Page 22

Twenty-One

Caed

I t’s well past midnight, and the feast which has been going on since sundown shows no signs of stopping any time soon. The bonfires across the outer city paint the night in shades of orange, casting flickering shadows from the fae gathered around them. Rose retired hours ago, smelling faintly of fae wine and grinning as she dozed on her feet. The púca carried her up to her room, despite her objections, and ever since, I’ve been silently wondering if the dullahan would murder me if I tried to join her.

Goddess, the taste of her lingered on my tongue for days after we mated. Now the only things I can taste are smoke and failure.

Perhaps I should grab some of the elk roasting over the main fire. The scent of sizzling meat is almost mouth-watering enough to overcome the nausea that’s been plaguing me since my father got away.

“You’re pining,” Prae murmurs, coming to stand beside me at the edge of the smaller fire I’ve chosen for myself.

The fae who were here earlier found an excuse to piss off as soon as I approached. Now it’s just the two of us, conspicuously left to our own devices as the other soldiers celebrate the miracle that is surviving another battle.

“And you’re wearing one more mark than you were this morning,” I point out, smirking. “What happened to all of those times you told me you’d never marry a fairy prince?”

Now she has two of them.

“Shut it.” She shoves me, then changes her mind and snatches up my arm, examining the tattoo. I know what she’s seeing. A wolf’s head in inky black, followed by the ghost of a stag’s skull, then a top hat, and a harp.

Everyone except the dullahan has forgiven me for what happened. They all trust me.

Prae’s thumb traces over the stag’s skull like she can complete it by touch alone. “You need to go and schmooze that winter prick until?—”

“Absolutely not,” I argue. “He barely tolerates me as it is. He’s as good as admitted he’s only trying because of Rose.”

“I don’t think you understand, Caedmon.” Prae drops my arm. “I’m mated. I can’t exactly murder Florian’s brothers-by-mating if you get your ass killed in thirty days.”

Thirty-three. But who’s counting?

“I’m glad you chose him,” I mumble, holding my hands out to warm them over the flames. “He’s a good male, and his power is finding shit, right? Never again will I have to listen to you rant about how males can’t find your clit.”

It had been her favourite tirade before she started being regularly satisfied by that Autumn Court shithead. I suppose her being mated comes with some small mercies.

Before Rose, when I’d never so much as touched a female like that, it was downright horrifying to hear. Some of the males she was so disappointed with had bragged so openly about their own prowess, and I had no experience and no one to teach me what to do.

I would rather die than admit it, but I’m actually grateful for the redcap’s intervention.

Prae scoffs. “We’re not here to discuss my sex life.”

“Nor mine.” I shove a hand through my hair in exasperation. “Look. I’m trying. He’s trying. It’s not… it’s not easy for males like us.”

Admitting that I understand the unseelie bastard better than any of the other males in Rose’s Guard is actually painful, but having been in that snow-bound wasteland, I do.

We’re both bastards. Both unwanted by our fathers. Both distrustful of others and ready to expect the worst. Neither of us knows what to do with the concept of friends. In fact, I’m lucky I have Prae. Without her, maybe I’d be as much of an insufferably uptight prick as he is.

We both love Rose enough that we’re trying.

“Invite him to spar. That worked with the wolf.”

“Jaro is different.” She doesn’t get it. I let out a long sigh, watching the sparks fly up into the cloudless night. “Anyway, what I wanted to say is, if I die?—”

“You won’t.”

“If I do .” Goddess, she’s making this so difficult. “You’ve got them. And… don’t blame Rose, or her Guard. I mean it.”

Prae looks away from me. “I’ll get Gryffin to wither his intestines. He can experience being as constipated as he looks with that constant scowl of his.”

“Praedra.”

She levels me with her one grey eye, and I roll mine in response. “Fine, hold a lifelong grudge and screw up your only female friendship. I know you secretly loved getting dressed up with her for the Lantern Festival.”

“So what if I did?” She sweeps her braids back, then joins me in warming her hands over the flames. “It just means you need to get your ass moving and make Drystan trust you so I can dress up more often.”

And we’re back to that, again. Unfortunately, I have a strong suspicion that with Drystan, I’m going to have to wait for him to come to me. If I press him, it’ll just piss him off.

Regardless, I appease my cousin with a noncommittal grunt and even manage a small smile as she allows herself to be tugged back into the dancing by her stony-faced prince.

Thirty-three days. My gaze settles on the scalding embers before me. He’s as aware of the deadline as I am.

If Elatha was dead, perhaps there’d be a chance. But he’s not. He’s probably on his way to summon an ageless evil, and the fae can’t care less. They’re so used to shoving the Fomorians back across the sea and forgetting about them for a few centuries that they don’t understand it’s not enough this time.

And what good can I really do to convince them otherwise? The second I mention following my father to Fellgotha, Drystan will see it as proof of my disloyalty, then we’re back to square one.

“Deep thoughts?” Jaro asks, coming up beside me.

Huffing, I shake my head. “Dark ones.”

His knowing nod is as infuriating as the joyous fae still partying around us.

“Tell me you don’t agree with their decision,” I demand. “They’re sticking their heads in the sand, and it’s going to get them all killed.”

“This is the fourth war between our people,” Jaro says. “The elders see the Fomorians’ inevitable invasion and our rebuke as a part of life now. I don’t think the likes of Aiyana and Cressida ever believed that we might lose this time, not really. As long as there was a Nicnevin and a Guard, Danu would save them.”

“But this is different,” I protest. “That medallion has been in Elfhame’s vault since Balor died with it around his neck.”

“I believe you.” He raises his hand in surrender. “I’m simply trying to explain why the minor royals didn’t.”

“So what do you think we should do?” I turn fully to face him now, watching him stroke his beard thoughtfully. “Sit around and wait to find out?”

“I think,” Jaro begins. “Drystan is right. We can’t chase Elatha across the ocean into a cave full of iron and expect to have the upper hand. We also can’t cross the Endless Sea without experienced Fomorian sailors to show us the way, and those aren’t exactly forthcoming. Even if they were, the majority of our seaworthy vessels are in the Summer Court.”

“We can’t wait here and hope to survive whatever my father is planning.”

He nods, grimly. “Then our only option is faith in Danu.”

Ancestors. I want to punch the fucker.

“Danu—”

“Did this .” Jaro waves a hand at the joyous fae all around us. “If you’re so against belief in the Goddess, have faith in your mate. She just raised a thousand dead warriors from the grave and took back her city. If not for the iron, she could’ve done it without any of us.”

True enough, I suppose, but the little queen is still no warrior, and honestly, I think she loathes what she did here.

“It was still creepy, though,” I mutter under my breath.

I have no issue with Rose’s grandmothers, or her magic in general, but unstoppable dead soldiers with gaping battle wounds? Never ever gonna get used to that shit.

Jaro scoffs, then quietly agrees, “Just be thankful you didn’t encounter the ghost of your dead father.”

Fuck. “You want another mead?”

I’m not the male for talking about feelings, but if he wants to drink them away… I owe him that much.

“Did someone say more mead?” A familiar hulking redhead bursts into our bubble with far too much exuberance. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Prince Madoc,” Jaro greets him. “I’m not sure if you’ve met Prince Caedmon.”

“Briefly,” the huge male says. “Has he met the rest of the clan?”

I hesitate, realising that all five of Rose’s brothers have appeared while Jaro and I were talking, and all of them are now glaring at me. Fuck. When a female’s kin starts surrounding you, you know things are going downhill fast.

Uther folds his arms over the blood-stained temple robes he’s wearing, and the other four follow suit.

“If you’re going to beat my ass into a pulp,” I grumble. “Can it wait until after my hangover tomorrow?”

Florian is the first to crack, his grin breaking free and stunning me into silence. “Why would we do that… brother?”

That’s not as reassuring as I think he meant it to be.

“However,” Roark says, thrusting a huge tankard of something that smells far stronger than mead into my hand. “There are a few… injustices that we need to get straightened out before we accept you as part of the family.”

Oh great. “I’ve been tortured more times than I can count since I met your sister,” I say dryly. “Surely the injustices are all accounted for by now?”

“Those ones, yes.” Dare drags me into his hold before I can step away.

I grimace, knowing I’m about to be stuck to something horrible and praying it isn’t Drystan. “But we were referring to the injustices of a half-fae having missed out on his heritage for nearly forty years.”

Every muscle in my body freezes in shock, then tenses some more. They’re… being nice? Fuck. Have I drunk too much mead? Is this a trap?

Uther takes my other side, ducking his head down to my ear. “Consider this Bram’s last gift.”

Bram.

My throat locks up, and I take a reflexive gulp of whatever is in my tankard as I meet the priest’s blue gaze. He’s a medium—a fae with magic that allows him to hear spirits. I don’t think he’d mislead me, which means Bram really did ask them to do this.

“We’re starting with the time-honoured fae tradition of trying to arm wrestle an ogre,” Dare announces. “It’s practically a rite of adulthood for most high fae.”

“I managed to win, unlike the rest of you.” Roark’s grin is too wide, telling me without words that he cheated.

“That’s because you slipped something into his drink, and the poor ogre ended up so off his face he couldn’t tell which way was up,” Florian points out. “Caed’s going to do it properly.”

Fuck. Goddess—Ancestors— Anyone . Save me.