~19~

Lyria scowled at the men gathered before her in distaste. Human men were all so much the same, so selfish and puffed up with their own sense of self-importance, the arrogance and vanity, so constantly jockeying for power. Not that they knew what real power was. You wouldn't know what real power was unless you were born Fae, Lyria thought bitterly. But enough of that. She had a job to do.

For Lyria had not heard from Sam Cortland since Athril had 'rescued' him, either not knowing or caring that her hold over him was too strong, that he would almost certainly die from shock if she ever released him. Not that she would, he was far too valuable to her alive. But what concerned her was that she hadn't seen or heard from him since Athril had taken him. Not a single whisper. And that frightened her more than she could possibly say; for despite herself, Lyria had truly grown to care for him, more than she cared for the man she had married in name only for the sake of her revenge.

From the latest report that Lyria's spies had given her, Athril had fled north to Terrasen, with a witch coven and Sam in tow. Just the thought of Athril fleeing made Lyria smile broadly. She had hated Athril soundly from the moment he had first brought the news that her Rowan's little queen bitch was expecting his child and the thought of him running away out of fear, brought her a round a savage pleasure.

But it was the fact that Sam had yet to make contact with her that scared Lyria the most. Resourceful as the child had to be, he should have been able to find a messenger with whom to entrust a letter. By now he should have been in the north long enough to gather a sufficient amount of information to actually send a letter.

The very fact that he hadn't, 'frightened' her desperately. It had made her worry that something had gone wrong with the plans she had created. Had something happened to Sam? Had something happened that prevented him from sending a letter? Had he been captured? Or tortured? Or had they merely imprisoned him again?

If Athril and that witch coven had imprisoned him after reaching the royal court of Terrasen, or worse, if Rowan and that bitch-queen had ordered the imprisonment, then Lyria would never be able to forgive them nor forget. She hated them all. Hated them more than words could ever possibly say.

Which led her to the choice she had just made, the human men gathered before her. Declaring war like this did not scare her. She was not afraid of losing a few human men in battle. Why would she be? They were only human, after all. It would have been different if they were Fae. It was a shame to lose Fae lives during war, but not human lives. After all, humans mattered very little.

No, a full-blown war just to ensure the safety of one informant, a full-blown war to ensure the continued safety of her mate, and to bring her beloved mate back to the loving embrace of her arms did not scare Lyria one bit. Quite the opposite actually. In fact, Lyria did not know why she hadn't thought of open war as a possibility earlier, as all her other plans had taken far too long to come to fruition.

"You know your orders," Lyria told the men assembled before her, speaking simply and quietly, but not without authority. A dozen or so of the most important, most powerful nobles in Adarlan. Among them was Lord Davis Westfall, father of Lord Chaol Westfall, who had defected to Terrasen a couple of months back. "Return to your homes, raise your men and your armies, and then return here to Rifthold. Once fully assembled, we'll finally be able to march North on Terrasen."

"But what offence has Terrasen given to warrant raising such a force to march on them? What offence have they given that requires a declaration of war?" Lord Davis Westfall queried, voicing aloud what many of the other men were thinking. "To declare war, to openly march open an enemy, without defiance sent, without being given offence—"

"Do you not want to punish your son for openly abandoning his country, the king he was destined to serve, for a foreign queen?" Lyria hissed at him slyly, smirking as the others started in shock. "Do you not want to teach him his place? To show him that such treachery will no longer be permitted? To show him that it will no longer be permitted for an Adarlanian to serve a foreigner?"

"One could also say the say about us serving a foreigner," Lord Davis smoothly countered. "For you are as far from an Adarlanian as it comes. And as far as the old statutes, left over from the reign of King Dorian's father, it is still legally a crime for an Adarlanian to either serve or obey the orders of one of the Fae."

For the first time in weeks, Lyria stared at a man in shock. She had had no idea that such a law existed in this horrible, ghastly old backwards kingdom. How had no one ever mentioned it to her before?

But at the same time, it explained so much. It explained why, when she had first encountered Sam at the abandoned Assassin's Guild, just after he had fought his way free, he had been so distrustful of her. Why she had had to use her compellability on Sam, cast spell after spell on him, just to get him to agree to help her. Explained the fear she still so regularly encountered in the streets of the ghastly city, the people's unjustifiable, unwarrantable hatred toward her. A hatred that could not be forgiven nor pardoned, no matter the reasons.

"So it would appear that my son and daughter-in-law did the proper thing," Lord Davis continued, "in leaving Adarlan for freedom in Terrasen, before they could be sucked into your horrific schemes. Before being forced to wage a war they do not agree with."

"And that is your professional opinion, is it not?" Lyria said flatly. "That you do not believe that we should fight for our freedom, fight the oppression that living in subordinance to Terrasen will surely bring?"

"Yes it is," Lord Davis said calmly, "for we are already free. We are not subordinate to Terrasen, for we are a completely separate kingdom. And over the years, Adarlan has always been the oppressor, not Terrasen. It is time for us to become better than our forebears. To once again become the ideal Gavin Haviliard wished for Adarlan to be. A place where honourable men serve honourable rulers and are rewarded for their years of loyal service."

"King Dorian," Lyria said smoothly, turning to the man standing still as a statue beside her. "You know how little tolerance we have for the questioning of our underlings. Deal with this man now."

"With pleasure," Dorian smiled, a cold little smile, drawing his sword. With one smooth blow, Lord Davis Westfall's head bounced vulgarly on the floor of the throne room.

"Let that be a warning to you all," Lyria intoned soundlessly, emotionlessly, before striding out of the room. As the doors slammed shut behind her, Lyria smirked to herself. Unbeknown to the gathered Adarlanian lords, she truly didn't give a rat's arse about Sam Cortland. He was just a passport to her now. His silence just a ticket to be able to freely declare war. Cortland knew that just as well as she did. His silence was surely nothing if not intentional.

No, if Lyria made any appearance of actually caring about Sam Cortland, it was all just for show. All just an act. And Lyria was nothing if not a good actress. Even without using her compellability magic on someone of Fae heritage, Lyria was just about able to convince anyone of just about anything she wanted to.

Well, just about anyone. Lyria scowled at the thought of the one male who was able to see through her deceptions. The one male, who time and time again, had been able to slip through her nets and escape her. The male who proved to be a constant thorn in her side, even as she had used him for information. Endymion Whitethorn.

At the thought of the male, at the thought of the letter she had received from her informant only that morning, she scowled with hatred at the thought that he had been able to, yet again, slip through her nets and evade her.

How had he known that she would be looking for him as he crossed the ocean, as he came to the aid of his cousin and his wife? Was it possible, as her informant thought, that he had reached Terrasen before she had sent her spy to end his life as quickly and quietly as possible, without being detected?

No, it was not possible. It just had to be impossible. Because in all two hundred years that she had been using Endymion as an unwitting pawn in her quest for information on Rowan, he had never once been able to figure out who she truly was. She had disguised herself far too well. In fact, Lyria had disguised herself so well that he had never so much as asked a single question of her. Not once. Ever.

So how was it possible for him to have escaped the certain death that she had planned for him? She had intended to have him murdered during his long ocean voyage, and have it look like natural causes. But he had somehow escaped the noose – literally. He hadn't even been on the ship in question.

The question now was, how had he done it? Had it all been a ruse on his part? To keep her looking at the oceans, keep her looking at Terrasen's ports, rather than the interior? Had he arrived in Terrasen earlier than she had expected? Or was he still holed up in Doranelle? She doubted it, somehow. Endymion was never the type to sit back and watch events unfold, especially when the people he loved were in danger.

Right now, she had far too many questions, and not enough answers. And Lyria didn't like it. She didn't like it one bit. In fact, truth be told, she hated it. Lyria was a true puppeteer in many ways, and she truly hated not being the one in charge. And until now, Lyria had truly believed that she had been in charge from the moment she had decided upon her course for revenge. And she hated that the other players in the game were fighting back, so determined to keep her from the revenge she had so desperately sought for so very long.

And Lyria couldn't stand it. She couldn't stand the fact that the very people she hated so desperately could stand in the way of her getting what she wanted. How dare they keep her from getting what she wanted? How dare they prevent her from getting the vengeance she felt she was owed? How dare they hold her back, prevent her from achieving her ambitions? How dare they thwart her desires, when she was owed so much? The gods owed her. The Wyrd owed her. This entire damned universe owed her. But did anyone besides herself care about that at all? No, they did not. All they ever cared about were their own selfish desires.

And in that moment, Lyria swore to herself that once she had gotten her revenge on Terrasen's supposedly fire-breathing bitch of a queen, and her precious Rowan was back in her arms, she would kill anyone and everyone who had stood in her way.

Endymion Whitethorn would be at the very top of her to be killed list. The only person above Rowan's beloved cousin, would be his beloved, Aelin Galathynius herself. Then Athril. And after Athril came the entirety of the witch coven that had helped Athril slip through her grasp. After the witch coven came Rowan's little fighting unit, his closest companions – Fenrys and Gavriel, and Lorcan, and Aedion Ashryver.

And after Aedion Ashryver was killed, then it would be time for any member of the fire-breathing bitch's court who stood beside the bitch. Who stood against Lyria. And finally, Lyria would kill her two most loyal allies in her game, the ones who were only loyal to her thanks to the spells that she had cast. The last people she would kill – the very last – Sam Cortland and Dorian Havilliard.

Perhaps Lyria would get lucky and some of them would be killed in the war that she was about to launch, but if not, she had her own plans in place for when the time came. For the first time that day, Lyria smiled to herself. She liked this plan.

Yes, Lyria liked this plan very much. If none of her covert plans had worked so far, then perhaps open war between Adarlan and Terrasen would be the plan that worked for her. This making a slow game of her revenge wasn't working, and it was far past time to amp it up. Besides, she was tired of taking things slowly. Of making plans that slowly came to fruition, if they ever did.

Yes, open war between the two kingdoms would surely speed Lyria's plans up. Once forces from the two nations began to lose themselves in the battle-lust, it would be far easier for her to be able to work unseen. And the benefit of being able to work sight unseen, would be that no one would know who was slaughtering members of the royal court. And that would no doubt sow all kinds of panic and fear. And a panicking, terrified people would a people that Lyria would be able to, no doubt, use to her advantage – even if she currently didn't know how.

Lyria was growing impatient. The time to strike was now, while the iron was hot. Lyria smirked to herself, already imagining the immense satisfaction she would surely feel when Aelin Galathynius, Queen of Terrasen, was dead and gone.

But even that satisfaction was nothing when compared to what her beloved mate Rowan would feel when he discovered that the bitch queen had so thoroughly ensnared him that she had taken away his choices, his free will, his ability to decide for himself. And once Rowan found out, he would no doubt gut her himself.

The satisfaction she would feel would be nothing in comparison to the satisfaction of the people of Terrasen when they realised that they no longer had to have her for their queen. That there were other choices for their monarch. The satisfaction that they would feel when they realised that they would no longer have to kneel to the bitch they were forced to call a queen.

The damned fire magic wielding bitch deserved everything that was coming to her. You didn't steal another female's mate and get away with it. You just didn't commit the single most unpardonable crime in the Fae world and expect to be able to get away with the consequences.