A Queen of Ruin (Deliciously Dark Fairytales 4)

“I can handle the faerie magic,” Calia said. “Any spells that are sellable are within my power to null. It would only be a problem if they had actual mages on hand, and mages would never work for demons.”

“Agreed,” Govam said. “Still, there is a type of spell that will prevent a dragon from flying.”

“Arleth said that was a well-kept secret,” I murmured.

“Nothing is a well-kept secret from Dolion,” Govam said.

“I know of it, of course,” Calia replied. “Get me close enough, and I can null it.”

“We have harnesses,” Vemar said. “We can fly her in, no problem.”

“That leads me to the next issue.” Govam glanced at the dragon shifters stalking closer, wanting to hear what was going on. “As long as the bottom deck of a ship is protected, the boat or ship will never sink by fire. Going up against dragons, I would assume Dolion will have thought of this. Therefore, if you rain down fire on him and his crew, you might kill them all, but you will not destroy the vessel. It’s almost certainly protected by spells or even a thin layer of water in the lowest level.”

Nyfain studied him for a moment. “And then he will have proof that dragons attacked one of his vessels. He won’t be able to prove which ones, but given the route we took, the timeline, and whatever holes our ships suffer from their guns…”

“But if we have holes, we can prove he started it,” I said.

“Lots of holes to worry about today,” Hadriel murmured.

“We can’t prove he started it, no,” Nyfain replied, looking out over the waters. “We won’t even be able to prove he shot at us. His guns will likely fall off the burning ship and sink to the bottom. Twenty-pound cannons are the most common in the world. Or at least they were…”

“They still are,” Govam supplied. “That’s why he uses them on vessels like this—for missions like this. They are cheap and common. Even poor pirate ships have one or two. He has the crews keep them in pristine condition so they can deny they were ever used. He doesn’t even load them unless he plans to use them. My guess is they’ll dispose of them after they shoot at us. He can claim someone else was responsible. Or he might say you killed all his people to keep them from speaking for him at the council meeting.”

“Meanwhile,” Nyfain said, “we’ll be bringing a different grievance against him before the council. A grievance that most people would assume we’d want vengeance for. There would be motive for us to have started an altercation.”

“But there’s motive for him to start an altercation as well,” Hadriel said.

“Yes,” Nyfain replied, “and then it would become a battle of he said/he said, taking focus away from the actual issue: his dungeons and what he did to those imprisoned there. It’s best if we avoid the whole thing.”

“Fine.” I shrugged. “Then let’s board their ship and kill them the old-fashioned way, with swords and knives. I’m great in close quarters. Give me a dagger, and I’ll wreak havoc. Even a sword. I know how to use one of those now.” Tamara and the guard’s teachings had been on my daily duty list. I much preferred the sword instruction to that of the formal dinner lessons. “Then we can tie their precious cannonballs to their ankles and send them down to Davy Jones’s Locker. We can help the boat drift way off route, and there will be no way for them to pin anything on us. Problem solved.”

“I like the way you think, Your Royal Strange Lady.” Vemar grinned.

“No,” Nyfain growled, and everyone near him took an involuntary step back. His hard eyes found mine, and fire rolled across his shoulders. “You could be carrying our child. You will not put yourself into harm’s way. You may command from a distance, but until we are sure you are not putting another life in danger, our child’s life, you will not take an active part in the battle.”

I flinched within his intensely possessive stare. My hand involuntarily went to my belly. It was silly, really, given I knew what the heat was for, but I hadn’t given that possibility much thought. There had been so much going on that I hadn’t paid attention to the calendar.

My mind raced, trying to place when I’d bled last. It seemed like such a long time ago. Had it been a month? More? Would I still have the heat if I were already pregnant?

Nyfain, clearly feeling my turbulent emotions, grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me closer, looking hard into my eyes. I stared back at him and then glanced away, still thinking. The heat had started in the library—which hadn’t yielded new life—but then resurged after Nyfain’s first flight. That was a week before the coronation. Then it had taken three weeks, give or take, to get ready to leave. It might’ve been a week before that that I’d had my period? Less? More?