Page 18

Seventeen

Rhoswyn

S omewhere during my slumber, the strong arms which held me have been replaced with soft sheets, and my headache has returned.

Nothing major, but enough to let me know that I’m back in Elfhame—even if I’m being kept away from all the dust. I don’t know how much time I’ve wasted sleeping, but it doesn’t feel like very long.

“I don’t mean to alarm you,” Jaro rumbles, stroking my hair out of my face. “But Lore and Drystan have come up with a plan that they both agree on, and they’d like your input.”

My sleepy scoff is the only reply I have the energy for. Lore and Drystan agreeing on anything is so improbable that if Jaro could lie, I’d say he was pulling my leg.

“Let her sleep a little longer.” Caed’s voice is gravelly, like he’s just woken up.

“If it wasn’t time-sensitive, I would.” There’s more shuffling, and then the lightest of touches strokes down my cheek. “Plus, Lore is getting antsy. If she doesn’t hear them out, she’ll find herself acting out his fantasies in her sleep with no idea how she got there.”

That tickles my curiosity, and I yawn and stretch, blinking open my heavy eyelids to a sea of rapidly flickering gold and chestnut brown.

Jaro presses a soft kiss to my lips, and I swoon.

For just this second, I can pretend that we won. That we retook the city, and everything else no longer matters. His adoration flows swift and strong down the bond between us, his wolf’s contentment hot on its heels.

Both of them would rather keep me in my cloud-like bed, but I’m not immune to his reluctant urgency and the impatience of the others. Rolling gracelessly from underneath the covers, I glance around my garden room in relief.

It’s almost exactly how I left it.

Caed is slumped in a chair across from me, and Wraith is licking his fur clean on the floor by his feet. The barghest raises his head at my movement, surveying me with too-intelligent eyes, before lazily going back to his grooming.

“My rooms weren’t touched?”

“It seems that the palace prevented access to the Nicnevin’s suite the second Elatha’s warriors breached the gates,” Jaro assures me. “They’re also high enough to have escaped the worst of the iron. The Fomorians put most of their efforts into thwarting the enchantments on the treasury and armoury rather than searching up here.”

“Florian?” I remember with a jolt. “Does he need?—?”

“He’s recovering. Kitarni gave Praedra and Gryffin plenty of tonics that will improve his condition.”

“I should heal him.”

“I know, Rosie. If this wasn’t more important, I’d take you to him right now. But he’s stable and well-cared for, I swear.”

No part of me wants to let the matter drop, but Jaro loves my brother like his own. Absolutely nothing would keep him from taking me to Florian if he was in danger.

I nod once. “Okay.”

Someone has redressed me in clothes identical to the ones I was wearing before I died, and I pick lightly at my tunic as I follow Jaro to the fountain that’s become our unofficial meeting place, Caed close behind me.

The greenery up here is wilting and yellowed, but nowhere near as bad as the plants below, and the normally happy gurgling fountain has dried up entirely. Lore and Drystan are sitting on the bench—well, Drystan is sitting. Lore is lying with his back on the floor and his legs propped up on the bench while he amuses himself with bashing his ankles together in the air above him. Bree stands apart from them, crouched with his wings wrapped around him on the very edge of the garden platform.

They haven’t noticed me yet, and that’s why I catch the tail end of their conversation.

“You know, dullahan, I have a proposition for you, now that you’re in an agreeable mood,” Lore begins, fangs flashing.

“Absolutely not,” Drystan replies.

“What? I didn’t say anything.”

“It probably involves blood, sex, or both?—”

“None of the aboveee!” Lore tosses his cap up into the air where it spins as it morphs into a stiff helmet-shaped contraption with bobbles. “I already laid the groundwork—piling up the bodies. All you need to do is set a teeny tiny fire, and they’ll be ashes.”

Drystan scrubs a hand over his face. “And why, pray tell, do you need ashes, redcap?”

Lore’s hat goes up again, this time coming down as a jester hat. “To add to the cannon.”

“No one in Faerie would let the likes of you loose with one of those Fomorian death traps.”

“Prae would. Anyway, you should be focusing on the important stuff. We need the cannon for our mating celebration.”

Drystan doesn’t respond, but his pulse is visibly thudding at his temple.

“I’m going to add the ashes to the cannon and fire them when Kitarni finishes whatever boring speech she has planned. That way, Rose can have the ashes of her enemies as confetti!”

The hat is tossed up again, and this time, Drystan snatches it, thrusting it into the air above his head. Lore blinks onto the dullahan’s shoulders, reaching for it, while his thighs squeeze Drystan’s head until the other fae’s face turns red.

A tiny giggle escapes me before I can contain it. My mad redcap turns his attention to me, but the laziness in his smile and the smugness along the bond tell me he knew I was here all along.

Leaving the two of them to squabble over the hat, without commenting on the dry amusement echoing from Drystan that I know he’ll never admit to, I cross to the edge of the garden.

“It’s not over?” I ask, approaching my púca. He stands and pulls me into his wings’ embrace with a careful kiss to my temple.

“You returned to us much faster than before,” Bree mumbles. “The Fomorians have managed to build up their numbers and reorganise. The bulk of them have engaged the fae armies beyond the outer wall. They’re holding the north gate, and there are pockets of them scattered across the city.”

“Which is why time is of the essence,” Drystan says, with his customary bluntness, as he thrusts the hat into Lore’s chest and comes to stand on my other side.

“How are you feeling?” Bree asks, ignoring my dullahan’s impatience.

“Better,” I whisper. “I think the mating bonds helped me recover quickly.”

Being reborn was just as draining as ever, yet I don’t feel as achy as I did before.

Was this what it was supposed to be like all along? Is that why the Nicnevin traditionally mated her Guard as soon as she turned twenty-five?

“Good.” Bree’s arm tightens around me. “Before they say anything, I want you to know that if I feel even the slightest bit of uncertainty from you, you aren’t going through with it.”

My eyebrows rise. I turn my back on the burnt-out city and pin the two unseelie with a confused look.

“I would like to make it clear,” Drystan begins, “That I only believe this is a good idea because it will distract the minor royals and keep them from suspecting your iron sensitivity.”

What? Why would that matter?

“I thought they already knew?” I say. “Surely it must have come up?”

“There’s a slim chance that Elatha has passed the knowledge on to Eero,” Jaro admits. “But none of the others have tried to use it against you. Most fae wouldn’t, unless there was a certainty that it would grant them a significant advantage.”

I’ve put two of the minor royals in their place with Danu’s help since I came to Faerie. If they knew simply having iron in my vicinity was enough to give them an edge, I wouldn’t put it past Aiyana or Cressida to do so.

Vows of allegiance are good, but I’d be foolish to believe they can protect me from everything. The fae are tricky. If either of them started carrying enough iron, the distraction would easily grant them an advantage in almost any negotiation.

“You don’t want them to know that I died?” I guess my outfit makes a lot more sense now. “So we have to go onto the battlefield.”

“Which brings us to the next part of the plan?—”

“FUCKING!” Lore crows, blinking around me in a tornado of pale skin and exuberant red eyes. “Please! Please, please, please, please, ple?—”

Drystan grabs the redcap by his throat, holding him at arm’s length over the drop. “Shut your insane gibbering for five seconds while we explain the situation.”

“A proper redcap fucking?” I guess. Based on Lore’s reaction, how could it be anything else? “You want me to go out there and let Lore…” I trail off, not from discomfort, but more from the unexpected rush of nerves and arousal that has me clenching my thighs together.

I suppose, as distractions go, it’s definitely unique.

“I made you a beautiful pile of heads in the middle of market square if you’d like to visit that first to get yourself in the mood!” Lore promises, not even bothering to blink himself out of Drystan’s hold.

He has to be uncomfortable like that, given that he’s literally dangling in mid-air. Unfortunately, looking down at his feet means that my eyes automatically pass over the plainly visible length of his erection straining against the deep red ochre of his leathers.

“The actual plan,” Drystan continues. “Is that we all head through the city, destroying any pockets of resistance we come across. It’s likely that, if you agree, the redcap will be unable to control his urges by the end, especially if we should happen to come across any other troops of redcaps and?—”

“And Cressida.” A surge of jealousy burns from my chest, scalding my throat. “If we do this, there’s a chance she’ll see.”

Not just me enjoying myself, but Lore. Who she’s touched before. Kissed. Fucked.

It may have been years ago, but it doesn’t change the twinge of possessiveness that follows.

My redcap finally blinks himself from Drystan’s hold until we’re nose to nose.

“What’s wrong, silly pet? Don’t you want every single fae on that battlefield to see your claim on me?”

Perhaps it’s his own arousal winding down our bond that makes me do it. Maybe it’s just the innate magnetism of my mate, but I wrap my arms around his neck and drag him closer, taking his lips in a kiss.

My claim. Those two words reframe everything. They strip the last of my mortal inhibitions away and replace them with dark, needy promises of pleasure and power.

“Remember,” Bree whispers in my ear as I pull back. “Nothing happens without your full and enthusiastic consent. Lore will survive without this if it makes you uncomfortable.”

I chew at my lip, which prompts the redcap to lean forward and free it with his sharper teeth, bringing an edge of seductive pain to the mix. My hand takes his, stroking my mark across his left palm.

“I want to keep my clothes on,” I eventually say. “Can we do that?”

All five of them freeze, and Lore’s pupils dilate until the red is little more than a thread around the rim. His gaze dips, then slowly travels up my leggings and tunic.

“Can I rip them just a little?”

“Redcap,” Jaro snarls.

“No. I… I accept that. And I want to be on top.”

It’s a bold decision, but if I’m claiming him, then I’m claiming him. Every fae instinct inside of me purrs with the idea. My breasts heave beneath the soft linen of my shirt, somehow heavier than they were a moment ago, and if that wasn’t enough of a clue as to my interest, my nipples harden into sharp little points the moment Lore presses us together.

He can’t miss them, just like I can’t ignore the way his cock presses against my lower belly, hot, hard, and eager. I know exactly how much he craves this, but it’s more than that. He craves my eagerness, my desire.

His enjoyment is entirely dependent on my own.

“Want to ride me, pretty pet?” His voice is lower and huskier than I’ve ever heard it. “Are you going to pin me down and fuck me until everyone knows exactly whose mate I am?”

A shiver traces down my spine. I swallow the sudden dryness that’s taken up residence in my throat and meet his smile with a small smug one of my own.

“Yes.”

His breath hitches. “Shall I get the cuffs?”

Goddess, this male , I think to myself with amused exasperation as he blinks us back into the battle.

Though the anticipation is killing me, we stick to the plan. The six of us are like a well-oiled machine as we walk through the inner city. Wraith and Jaro’s wolf stick close to me, using their teeth to cut down anyone who gets through the two-dozen fae warrior spirits defending us. Bree is flying above, calling down the Fomorians’ numbers and positions while Drystan, Caed, and Lore tear through the enemy with savage glee.

I think they’re even trying to keep count of their kills. They definitely forget to offer the Fomorians the chance to surrender more than once.

There aren’t many survivors here. Those who escaped the first wave of my magic have sought safety in numbers, but occasionally we encounter a band of opportunistic looters trying to grab what they can before fleeing. They don’t make it far.

Lore makes us stop to admire his pyramid of skulls—which is three times as tall as he is—and I manage to focus past the vacant dead stares of his victims to compliment it. That earns me a huge beaming grin and a brain-melting kiss that breaks my concentration for several seconds until I remember where we are and shore up my connection to Danu again.

Drystan is very good at moving us on. I suspect he knows that if I’m allowed to stare at the hundreds of cooling corpses, I’ll lose it. My magic has wrought nothing less than a total bloody slaughter, and it only gets worse as we pass through the lower city and take back the huge gate that used to be the only way to pass through the inner wall.

The giant gap to the left of it makes the gate useless, but its fortifications have turned it into an attractive stronghold for the surviving Fomorian troops.

Unfortunately, they have no defences against me. The ghosts swarm through walls, and I even summon a few more before I notice Jaro giving me a look.

“I’m not straining myself,” I promise when his wolf chuffs in gentle reprimand. “The mating bonds are keeping me steady, and there’s no iron dust around.”

Thankfully, this far from the palace, the awful stuff is completely absent. The only threat to me are the iron weapons of the enemy, but I’m so well protected that they’re never an issue as we make our way into the outer city.

Beyond the gate are hundreds of houses, connected by tiny alleys that give our enemies plenty of places to hide. My heart thuds mutely as we pass burnt-out homes and the shattered shopfronts, and the scent of ash and blood fills my nostrils.

We will rebuild , I tell myself, and magic will make it easier .

It’s impossible for my mates to check all of the buildings; so I sneakily summon more warriors from the wall, sending them to whisper through walls. I don’t even realise that I’ve summoned a shifter until a ghostly wolf bounds through a door and straight into Jaro’s path.

I expect my Guard to just ignore it and walk past, but he stops, breaking our steady advance as his tail begins to thud lightly. He looks back at me, checking that I’m still safe, before slowly circling the other wolf, licking its muzzle in an affectionate greeting that the other wolf returns. They butt heads, making noises I can’t even begin to interpret.

This wolf means something to him.

Are they related?

My questions are cut off when Jaro returns to my side, the other wolf honouring us both with a deliberate nod before returning to battle.

“Oh, look.” Lore is perched atop a collapsing balcony. “I can see the army. Onward, to the real fun!”

He jumps, blinking just before he smashes into the ground and reappearing with his daggers embedded in the meaty neck of a Fomorian who was making a valiant attempt to escape one of my ghosts.

His announcement brings with it the realisation that we’re almost at the edge of the houses, heading for the open fields of the outer city. By some silent agreement, my mates don’t head along the road to the northern gate, but instead cut across the farmland, heading straight for the outer wall.

There are still Fomorians atop it, firing down on the battle below, but we clear them swiftly. Once they’re gone, I take advantage of the moment of calm to survey the battlefield.

War cries and metallic clashes echo across the dawn-soaked landscape. I can see the remnants of order, with the fae forces having approached from the northeast, and the Fomorians trying desperately to break through their line and escape, but otherwise, it’s a mess.

The two sides are fairly evenly matched, but the sheer number of dead is piling up, and exhaustion is hitting everyone hard. I can make out the familiar banners of the Hellebore Knights to my left, but there’s so much blood covering everyone, and they’re moving so fast, that I have no hope of identifying any of my brothers or even the minor royals.

If the Fomorians didn’t have blue skin and pale hair, I might’ve been unable to tell which side was ours.

Reaching deeply into Danu, I tug at the ghosts behind me.

They pour over the walls in a wave, attacking the Fomorians from behind. Danu’s power snakes through the wall, finding more grave markers, pulling forth more of the dead until the enemy is caught between the fae army and me.

Lore is behind me in the next instant, his breath tickling the shell of my ear as he wraps me in his arms. My head falls to one side, instinctively accepting his affection, while my mind remains fixed on the work before me.

“Want to see why they fear my kind?” he asks huskily, turning my chin with one hand until I’m looking eastward.

For a moment, I don’t understand what he’s talking about.

Then I see them.

The redcaps are an unstoppable tempest of scarlet. They crash into the enemy like a force of nature. Unyielding. Chaotic. Bloody. My breath catches just watching them, because although it’s brutal, it’s somehow also mesmerisingly beautiful, and I just can’t wrap my head around the juxtaposition.

Lore’s eagerness, and arousal, pushes at me through the bond. There’s an instinctual urge to join in, to be part of the madness, wired into him on a base level. Logically, I understood that battle turns his kind on, and I was curious.

I never thought I’d experience it myself. Perhaps I wouldn’t, if I wasn’t his mate. Still, that’s definitely warmth flushing across my breasts and pebbling my nipples. His biting kisses at my neck aren’t helping, nor is his hand, which has slipped down to collar my throat.

When his grip turns steely, I lean into him.

“I have a confession to make,” he murmurs silkily against my skin.

“What?”

“I may have… misled the dullahan about my plans.”

Blink.