I didn’t know how to respond to his declarations. He was Anyan, fercrissakes. I felt like Johnny Depp had stepped out of the pages of a magazine to declare that he’d been admiring me right back.

“Mine, too,” I mumbled eventually, feeling my face get even hotter. But I squeezed his hands in mine, and he responded by stroking a thumb over my knuckles.