Page 21

Twenty

Rhoswyn

A ll of our laughter has dried up by the time we make it to the outer wall. The armies have already begun the long, messy, and sickening task of collecting our dead.

I manage to compartmentalise rather well… Right up until the point that Wraith bounds up to me and drops a teal blue torso in front of me. His white fluffy ears are pricked as he pants and wags his tail, but there are still intestines dripping from the abdomen, and it reeks .

I gag, but Jaro calmly picks it up and tosses it into the distance, the barghest eagerly giving chase.

“Lore really should’ve taught him to stick to bones,” the shifter mutters. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” I swallow back my disgust as I catch sight of Drystan and Caed standing together on the outskirts of the small camp that’s begun to take shape.

A tiny flutter of hope sparks in my chest, and I bite the inside of my cheek as I remind myself they could just as easily be arguing as talking. Their posture is relaxed, but that means nothing.

Then a familiar female figure strides up to the both of them, a redcap by her side.

“What’s she doing here?” I ask, teeth grinding together.

“They are his grandparents,” Jaro reminds me. “And you did tell General Reyni to apologise.”

That better be the only reason she’s approaching Caed. I quicken my pace as Drystan nods and strides away, leaving my Fomorian alone with them.

“I’ve got this,” I tell Jaro. “Can you make sure?—”

“That the redcap hasn’t gotten distracted? I’m already on it.”

He drops another lingering kiss to my mating mark—which has no right to turn me on as much as it does—and jogs off in the same direction Drystan went. In a few more steps, I wind up within earshot of Caed’s conversation.

“My point is,” Reyni says, sounding almost like she’s scolding him. “You might be a son of Balor, or whatever nonsense you just spouted, but you’re also a son of one of the oldest fae houses, and after careful consideration?—”

“She means several hours of ranting,” Finch interrupts, his cap an almost luminous scarlet.

“Whatever.” Reyni waves him off, armour glinting in the sun as she shoves her wild black hair out of her face. “You should visit our estate once things have settled down. There are portraits of your mother we could show you, and her things haven’t been touched since she was taken.”

They haven’t noticed me yet, and it gives me a chance to check on Caed along our bond. His emotions are mixed, but at the forefront, there’s a lot of mistrust and sorrow.

“I barely knew her,” he mutters. “You’re wasting your time.” He turns sideways, bringing me into the conversation. “Besides, the Nicnevin probably doesn’t have time to run around the Autumn Court.”

Reyni and Finch offer me deep bows, and that gives me pause. I suppose a whole bunch of unseelie just saw exactly what level of destruction I’m capable of. They didn’t bow properly before, but they’re definitely doing it now.

I guess death on an untold scale is what it takes to earn their respect… or was it what happened with Lore afterwards?

On second thought, perhaps I don’t want to know.

I should say something. Probably. But I’m not sure that getting involved will help. It’s Caed’s choice how much he lets them into his life.

“Shall we get going?” I ask him, holding out my hand as I pointedly ignore the both of them.

He takes it, shuddering as my skin meets the lines of his mark, and then tucking me under his arm, hesitating for a second before pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

“Thanks for the rescue,” he murmurs under his breath, guiding me towards the command tent.

“You won’t be saying that in a second,” I reply, grinning as a red knit cap appears over my head from nowhere.

Lore’s claiming me—as if the mark flirting with the hem of my dress isn’t enough. It makes me smile as we duck under the heavy flap held aloft by soldiers and into a makeshift war room.

The minor royals are already here, blood-splattered and still in their armour as they trade barbs across the map on the table. I grimace at the sight of the tiny blue flags that form a perfect line from Elfhame up to the Endless Sea, and the dagger sunk into the wood over the Fomorian Mountains.

Of course. We might have driven them out of here, but the Fomorians are still in control of the Torvyn river and large swathes of the Autumn Court.

The invasion is still happening, and the golden flags clustered along the Summer Court’s borders aren’t exactly promising either.

They fall silent at my entrance, watching me take in the situation with grim eyes. All three of them are surrounded by their generals, and soon the weight of those stares begins to prickle at the back of my neck.

Kitarni isn’t here. Perhaps her presence would’ve eased the tension a little or softened the hard edges of the battle-worn fae around the table, making them less intimidating.

“As long as they hold the Torvyn, they have a direct line to the Capital whenever they want to relaunch their invasion,” Caed advises me. “And budging them…”

Will cost more lives.

The tension is choking the air, but my shoulders relax somewhat as Drystan takes his spot on my other side, Jaro, Lore, and Bree hanging back. The latter takes a position by the tent doors, cat ears twitching. Their presence gives me the confidence to move forward and play with the violet flag in the centre of the city with my forefinger.

“What does the great Nicnevin propose?” Cressida asks, mockingly. “Fuck the enemy into submission?”

Ugh, it’s too soon after my death for me to deal with her particular brand of causticity.

“I’ll let you know when I’ve had a moment to think, Cressidick,” I retort.

The atmosphere turns downright frosty, and I don’t realise why until Lore breaks out in a cackle. His utter delight pours down the bond in counterpoint to Jaro’s complete horror.

Shit. I didn’t…? Did I? Goddess. I did .

It was an accident. A total slip of the tongue.

Well, nothing to do except own it, I suppose. Lore’s hat puffs up on my head. I can’t see it, but I know whatever it is, it’s big and feathery—a veritable ‘fuck you’ to the queen of autumn.

“Elatha escaped,” I continue, affecting an air of ambivalence. “Eero remains holed up in his city. Has there been any movement at all from Siabetha?”

“Skirmishes along both of our borders, mainly. Though his spies will undoubtedly tell him of our victory here,” Aiyana says, keeping her gaze notably short of meeting mine. “His next move will likely be a campaign of misinformation to counter the bad sentiment he’s stirred up among the people of his own Court.”

“News travels fast, and he who controls the flow of information controls the world,” Mab murmurs, appearing to Aiyana’s left. “The morale in the city is low. The Temples should preach the truth of what happened here. If we stir unrest in Summer, it will be ripe for a change in leadership.”

I repeat her suggestion to the gathered fae, adding, “I would prefer a mostly bloodless solution. Eero is the enemy. His people are not.”

Ashton’s mouth presses into a thin line. “Winter does not have the kind of time it takes for civil unrest to turn into an uprising. Our food stores run low. Summer and Autumn have always provided what we need, but with Summer refusing to send food and?—”

“My Court is hardly in a position to feed ourselves,” Cressida snaps.

I hold up my hand for silence, and this time Bree enforces it, stealing away the noise in the tent with his magic.

“We are here to establish how to end the two wars that the queendom is facing,” I remind them quietly, ignoring the fuming glares sent my way. “Bickering over trade can wait until the threats are over.” I turn back to Drystan. “Could we ride up the Torvyn, destroying the remaining camps?”

“It would be a waste of your time,” he dismisses, then in a more even tone, he says, “You’re talking about at least a week, if not two, of hard riding and fighting. It would be exhausting. Your energy would be better spent focusing on Eero.”

“It would save lives,” I add. “And if we could catch Elatha, we could stop him before he takes that medallion back to Fellgotha.”

Drystan’s distrustful frown lands briefly on Caed, then he shakes his head again. “We may as well throw the Fomorian right back into his father’s path while we chase after a legend that probably doesn’t even exist.”

“The bàsron are more than just some legend,” Caed objects. “The most convincing argument for their existence is that we don’t go down into the Deep Caves.”

“I thought that was because of the tunnel wyrms,” I say, frowning.

“We’re Fomorians, little queen. Can you imagine the glory that killing a huge beast with paralytic breath and armoured skin would bring? Sure, it’s terrifying, but we domesticated drakes . If there wasn’t some other reason for us to avoid the Deep Caves, I’m sure we’d have made tunnel wyrm hunting an annual sporting contest.”

“Armoured skin?” Lore breaths, his cap tightening on my head as his pupils dilate.

“Fascinating,” Ashton drawls. “But forgive me if I don’t take the word of the Blade Prince. The fae have defeated the Fomorians time and time again. No such creatures have ever been encountered, and I will not be sending my troops to die at sea in the pursuit of them.”

Caed’s jaw locks, but he says nothing. His resignation and anger burn bright down the bond, the acidic combination matching my own feelings.

“King Ashton is right,” Cressida agrees. “We’ve seen this before. Once the Fomorians are routed from the land entirely, we’ll rebuild our fortifications. Provided the Nicnevin doesn’t decide to follow in her grandmother’s footsteps, by the time they return in a few hundred years, she’ll be a half-decent warrior, and they won’t stand a chance.”

Not exactly what I wanted to hear, but I can’t say I’m surprised. Ignoring her biting comment, because I understand the place of hurt that it comes from, I turn back to my Guard.

“Then we agree; I should follow them along the Torvyn and reclaim the river entirely.”

It’s not as though I’d be much help clearing up Elfhame, anyway.

I’d rather be useful, and if the stories are true—as I’m afraid they might be—then I’m making hunting down Elatha a priority. Perhaps we won’t catch him before he can return to Fellgotha and try his hand at summoning the bàsron, but if we ride fast, there’s still a chance.

“She’s right,” Jaro says. “It would solve the issue quickly and leave Queen Cressida to sort out the mess that is her Northern border.”

Drystan pauses, considering the map a moment longer. “Five days,” he finally relents.

I can’t throw my arms around him and hug him like I want to, but I make sure he feels the pulse of love and gratitude I send down the bond in his direction.

“When that’s done, and Elfhame is secure, we’ll blink home and deal with Eero,” I promise. “I’ll tell Kitarni to encourage the Temple to speak out about him. I don’t need an uprising. I just want them to stand aside when I walk into his home and take his head.”

And if they can keep him busy in his own court, then we won’t have to worry about him launching any attacks on us.

“Do you have a plan for that?” Aiyana asks, raising her brow. “Because taking the head of someone with impenetrable skin?—”

“I’ve been told my grandmother had some success with forcing them to eat iron.” I level the spring queen with my frostiest glare. “After how Eero treated my Guard, I have no issue following in her footsteps.”

It’s a threat, and I make sure she knows it when she dares to meet my eyes for half a second.

She tortured Jaro for her own sick amusement. Caed, too, though she thought him her enemy at the time. I haven’t forgotten. It would’ve been easier had she fallen in battle, but I shouldn’t be so surprised that she lived.

One day, Aiyana will die, either by my order or my hand. Right now, Faerie needs stability, but the moment it doesn’t…

I won’t hold back.

She senses that, because she shuts her mouth and bows stiffly.

Ashton grins like I’ve done something funny, or perhaps he somehow senses the direction my thoughts are travelling in and approves. “Well, this was good exercise for the army, but I’m taking my troops back to Calimnel at dawn.”

That’s sudden, but honestly, it’s a relief. I don’t want to host the armies of three courts on top of the Temple Guard. We don’t have the resources to feed them for a start.

“There’s to be a feast to celebrate our victory,” I inform him. “I hope you’ll attend.”

Ashton inclines his head dutifully on his way past me. “Of course. Do make sure that whatever you do to Eero is painful. My court could do with some entertaining gossip.”

“The Hellebore knights have requested leave to remain and help with the rebuilding,” Aiyana says. “But the rest of my troops and I are leaving as soon as we’ve collected our dead.”

“As will I,” Cressida grumbles. “You might be happy to leave that serpent to stew in his sun-drenched halls, but I’m not about to risk an invasion from the south next.”

They exit the tent, their generals filing after them, leaving me to slump over the map with only my Guard to see.

“I’m messing this up,” I murmur. “No matter which way I turn, I’m leaving an enemy at my back and praying that they don’t attack.”

“Are we really feeding Eero iron?” Lore asks, eagerly. “Because I have this new knife that I really, really, really want to test on unbreakable skin.”

Biting my lip, I sigh. “I’m not certain yet, but I wouldn’t do it without you.”

“The armies are tired,” Jaro mutters. “Tonight will do them good, but marching them straight to Siabetha is a big ask…”

“I don’t want to take an army,” I protest.

Bree’s brows rise. “You can’t win a city without an army, dragonfly.”

Swallowing, I meet his eyes. “The only one who needs to die is Eero. I’ll win the city with kindness. You’ve seen how the fae treat their Nicnevin. I blew up a building, and they still bowed.”

“You know,” Mab says, tracing the edge of the table with her finger. “That’s not a terrible idea. His heir still enjoys considerable support from the nobles, and there are already whispers of her usurping him.”

Encouraged by her support, I continue. “I don’t need to fight the summer fae. Eero hasn’t moved against me, because he knows getting the fae to march against their Nicnevin is going to be hard. I want to send aid to the city, if we can. With that, and the Temple spreading word of what happened here, I don’t think it will take long to turn the people against him.”

We’ll need information, and I silently resolve to have my guides continue to keep an eye on the summer king. It’ll be easier if he thinks we’re distracted by rebuilding our city. With any luck, he’ll become complacent.

“And Elatha?” Caed asks, pinning me in place with the force of his blue stare. “Are we just letting him retreat and leaving him to unleash an ancient evil on his own time?”

“Historically, that’s what we do,” Jaro says, shrugging. “What good would it do to fight him inside a mountain full of iron? We’d be inviting him to annihilate us.”

“Besides,” Drystan adds. “No fae ship has ever survived the journey. Unless you have some way to fix that, Fomorian?”

Caed shrugs. “I’m not a sailor, so no. I can’t tell you where you’re going wrong. Prae might be able to, but she’s always been more into weapons than boats. If you’re hoping we’re going to lead a glorious fae invasion of Fellgotha, then you’re sorely mistaken.”

“Even if we knew the way, it’s a fortress,” I add forlornly.

Unlike Siabetha, any battle for Fellgotha would be bloody and long.

“If there was a way,” Mab says, staring hard at the inked waves on the map that mark the end of the world as the fae know it. “Maeve or I would’ve done it. We would never have left our daughters to inherit a realm where the possibility of invasion from such a threat existed if there was another choice.”

Of course they wouldn’t. My grandmothers are staunchly protective to their cores.

Which means our only hope is catching Elatha before he makes it to the open ocean.