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Thunder rumbled overhead, and its power echoed through me. It was tempting, so tempting, to reach for that power, to let it burn through me and unleash it against the ungodly thing that still followed us. But I dare not call to the lightning. I’d almost died the last two times that I had.

But I could do something about the reason it followed us.

“Wait,” I said. “I need to cast the shield into the air. It’s following us for that.”

The two men immediately stopped and released me. Mathi returned, reloaded his gun, and then pointed it at the rain-shrouded tunnel exit.

Lugh unlashed the shield from his pack and handed it to me. I sucked in a deep, quivering breath, then called on the air, wrapping it around the shield, mirroring the violence that rumbled above us and making it self-perpetuating, just as Beira had taught me. Then I cast the shield aloft, deep into the heart of the storm. The storm would move on, over the land and out to sea, and would eventually fade, but my echo would not. Not for at least a month.

That, surely, would give us the time to not only catch the elf bastards but to recover enough to deal with the shield’s destruction.

A thick howl echoed from the depths of the tunnel then the creature erupted, all limbs and fury. It saw us, paused, then turned and scrambled up the remains of the mountain top, trying to reach what was now out of its grasp.

Mathi emptied his gun into it.

The creature howled with every hit, but it kept on climbing, reaching with ever lengthening fingers of wood for the storm-clad shield high above.

Flames flickered to life and spread unhindered across the creature’s trunk, until it was completely alight. It continued to keen, and the mountain answered in kind, shuddering and shaking.

Then the keening stopped, and the creature became ash that the wind caught and blew away.

We were safe.

I dropped onto my knees and cradled my head in my hands. It hurt. Everything hurt. But we’d secured the shield and ensured the bastards with the rubies could not get the power boost they were desperate for.

It was at least a step in the right direction.

Cynwrig bent, gently picked me up, and cradled me close. He didn’t say anything. He just turned and led the way down the rocky slope. The rain continued to pelt down, making it difficult to see where we were going, and to be honest, I didn’t really care anyway.

Unconsciousness called, and this time, I didn’t resist.

I woke to the realization things had obviously changed for the better. I was naked in a bed that felt like a cloud, and covered by a comforter that was thick and warm. The air smelled faintly of honey and toast, and while the storm still raged outside, it was definitely easing in ferocity.

I lightly probed for the storm pocket concealing the shield. It was not only there but was indeed self-perpetuating. While I had designed it that way, I hadn’t been in the greatest condition, and it was totally possible for me to have missed a step or two. That I hadn’t, even when I’d been all but unconscious, was something of a relief.

I glanced at the pillows next to mine. They hadn’t been used, so Cynwrig either hadn’t slept, or he’d done so elsewhere. I spotted my phone—attached to its charger—on the bedside table and reached across to check the time and date. It was six in the evening—the same evening, not the next—which meant I’d been asleep for a little under five hours. That would definitely explain the lingering weariness.

I stretched the kinks from my body, then threw off the covers and padded into the nearby bathroom. The shower was big enough to party in, and both the tiles and the tapware looked to be made of diamonds, though it was more likely to be some sort of non-slip crystal. Wherever the hell we were, it wasn’t an everyday sort of hotel or B&B. I caught a glimpse of my face in the mirror and noticed the wound had been healed. A quick look down at my foot revealed the same. Either a fae healer had been called in to patch me up while I’d been unconscious, or my healing abilities had gone into overdrive.

I switched on the taps and, when the water was hot enough, stepped under. For several minutes, I did nothing more than simply enjoy the stinging dance of heat across my skin, then, using the supplied L’Occitane soap and shampoo, got down to the business of getting clean.

The towels were thick and fluffy, and big enough to wrap around my body several times. I padded back out to the bedroom and spotted my clothes—freshly laundered and also patched, by the look of it—sitting on a chair. My backpack was on the nearby table. I was still wearing the Eye but quickly checked my knives and the Codex were inside, then got dressed and walked back over to the bed to retrieve my phone and its charger. A quick Google search revealed the name of the memory regression mage in Deva, and she had several vacancies for tomorrow morning. I booked one, just in case. We might not get back there in time, but if we did...

A soft knock had me looking around. The room had a number of doors, and the knocking came from the one on the other side of the bed. I walked over, opened it, and discovered Lugh manning a waiter’s trolley stacked with covered plates. Beyond him was not a kitchen but another bedroom.

“Heard the shower going and thought you might like something to eat.”

“Always.” I stepped back and motioned him in. “Where are we?”

“In the visitors’ suites at the Cloondeash encampment.”

I blinked. “I thought Cynwrig said we’d never get permission to enter the encampment?”

“We didn’t. He’s in the encampment; we’re on its outskirts and on top rather than underground.” He stopped the trolley near the table and began pulling off the various lids. “It’s accommodation designed for and used by those human or fae dignitaries needing to deal with the Cloondeash Myrkálfar.”

I picked up a plate and began helping myself to the scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. “Is Mathi here or was he allowed into the inner sanctum?”

“He was in the room on the other side of me, but he headed out a half hour ago.”