Nerys endured with practiced ease the horrible sensations of Betwixt, her mouth set in a grim line against the charming combination of zero-gravity, freezing cold and pitch-dark. She felt herself, as if split into a million pieces like the breeze, racing and yet seeming not to move. She held her breath – for there was nothing to breathe in Betwixt. She counted to six, one count for ten leagues, and then felt the pull of her destination. The absolute black around her faded by degrees as she approached, until she was looking at the world again as though from under water.

She arrived, slipping out of the Betwixt through the smoky hole held open by her shadow butterflies. The sounds of Eoscan, the World Queen’s Capital, hit her in a rush. Humans and Witchkin scattered with cries of fright when she appeared – elusive, mysterious, deadly, there wasn’t a soul in the Five Kingdoms who wasn’t terrified of her. Her gaze flashed across the crowded, cowering courtyard, getting her bearings.

She’d arrived in the sprawling marketplace that clung to the square below the palace proper, thinking to pick up some candied figs for Fayne. The Queen was partial to the sweet treats – and to gifts from Nerys. It was also definitely a good idea to take an offering to soften the bad news of Calyx’s unexpected return. Nerys scooped up a box from a vendor who offered no protest and popped a fig into her mouth to suck on as she made her way up the steps toward the Great Hall, where Fayne would most likely be this time of day.

All eyes followed her progress to the flight of marble stairs, and the silence was pervasive. She could practically hear them counting each of her departing steps. At the thirteenth, she stopped. She swung round, her midnight dress swirling with her, and unleashed a fireball at the crowds below.

It exploded harmlessly like a giant firework several metres above their heads, but people ducked and fell over themselves in all directions, yelling in fright as they scattered like panicked mice. Nerys threw back her raven head and laughed, popped another fig into her mouth and continued on her way.

A few minutes later, she was surprised to find the Great Hall abandoned but for two soldiers guarding the open door. They stood stiffly to attention as she approached, and she fixed them with a raptor gaze.

“Where is the Queen?”

“In her Chambers, My Lady,” the braver of the two replied.

Nerys frowned, instantly concerned. “Why? Has she been taken ill?”

“Forgive me, My Lady, but I don’t know. I only overheard the chambermaids say she was there.”

Nerys regarded him acidly for a moment, but judged him to have no further information to offer. She turned on her heel and stalked back the way she had come.

“I don’t know about ill,” the second guard sniggered under his breath when she was out of earshot, “But I bet she’s been taken alright.”

He had misjudged the range of a Lat’Nemele’s hearing.

Nerys whirled. Her magic caught him by the throat. He yelped as she lifted him a foot off the floor, and she held him there, choking.

“What… did you say?”

The first guard tiptoed away into the shadows, trembling, silent prayers falling from his lips. Nerys ignored him, she had her prey in her clutches already. Her fingers curled, her magic holding the guard like a marionette. She used it to shake him like a rag doll.

“I will not tolerate jibes about the Queen,” she said. Her voice was soft, her eyes glittered.

She pulled him towards her, his limp toes scuffing across the lushly carpeted floor, and stopped him mere inches from her face. With her free hand, she caught hold of his jaw, hooking her fingers like claws, her nails digging into his skin. Her eyes burned with cold fire, and he whimpered in pain and terror. His skin began to blacken under the scorching heat of her fingertips, and he squirmed, whining. Blue veins of hot ice spread down his neck from the points of her touch. He tried to scream, but the burning air in his lungs froze, followed by the rest of him. In short seconds, his entire form turned to steaming ice, and Nerys, still holding his chin, smiled crookedly. She squeezed.

His icy effigy shattered into a million pieces, skittering across the floor in all directions. The Lat’Nemele dusted her hands and then reached out a casual finger to snare the first guard with a magical thread. She pulled him out of the dark recess where he had been hiding and held him aloft.

“Clean this up,” she growled, gesturing at the frozen remains splattered across the carpet.

The guard nodded furiously, his ears aflame as he felt urine trickle down the inside of his leg.

“If I find that the Queen truly is ill on top of his insult…” Nerys whispered, stroking his cheek, “I will have to resurrect him and kill him again. You tell him that, while you clean him off the floor.”

The guard blanched, tried not to look at what was left of his brother-in-arms. He didn’t know if she could do that, but he was not wise in the ways of magic and decided to refrain from asking.

“At your c-command, My Lady,” he squeaked instead. His stomach roiled and he clamped his mouth shut, trying not to be sick in the presence of the Sorceress.

Mercifully, she released her grip on him. He dropped unsteadily onto his feet, managed a quick, stiff bow, and then raced off, armour clattering. Nerys watched him go, snorting at his panic as he clamoured off down the hall. She knew that he was off to enlist the aid of the castle cleaners. Unlike the human guard, they wouldn’t bat an eyelash – they’d grown used to cleaning up all kinds of body parts, over the years. She glanced disdainfully down at the remnants of the second guard, and then twitched her skirts and strode back the way she had come.

The dead man’s jibe played on her mind as she swept down the long corridors towards the Queen’s apartments, and she shook her raven head to dispel the uneasy feeling that clung to the dark recesses of her mind. She shrugged it away; of course, the banter of soldiers should be ugly and crude – they were lonely men, entrapped for long periods beneath the mantle of their duty. The Queen was an exceptional, fiery beauty… it was no surprise that they should harbour such dreadful thoughts about her.

Nerys blew out through her nose as she reached her destination, firmly dismissing such malicious rumours. She knew better; she’d been Fayne’s consort for decades. She glared at the two unsuspecting guardsmen stationed outside the Queen’s quarters as she approached. The heat of her glower rattled them, and they were quick to avert their gazes. They bowed low and pulled open the doors to admit her, hoping she wouldn’t pause.

She did not, and they were quick to shut the doors again after her passing, exchanging glances of relief.

Inside, Nerys stopped. She tested the air, her eyes narrowing. She caught the flicker of Fayne’s magic ahead, unsteady, palpitating. It hitched and hiccoughed, feverish. Nerys frowned and hurried forward. Concern for her lover chased the last ridiculous shadows of doubt away. She felt anxiety tighten her chest – something was most definitely wrong.

A terrible thought struck her, and her heart skipped a beat.

What if the other Lat’Nemele had arrived before her?

She knew what had happened last time a Lat’Nemele had trapped an unguarded Queen in her chambers…

Nerys lurched forward, terrified by the thought. She leapt for the inner door of the Queen’s apartments, the one that led to her bedchamber. She snatched at the door handle, feeling the strange flutter in Fayne’s magic grow more urgent, more inconsistent. The door didn’t budge. She froze, staring down at it in confusion. She tried again, and realised that it was locked.

Fayne had never locked a door in her life.

Panic engulfed Nerys – the Queen was in trouble! She tried to listen for the hint of an intruder’s magic, but all she could hear was her own blood rushing in her ears, drowning out reason. The sudden pit of icy-cold fear made her forget she was a Witchkin, and perfectly capable of porting around a locked door. She rounded her terrified lips to shout her beloved’s name.

But a low moan interrupted her panic. Her inhaled shout exhaled in a soundless rush, and she pressed her ear to the door, listening hard, until reality came crashing back down. It crushed her panic; it prompted her understanding. And then, it stood aside to let her deal with the consequences.

Nerys’ breath came in shallow gasps, ice flooding her veins. She stood back from the door, unable to believe her own ears. Her heart constricted, brittle as winter, and the box of figs fell from limp fingers as she reached up to clutch a hand to her breast. Liberated from their papery confines, they rolled sluggishly away across the floor. Nerys didn’t notice; her head shook slowly of its own accord, her mouth opening and closing in abject silence, and she fisted agitated fingers through the lace of her bodice. Unwilling, but unable to stop herself, she cocked her head to listen as the sound came again.

The sounds… came again.

And again. And again.

And then… Fayne came, by the sounds of things.

The bloody guard had been right.

Trembling, Nerys clenched her teeth; a savage growl rose in her throat. Her hand ripped away from her chest, roaring power. Without another thought, she blasted the flimsy door into a thousand splinters and stormed into the room, a veritable tornado of furious magic. Startled cries met her unexpected entry, and the dust cleared to reveal Fayne intimately intertwined beneath the Human King of the Third Kingdom. The Human King! Nerys whined like a wounded puppy.

They sprang apart. Droahbar Len’Korran fumbled for a bedsheet to cover himself, but Fayne stood tall in all her naked glory, escalating from surprise to self-righteous anger in less than a heartbeat.

“Nerys!” she snarled, tucking Droahbar behind her for his own safety, “How dare you come barging in like that?”

Nerys barked a short, breathless laugh, struck wordless by the audacity of the question. She glared at Fayne; she could still feel the erratic throb of her magic echoing in the air. She’d never felt it from the outside before, but now she understood exactly what it was.

“You’re not supposed to be back for hours!” Fayne snapped, stepping towards her as she planted her hands on her generous hips.

Nerys seemed not to hear. Her gaze raced from side to side, flashing with her thoughts.

“I loved you…” she said, slowly, as if trying to force herself to understand what was happening, “I killed for you… How… how could you do this to me?”

She lifted her gaze in a soul-wrenching stare. Fayne glared back, her expression cold, angry at being caught out.

“Oh come now, darling,” she scoffed, “This is hardly the first time – I thought you knew that?”

Nerys choked on the words. “Hardly… the first time…?”

She raised her hand, black strands of shadow snapping through blue flame. Desperately, she wanted to murder the heartless, arrogant Queen, to tear apart the human insect hiding behind her. But her vision grew blurry, and her heart hitched. Something inside snapped, and it hurt. Hot tears welled, threatening to drown her fury; her magic flickered, refusing to obey. But she revolted against the helplessness of her unexpected situation – she resolved to keep her dignity, if nothing else.

A deep breath, a defiant toss of her magnificent head, and she turned her back on them both to storm towards the splintered exit. Fayne suddenly realised that the fight was over and Nerys intended to leave. She took a quick step forward, one hand raised in appeal.

“Nerys, wait!” Her tone dropped immediately to teary honey. “Let me explain, darling. I’m sorry-”

Nerys whirled, cutting her off with a sharp cry of vexation. She couldn’t help it. She had to react.

“You are not! You are not sorry! I can feel it, Fayne! I can feel your lack of sincerity hovering in the air! You are not sorry that you took that worm into your bed, only that I caught you at it! I have done everything you asked of me – everything – for a century! And this, this is what I get? By the Grace of Malevelyn, you deserve everything that’s coming to you!”

Fayne snarled, reverting immediately. Fire blazed across her body, a physical representation of her spiralling temper. Nerys watched, feeling her anguish fortify itself into a shield of cold contempt.

“You may not address your Queen in such a manner!” Fayne spluttered, outraged.

Nerys fixed her with an emotionless expression, punched out her next words with soft intent. “You are no Queen of mine.”

“You are beholden to me!” Fayne seethed, “You have sworn yourself to me! You do not get to choose the length of your contract!”

“Contract…?” Nerys snorted, feeling a thousand barbed arrows pierce her heart, yet somehow managing not to show it, “That’s what this is? That’s what nigh a century of loyalty and affection comes down to – a contract?”

“A binding contract, Lat’Nemele,” Fayne reminded her darkly, “Made to the World Queen – to me.”

“World Queen indeed…” Nerys bit out. She completed her voyage to the door. “…only because I made you so.”

Fayne choked on her rage, sputtering for words. Nerys ran her spiteful gaze across Droahbar’s mortified figure as he cowered behind the viciously fuming redhead. Her gaze flickered back to Fayne, and her lip curled as she spat her parting words.

“Careful lying down with humans, dear. You might catch something... unpleasant.”

The air around her darkened, and then she was gone.

Fayne, furious, launched a volley of fireballs at the remnants of shadow butterflies, but they only collided with the fragmented wooden door behind. Thwarted, Fayne let slip a shrill screech of frustration. She stared at the spot where Nerys had disappeared for a long, dark moment, her hands fisted tight at her sides, before spinning aggressively on her heel. Muttering to herself, she snatched her crimson negligée up from where it had lain discarded on the floor, slipped it over her bare body, and turned to face Droahbar. He was pulling on his buckskin trousers, but stopped under the heat of her gaze.

“Leaving me too, are you?” the Queen snapped.

“Of course not, Your Majesty,” Droahbar replied, giving up on his belt buckle.

His voice carried a deep, strong resonance. Like Rador’s used to, before he’d grown soft. Before she’d had to murder the snivelling wretch. Fayne collapsed onto the sofa that faced the crackling fireplace, scowling. Why the hell did Nerys have to come home early today? How unbelievably inconvenient.

She waved an irritated hand. “For the love of Malevelyn, pour some wine.”

The Human King obliged, collecting his mettle. He crossed the room to fill their cups, running a large hand through his dark, grizzled hair. Fayne watched his powerful muscles ripple across his barrel chest as he did so. Droahbar was past his prime, but fit, strong, and solid, like an ox. Fayne found him quite handsome, with his powerful build and commanding stature. She’d also heard that he was formidable on the battlefield, and that a war axe was his preferred weapon, which fascinated her. She liked his greying hair and beard, too; he looked like someone in authority, with ambition. Fitting, considering that’s why he’d made it to her chambers in the first place. He returned with two brimming goblets of Trindian Merlot.

“Well, what do we do?” he asked as he offered her one. His heavy brow creased with thoughtful concern.

“Do, darling? About what?”

“The Lat’Nemele.”

The Queen huffed. “You will do nothing. I will handle Nerys. You will simply uphold your end of our arrangement.”

Droahbar dipped his head in acquiescence. “Of course, Majesty. The raw anerradite is already on its way to Eoscan – sixteen wagonloads of the finest crystals, as you requested.”

“Good. I am eager to complete the network through the Kingdoms.”

“And the Lat’Nemele? This changes nothing…? Your Knights will stand aside when I annexe the Second Kingdom, as we agreed?”

“Of course, darling. Our little dalliance is simply the sweetener for our two lonely lives.”

Droahbar snorted into his wine before he could stop himself. Fayne raised her eyebrows, and he cleared his throat to offer a tentative explanation.

“Apologies, Majesty, but I don’t think the Lat’Nemele would agree that you are lonely – to judge by her reaction.”

Fayne clucked her tongue in irritation. Truly, Nerys’ unfortunate reaction had irked her. This was precisely why she’d always kept her dalliances secret from the other woman – Nerys never had understood the power of using one’s body as a bargaining tool. To be sure, she never would. More honestly, though, there was another reason that Fayne was so incensed, and Droahbar’s comment gave her brief licence to vent.

“I grow tired of Nerys’ recent obsession with wayward magical occurrences. She seems to think there is some catastrophic imbalance looming over Andoherra; portended by wild-magic, or Corrosion, or something…”

Fayne blew out through her nose, her frustration evident.

“In the meantime, she is oblivious to her Queen, and my bed sits cold and empty. I have needs – and I do not like being side-lined.”

“Well, Your Majesty,” Droahbar said, setting his goblet down on the side table, “I may be only a humble Human King, but I would be honoured to attend to those needs.”

The handsome King slid down to his knees on the fur carpet between her and the fire. He looked up at her from between her fine legs and then pushed her negligée aside. Fayne leaned her head back with a groan and didn’t even notice as her wine goblet fell from her limp, distracted fingers. Her lustful moaning resumed, her argument with Nerys forgotten. Disregarded, the wine pooled in slow red across the white fur of the carpet.

Like blood, staining the first winter’s snow.