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Twenty-Nine

Rhoswyn

“ A re you sure, dragonfly?” Bree asks, his wings beating powerfully as he effortlessly holds us both high above the Fomorians

“Mab, could you find out what we’re up against?” I ask.

My grandmother appears and plummets from the sky without hesitation, landing straight in the middle of the crowd while they’re blissfully unaware of the spy in their midst. A tense few seconds pass, during which time Bree glamours and lowers us, albeit grudgingly, to the grass a few dozen feet away.

I understand his wanting to be invisible, but evidently whatever he did only hid us from the Fomorians.

Even from here, I can hear the panicked voices on the wall rising. A glance over my shoulder shows bows being lowered and fingers pointed in our direction.

Wonderful. No doubt. Jaro, Drystan, and Florian will be here shortly.

I don’t get a chance to mention that I was hoping to delay Drystan’s censure until after I’d spoken with the Fomorians, because Mab returns, shaking her head like she can’t quite believe what she’s seen. I give her a little drop of power, giving her a physical form so that Bree can hear what she has to say. I summon my other guides as an afterthought, just in case we need backup.

“Is it time to kick more blue ass?” Maeve cracks her knuckles. “Or are we going to sit back and let her Guard prove they’re more than just pretty faces this time?”

Titania swats lightly at her daughter’s arm. “Be serious. If this is a second invasion so soon after the first?—”

“It’s not,” Mab cuts in. “They’re refugees. They don’t even have weapons.”

The silence that falls between the five of us is absolute.

“Refugees?” Bree repeats, slowly. “ Fomorian refugees. How is that possible?”

“I don’t know, but I couldn’t see a drop of iron on any of them.” Mab shrugs, her forehead crinkling.

We might be confused, but Danu is restless beneath my skin, and before I know it, I’m taking my first step towards the group.

“You weren’t going to slaughter them without me, were you, pet?” Lore blinks into my path before I can take another. “Remember, the couple that slays together stays together!”

“They’re refugees.”

“Wouldn’t matter to them if the roles were reversed,” Maeve grumbles. “They’d have slaughtered any fae who asked them for help and laughed while they arranged their heads on pikes.”

“Excellent. The stabby queen agrees.” Lore has already palmed a dagger, and I reach out to grab the sleeve of his cream leather jacket before he can do anything rash.

“They’re refugees ,” I repeat, my tone hardening. “No one is killing anyone until we hear what they have to say.”

Lore’s disappointment hits me down the bond as his shoulders slump and his lips turn pouty.

“Drystan will have an aneurysm if you invite more Fomorians into Elfhame City,” Bree murmurs, his ears both trained on the group.

Perhaps he’s right, but Danu’s words from Prae’s mating ceremony weigh heavily on my mind, alongside Caed’s words about what a world free from Elatha could look like. If we continue shunning each other, then there will just be another war in another few centuries.

“I said I want to listen. I never said I was inviting them inside.”

He raises a single dark brow, his dry humour filling the bond. “We know you, dragonfly.” Taking my hand, he kisses my knuckles softly. “Whatever you decide, we’ll support.”

“And if Daddy D has a problem with it, I can always blink him to the nearest swamp to cool off,” Lore announces, his glee restored at the thought.

Goddess, I don’t even want to imagine what Drystan’s going to say about what I’m about to do.

“Could you get Caed for me?” I ask my redcap, before he can preemptively drop my poor grumpy Guard into some bog. “I’d like his opinion.” The redcap nods, disappearing as I turn my attention back to my guides. “No weapons?”

“None,” Mab confirms.

But Maeve interjects, “That doesn’t mean they aren’t dangerous.”

“We’ll stay close,” Mab promises.

“But invisible,” Titania finally pipes up, straightening a little when the other two stare at her. “She’s forging her own path. Three prejudiced old crones aren’t going to be much help here.” She leans in to hug me, making me shiver. “We’re so proud of you, dear heart. But be careful.”

“We’re a thought away,” Maeve mutters, shooting the swelling crowd of Fomorians a sideways glare full of mistrust.

Whatever Mab might’ve said as they disappear is drowned out by Lore’s whistling as he drops Caed on my left.

“Oh, joy,” Caed groans. “When the redcap said we were going to a family reunion, I didn’t realise he meant another battle.” He turns towards Lore. “Can you go grab my crossbow?”

Before Lore can do just that, I step between them.

“I hope it won’t come to that.” I slip my hand into his, hoping the contact will distract him long enough for me to make my case. “According to Mab, they’re refugees. I want you with me when I meet them.”

“Meet them?” Caed snorts. “They’re Fomorians. We don’t negotiate, and we don’t seek refuge with fae.”

I shrug. “That was before. Now, can we hurry this up? I just felt a whole bunch of alarm from Drystan’s end of the bond, and I’m pretty sure both he and Jaro are on their way.”

A half-dozen ghostly swords appear at my request, ready and pointing towards the Fomorians. They follow us as we lead the way. Bree and Lore fall easily into step on either side, both clutching weapons of their own.

“Can we lose the swords?” I ask, knowing it’s useless.

“The dour knight will kill me if he thinks I’m not defending you properly.” Caed pauses. “I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t decide this is all some kind of trap I’ve dreamed up to drag your perfect ass back to Fellgotha.”

Bree drops the invisibility glamour the moment we’re within earshot of the gathered Fomorians, and despite my hopes, I can’t help but brace, waiting for violence to erupt.

They don’t rush us or draw hidden weapons out of nowhere, or attack. Instead, they drop to their knees, a move which drags forth memories of another group of Fomorians kneeling before Elatha. Then they go one step further, pressing their foreheads to the dirt.

Far from reassuring me, their reaction ratchets up the anxiety already churning in my gut.

Refugees, Mab called them. Too late, I find myself wondering what the proud, war-like people could be fleeing.

“Speak,” Caed snaps, but down the bond, his own unease echoes clear and strong. “And the first lie you tell, you all die.”

“We’re seeking sanctuary,” a heavy-set male with a brutal scar through his lip finally grouches. “The king has gone mad.”

“He’s sending dozens of warriors into the Deep Caves,” a female on our left pipes up. “Every day, he forces us to open up more of the old entrances and dig deeper. The tunnel wyrms are slaughtering our people by the dozens.”

Caed’s hand tenses on mine, and the swords around us tremble.

“Why?” I ask, but I’m afraid I already know the answer.

“He wants Balor’s portal,” the first male stutters. “He executed the elders for speaking up against him.”

Not one lie.

The first female looks up, her grey eyes pinning me to the spot. “You took in Caedmon and Praedra. Even a fucking fairy bargain is better than dying down there in the dark.”

Yes. But the fae understand and honour a mate bond. Not to mention, if Elatha manages to do it—if the bàsron really do exist and he sets them loose—then the queendom is in no position to protect these people.

A different Fomorian lurches to his feet after a few more seconds of my silence. He’s thin, almost painfully so, and he staggers desperately towards me.

“You can’t turn us away!”

A glowing golden shield erupts between us, and a snarling sandy wolf almost knocks me aside as Jaro charges into the space between me and them, barking in reprimand. Unfortunately, his appearance sets the crowd to bristling, and then, to make matters worse, a familiar hand clasps my shoulder.

“Rhoswyn.”

How can Drystan make my name sound so reproachful? The anxiety and protectiveness radiating from the bond softens the harshness, and I know he’s scrutinising my resolve and thoughtfulness, reassuring himself that I’m not in danger.

“They’re not a threat. I want to hear them out.”

I’m not looking at him, but the heat of his glare is surely burning a hole in the back of my skull. Mating might’ve given us a deeper understanding of one another, but it hasn’t cured him of the need to control things or his dislike of surprises.

“I have three Guards with me,” I point out, nerves edging my tone even as I fight to keep my voice down. The last thing I need right now is the Fomorians sensing our discord. “And I took precautions. I’m being sensible.”

Drystan’s hand leaves my shoulder, and I take the temporary reprieve for what it is, releasing Caed in favour of stepping up beside Jaro’s wolf

“This is troubling news,” I admit to the gathered crowd. “And I’m not turning you away.”

“You’re not?” Drystan asks, as Jaro leans into my leg.

Caed snorts. “Little queen, I guarantee you the second any of them steps foot in the city, there’ll be a riot.”

My head is already pounding, and Bree’s cum is a dripping mess down my inner thighs as I struggle to choose a course of action.

No matter what I do, it’s going to be unpopular.

Ideally, I’d integrate them fully into the city, but Caed is right. The scars of the last battle are still visible everywhere, and having these Fomorians in the middle of that will only encourage more strife.

They’d probably prefer their own space, where they don’t have to be surrounded by fae. Still, I can’t just leave them to their own devices. I’d be stupid to dismiss the risk that this could be a trick.

My eyes flit over their faces, lingering on their short hair and the pale marks banding their arms where those iron rings would once have rested.

Those jagged haircuts and pale blue lines, more than anything, make me want to believe in their sincerity. It might be fear driving them here, but surely, they would never go against such a deeply rooted part of their culture if they weren’t committed?

Still, only time will tell.

But what to do with them? As much as separation feels like the only option, I fear that path will only lead to the same kind of elitism that was so prevalent in Siabetha.

No part of me wants to create a third tier below the under fae for the Fomorians to inhabit.

That might happen, anyway.

“I’ll make a bargain with you,” I begin, and all of them tense. “A fair one. For the moment, you may make camp beside the wall, provided you do no harm and cause no trouble. Tomorrow, my people will return with a long-term agreement.”

“Outside the walls?” the female snaps. “Do you not understand what’s coming? What he’s trying to unleash?”

“Would you rather be skewered by a thousand angry fairies?” Caed asks, his ghost swords twirling menacingly in the air. “Because they aren’t feeling too charitable after you destroyed their home.”

“We had no part in that,” the scarred male, who seems to have adopted the position of leader, objects.

I note the lie with grim disapproval, even as Lore blinks to him, sticking his tongue out and running it along the edge of a knife I didn’t even see him draw.

“I’ll take the tongue of the next Fomorian who dares lie to my mate.” He says it so happily that it takes a second to register as a threat.

“I told you this was a stupid idea, Arvid.” The female edges closer to him.

“Stupid was trying to lie to a fae,” Drystan corrects, as Jaro’s wolf growls in agreement. “Let alone the Nicnevin.”

Silently, I agree. But was the lie out of desperation, or part of some greater subterfuge? Why even bother when he must have known we’d detect it? A test, perhaps?

My headache is only growing worse, and my hackles rise as I make the connection too slowly.

“One of you has iron on you,” I whisper, my spine stiffening.