Page 11

Ten

Rhoswyn

N one of them are thrilled about this.

The mate bonds radiate their displeasure as Caed drags me along the road by my wrist. I feel every single moment of his regret and self-loathing as I trip and stumble beside him.

It can’t be helped. Elatha’s spies will be everywhere along the road to Elfhame, and our ruse has to be believable. To that end, an inert pair of magic suppressing cuffs is locked around my wrists. I don’t have to feign the exhaustion that’s weighing down my bones.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters under his breath. “Forgive me.”

He’s not just talking about my twisted ankle or my rough appearance from hours of walking. We’ve passed three burnt-out villages since he used one of the remaining Leaves of Illidwen to whisk us to the Northeast border of Elfhame. Some with piles of rotting corpses still smouldering beside them.

The Fomorian army spared no one, and if they did, I can only assume they’ve been taken as slaves. My heart shatters and Danu burns with rage as we step over a tatty, scorched doll abandoned on the path leading up to the gates of my once-beautiful city.

The great outer wall is still standing, and Fomorians glare down at us from atop the battlements.

Suddenly our plan seems more like a chaotic prayer than a well-thought-out strategy.

What am I doing?

A hand on my shoulder steadies me before I can spiral.

Drystan whispers in my ear, “Say the word, and we retreat.”

Does he understand that, in saying that, he’s practically guaranteed that I’ll march right up to Elatha himself? Probably not.

“He’s right,” Mab counsels, as my grandmothers appear around me. “We’ll support you, no matter what, but there are other ways.”

All of which will take too long. Florian has been their prisoner for weeks. Besides, this plan is already in motion. The Spring, Autumn, and Winter armies are perhaps a few hours’ march behind us, headed by the minor royals, who will not be pleased to hear I’ve gotten cold feet.

If all goes well, they’ll catch the Fomorians as they flee. If everything goes terribly and awfully wrong, they’ll lay siege to the city.

I’m hoping for the former, because if it’s the latter, Prae and Caed both agree that the first thing Elatha will do is kill his hostages.

“We can do this.”

I hope.

“That’s my girl.” Maeve grins. “Let’s kick some blue ass.”

My full Guard is here—even if I can’t see them—and Prae and Gryffin are just behind us. Mab, Maeve, and Titania surround us in a display of strength and reassurance that only I can see.

The shadow of the wall looms closer, blocking out the last rays of the sun and leaving me at the mercy of the cool spring evening. Caed snatched me as I was debating retiring for the night; though ever since we mated, Drystan insisted that I be clothed and ready to go, even when I was asleep.

Now I’m grateful for his forethought. At least there’s one layer of rumpled fabric between me and the elements, and comfortable leather cushions my feet from the stones in the path.

Goddess, I know it’s not real. I know they’re all around me, keeping me safe, but it’s not exactly hard to feign terror, either. The Fomorians jeer down at me from atop the outer wall. Cries in their language echo over the burnt-out land around the city, eerie and harsh against my ears.

I block it out, choosing to focus on the way Caed whispered that same language to me as he worshipped me with his tongue. My eyes stay straight ahead, fixed on the enormous gates as they open wide, revealing… ashes.

When I first arrived in Elfhame, this road was clean-swept and wound through farms and tiny houses. Little children ran alongside my horse.

Now I draw my bound arms closer as I’m dragged through the blackened husks of their homes, before a gathered army of blue Fomorians. A headache springs up behind my eyes thanks to the iron they’re all wielding, and I trip over my own feet.

Damn it. We planned for this, but I’d foolishly hoped that my mating bonds might’ve reduced my sensitivity.

No such luck.

At least I’m not wholly reliant on my acting skills as I glance back over my shoulder and watch the gates slam shut with a resounding thunk . The ghosts of the fae soldiers who once guarded it are still lingering, watching with forlorn eyes as I’m forced along the broken path.

Their sad faces haunt me as we trek through the outer city until we come to the southern face of the inner wall, or what’s left of it.

The homes that were once built right up to it hang drunkenly, half buried by the wreckage from the explosion.

I never saw how bad the damage was, but the stone has been blasted away, creating a huge gap, surrounded on all sides by half-cleared scorched rubble. Greedy, gleaming grey eyes follow us as I’m forced to scramble over the debris.

“It can be rebuilt, dear heart.” Titania floats closer to me, extending her arm around my shoulders. “Our people are strong-willed, and their magic is powerful. By autumn, it will be fixed, and the crops will be flourishing again.”

For that to happen, I just have to pull this off. Shuddering, I force myself to focus on Caed, on the closeness of my males, and not the fear. The Call is probably putting them all on edge, and that means it’s my job to remain calm.

The plan will work. Caed will ‘deliver’ me to his father. Bree will steal away any orders Elatha tries to give him. Prae and Gryffin will free my brother and any hostages, and my Guard will take care of anyone else, clear the room of iron, and allow me to summon the dead knights of Elfhame to finish off the invaders.

I’ll be perfectly safe the entire time. That’s the only way I could convince them to go along with it. Jaro will protect me, and the others will take care of the threats.

They actually tried to draw straws for who got to kill Elatha; but, of course, Lore kept cheating, making that approach pointless. Eventually they declared him free game.

The hairs on the back of my neck rise as we walk under the boughs of dying trees in the inner city. The iron the Fomorians brought with them is making the land sick, just like it has in every single one of their camps, filling the air with the sweet scent of rot.

That’s a problem for once we’ve retaken the city.

The trek is getting worse. My head pounds, and my guides flicker in and out of view.

The steady incline up to the palace wall is the hardest. It steals my breath, and eventually, I actually collapse to my knees in the dust.

The black dust.

It’s not ash. Or soot. It’s too coarse, with a texture close to that of sand. I reach for it, but Caed stops me before I can touch.

My brows draw together and he grimaces. “Iron dust. Prae…” He trails off, scooping me into his arms with a glare at the Fomorians following us. “It was part of the design for a blasting powder weapon she never quite finished. I swear, neither of us ever thought Elatha would figure out how to use it.”

Iron dust?

How does any weapon…?

Suddenly, I notice it everywhere, coating buildings, dead branches of shrubs, even the columns that lead up to the moat.

Like snow.

Like it fell from the sky.

If it did, and if fae inhaled it, it’s no wonder we lost.

Caed strides towards the palace gate, and my fear ratchets up a notch.

“What do we do?” I whisper. “If the entire palace is blanketed in this stuff?—”

“It can’t be.” He sounds more like he’s praying that he’s wrong than reassuring me, and I swallow. “Even if it is, it’s been long enough that it’s settled. As long as we don’t disturb it, the others will be fine.”

But I won’t.

This has rendered me as weak as an iron shackle. Unless we can find somewhere that’s clear of this stuff, I’ll be useless. Even my Guard will surely be affected.

Our plan hinges on me being able to summon the spirits of the fallen knights, and my Guard being able to keep me safe while I do so.

I cling to his chest, seeking comfort in his warmth as I subtly cast glances around us.

Goddess, everything is covered. The moat and the waterfalls which fall from the lowest of the floating gardens are red with rust. They cascade into withered gardens that were once lush and full of life. The whole place stinks of smoke and decay, and there are huge piles of rubble around the pond. If I had to guess, that must be where the hidden entrance to the tunnel to Orvendel once was.

Can this even be fixed?

The fae built this place to invite nature—invite the Goddess—inside. There were so few rooms which could’ve been sealed against such an attack. Perhaps the cellars and the vaults underground.

Danu’s rage beats against me, pooling heavily in my gut as I struggle to sort her emotions from my own doubt and heartbreak.

One thing is abundantly clear. If Florian was here when the fighting broke out, it’ll be a miracle if he’s still alive.

“Nicnevin,” Prae whispers, the heat of her brushing alongside me even though I can’t see her. “I am so sorry. I swear, it was a prototype. I never thought?—”

Dropping my head so that my hair will hide my lips, I reply, “Now isn’t the time. How do we make the plan work?”

Her silence is damning.

She was smart enough to design a weapon that could do this. Now I need her to be smart enough to figure out how we overcome it.

“Iron is heavy,” she finally says. “There’s a chance that the highest rooms haven’t been affected. If you can fly up there….”

My wings flex where they’re caught between Caed’s arms and my spine, and I nod, lifting my eyes to my garden at the very top of the palace. There’s still greenery poking over the edge, which seems like a beacon of hope.

I could be safe up there. However, it’s unlikely to be a spiritual hotspot. The plan fails if I can’t use my magic to rout the Fomorians.

“Find Florian and get him to my rooms,” I order her.

My head pounds as we draw closer and closer to my desecrated home.

Goddess, I don’t dare breathe any deeper for fear of inhaling more of the stuff. All my training and hard work is useless in the face of the shimmery piles of powdered metal.

We reach the great doors of the palace and come face to face with one of the Fomorians I least want to see.

Draard.

The enormous, malevolent warrior leans against the shattered doors, flicking a knife in the air and catching it repeatedly. When Caed tries to pass him, he shoves off the frame and plants himself directly in our path.

“So the half breed traitor returns, as ordered,” he says, giving us both a once over.

“Shut the fuck up and get out of my way,” Caed retorts.

“So eager to hand over the fairy?” Draard leans in closer. I can smell the alcohol on his breath. “The king has granted me permission to string your carcass up from the walls once he’s done with you. I’m not sure there’ll be much left, but I’ll make do.”

Caed gives up waiting and slams past him, driving his shoulder hard into the larger male until he moves. “If you’re so favoured, why are you out here rather than licking my father’s boots?” he calls back. “Face it. You’re still only useful for guarding doors in conquered cities.”

“I’m going to enjoy feeding you your teeth until you learn to keep that big mouth of yours shut, bastard,” Draard snarls.

Caed says nothing, but he quickens his pace, probably in response to the bolt of fear that radiates from me. The halls are a little better, if only because they’ve been well-travelled, forcing the iron powder to the sides, but my weakness and the headache remain. Still, I won’t be carried into the hall like a prize.

I push at his arms until he puts me down, keeping close. My knees threaten to give out.

Deadened grey vines cascade through open windows, and I swear they reach for me as I stumble again.

“Careful,” Caed mutters, ignoring the snickers of the Fomorians around us, then takes my elbow and helps me forward.

His touch, and the comfort all five of them are sending down the mating bonds, steady me as we reach the doors to my throne room.

I do my best to straighten my spine and shake off his hold. Whatever happens, I am the Nicnevin, and I will not cower before Elatha. Even if my heart is galloping in my chest and I’m physically sick with fear.

I’m not alone. My Guard is here this time, and that changes everything.

The doors swing open…and all of my resolve crumples like paper.