Vengeance Throne (The Callistra Chronicles #2)

NINETEEN

As Pasiphae silently followed Psyche out the rooms and through the golden gardens, she wondered what she was supposed to say to Seth when she saw him. Somehow, I know you confessed your undying love to me last night, but for my sanity's sake, we need to focus on politics right now didn't sound quite so appealing.

"Look regal," Psyche commanded, pushing though the tree line into the main path of the court.

Pasiphae raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

Her question was answered in the next moment when they passed through the gate separating royalty and nobility. They were doing a procession again.

"Does this not get old?" Pasiphae muttered. Nobles started lining up immediately at the sight of her, standing with their heads inclined on either side of the path.

"It is protocol," Psyche said. "Walk faster, you have to be ahead of me."

It was a travesty that the Seelie Court had yet to find its spy when it had so many rules that an outsider could not possibly blend in naturally.

"I'm just letting you know," she called back to Psyche, "this is absolutely ridiculous."

They passed the next gate.

"Walk faster, then."

"I would if I wasn't—" Pasiphae stopped, halting in both her step and her speech. From the space between two palaces, there was a figure dressed in shapeless robes, lingering in the buildings' shadows. Though Pasiphae could see little with the figure's head inclined respectfully, she felt a sharp sense of familiarity. She didn't realise why until the figure sensed Pasiphae's gaze upon them and looked up for the briefest moment, locking eyes across the Court.

Kohl-lined eyes.

Naeyrs.

Pasiphae bolted after the jinni, pushing past a crowd of surprised fae. Naeyrs saw her coming immediately and started backing away, but Pasiphae had her in her sights.

Until she was snagged back.

"Where are you going?"

Pasiphae whirled around, trying to tug her arm out of Psyche's grip. "This is important, just give me a second—"

"Saf, you can't just—"

Hoping to be forgiven later, Pasiphae arched her arm back and slammed the blunt of her other hand down on Psyche's wrist. The faery loosened her hold with a yelp, and Pasiphae bolted.

She shot through the space between the two palaces: an alleyway so thin that her shoulders kept slamming into the walls as she galloped through. She managed to catch a flash of Naeyrs and her dark clothing veering a sharp left.

"Naeyrs," Pasiphae called, emerging from the alleyway at last. "Naeyrs, stop!"

To her surprise, the jinni did stop. She stopped—only to give Pasiphae a hard shove with magic, sending her flying across the back of the palace.

"Deaths," Pasiphae muttered, her head thunking down on a rock as she landed roughly. "I hate jinni magic."

The pounding at her temple told her she was going to have a killer bump on her skull. She blinked blearily, seeing a pond to her left and a sweeping wall on her right. Nowhere to run. Panting, Pasiphae opted to grapple for the knife in her pocket instead.

She had barely raised it before her hands locked up.

"What are you doing here?" Naeyrs asked, walking closer. Since Pasiphae suddenly couldn't quite move without feeling like her limbs were weighed down with two tonnes of steel, she assumed that Naeyrs had summoned a magical hold over her. No matter—the old magic of their species was similar to that of the witches, only it came in incredibly short bursts. Sooner or later, the hold would dissolve.