Page 32 of Atop the Faerie Throne (The Fifth Nicnevin #5)

Thirty-One

Rhoswyn

A t least, when I step back into the war room the next morning, I feel marginally fresher than I did last night. I’m not sure that Drystan has actually slept, nor Florian, but I know better than to suggest either of them take a break. Not when they’re both so rigid and sporting swiftly healing bruises.

What in the Goddess’s name happened while I was gone?

Actually, I don’t think I want to know.

Kitarni, Gryffin, and Bree appear to have stayed out of their brawl, sagging heavily in their chairs, but Jaro’s wolf clambers to his feet and greets me with a nudge of his nose as I enter. When he does it again, I get the hint, threading my fingers through his fur until the enormous beast rumbles with happiness.

Did he shift out of tiredness or anger? Deciding that it doesn’t really matter, since the argument is clearly long past, I press a kiss to his silky ear.

“Shift back?” I request.

Jaro grunts as his wolf recedes. He leaves my side to grab some clothes, but only after he claims my mouth in a scorching kiss with a mumbled, “Good morning.”

Wraith is asleep by the embers of the fire with his belly in the air, and I cross to pet him while I wait for the silent stand-off between my dullahan and my brother to end.

“We have a proposal,” Drystan finally grates out.

“A temporary one,” Florian adds.

Frowning, I ask, “Where are Caed and Prae?”

“Prae decided her time would be better spent in her workshop, and Caed went to test the waters with the Fomorians,” Jaro says, voice muffled as he drags a shirt over his head. “Or maybe he just wanted to escape the unseelie word games Drystan and Gryffin have been playing.”

Florian bristles, and Kitarni winces.

Oh. So this is one of those things.

Jaro starts up, “The honourable thing to do?—”

“Means shit when Rose’s wellbeing is on the line,” Drystan casually cuts him down.

“Rose, what is Danu’s feeling about the bàsron?” Kitarni asks.

My stomach flip-flops, and I find myself looking down at Wraith for a distraction as I answer, “Dread.”

“If the Goddess is concerned, we should be also,” Bree murmurs, eyeing Florian and Jaro as he says it.

“Then our best option is to follow Caed’s suggestion.” Judging by his expression, it physically pains Drystan to admit that. “We need to cross the Endless Sea and deal with Elatha before he can succeed. To do that, we need ships.”

“And the best place to find them is the Fair Isles.” A pulse of reticence hits me from Bree, and I look up to find he’s manifested the claws of his cat-sìth and is studying them intently with his ears pinned back.

“As far as your bargain with the Fomorians goes, that makes it simple,” Kitarni says. “You simply demand their aid in crossing the Endless Sea and taking Fellgotha. At least one of them must be a navigator, since they made it here.”

“And the scouts say more are coming.” Drystan scowls at the map.

“I’d like to add that they need to help with the repairs to the city,” Florian says. “We can designate this spot”—he points to a spot just inside the south-eastern section of the outer wall—“as a site for a small temporary camp.”

“We can’t leave them in tents,” I object, heart sinking as I remember that child.

“It would only be until autumn, when the rest of the city is rebuilt,” Florian answers curtly. “We can’t prioritise them over our own people. Besides, it’s a damned sight more than they would give us if the roles were reversed.”

“There’s also a good chance that some of them won’t stay there,” Jaro points out. “Danu was open about her plan for more matings between the fae and Fomorians. Some fae will be more curious than hostile.”

“Once the city is secure, we’ll see about creating them homes. They might go back to their dank little mountain if we’re lucky.” Drystan waves the issue off. “Now, back to the ships. Have you had any further thoughts about how we’re going to take down Eero?”

Swallowing, I roll back the city map to look at the one of Faerie beneath.

Siabetha stares back accusingly.

Going there again fills me with trepidation and anger. Máel may be dead, but it’s still the city where I lost my brother. Where Bram’s murderer lives in complete impunity, spouting blasphemy, making deals with the enemy, and sheltering Bree’s toxic father.

“Mab,” I whisper, and my grandmother appears beside me instantly. I spend a little magic to bring her into physical form, not wanting the others to miss out on what she has to say.

“He’s not left the palace,” she reports, seeing where my focus is.

“You’ve had her spying on him?” Drystan’s brows shoot upwards.

I shrug. “You said I couldn’t leave him unchecked.” I turn back to her. “Is Torrance still there?”

She nods. “He was sent to spy on Iondell and report back on any Spring Court troops stationed there, but he returned and is currently whoring his way through the Pleasure District while Eero stays holed up with his advisers. It looks like he’s planning to hit Spring in a surprise attack, using Neila’s defection and the Hellebore knights’ absence to his advantage.”

“That sneaky piece of shit,” Jaro growls.

“It makes sense.” Florian groans. “He has to know his days are numbered. He’s desperate to find a bargaining chip he can trade for his life.”

Nodding, I add, “How are the Temple’s efforts to sway the people going?”

“Well,” Kitarni answers. “Your gift of supplies has helped. I took the liberty of sending priests with a talent for brewing potions. Faerie itself has been causing chaos there since you left. There’s been a drought, and the fish have become scarce. The people are hungry and almost as angry at their king as we are.”

Meaning the populace won’t get in my way, and we can keep casualties to a minimum.

“Then it’s time.” I take a deep breath. “Mab, does Eero know about my charm magic?”

“They’ve not mentioned it, and you’ve been careful. He’s more concerned about how many spirits are around Siabetha that you might use against him. His court is offering money to mediums who can get the dead to leave in case you turn up.”

“And Ciara?”

“Plotting away in her rooms, under heavy guard. It seems she already had a plan to take power, but your pilgrimage interrupted it, and now she’s using her maids to get letters out to her supporters.”

So the quiet princess was planning a coup long before I even arrived? I somewhat remember Máel complaining about the nobles forcing Eero to make Ciara his heir and cock my head as I consider that, perhaps, she might’ve had a hand in that all along.

Filing that information away for later, I look around the table. “I’m going to charm my way into the palace, but I need suggestions for how he can be killed.”

“I can help you there.” Prae bursts into the room, carrying the chestnut-sized metal sphere I fiddled with before her mating ceremony. “For the record, I want his crown melted down and turned into my first fairy armband for this. I’ve outdone myself, and I’ve decided that gold really works with my complexion.”

She sets the tiny object down in the middle of the table, and Jaro picks it up, nostrils flaring.

“Smells like iron and enchantments.”

“Fairy magic is so much more tolerable when I can use it, too.” Prae pauses as Florian scoops her into his arms, frowning.

“Is this another weapon?”

Prae hums noncommittally, and Florian’s jaw works.

“Hey, the only fae she’s murdering this time is Eero,” Gryffin pipes up. “Do you really have a problem with that?”

Florian makes a conflicted sound in the back of his throat.

I cough lightly. “I’ll take anything we can use against him.”

“Good.” Prae snatches it back from Jaro. “All you have to do is make him swallow it.”

Swallow it? “Do I want to know?”

Prae’s sly smile tells me I really don’t. “It’ll make your redcap happy; let’s put it that way. The trigger is water, so don’t get it wet, but it should react with his saliva on the way down.”

Lore’s cackle is far too delighted for a conversation about murder. He blinks to her, snatching the ball and tossing it into the air. “Oooh, you make the best toys.”

The gleeful menace in those words makes me gulp, but then I remember everything Eero has done and shrug off any reticence.

“Good, then I suppose?—”

Caed swaggers through the doors, whistling.

“Oh, Goddess,” Jaro murmurs. “What have you done now?”

“What? Who says I did anything?” Caed’s affronted look is flawless, but the flash of panic along our bond gives him away.

I cross my arms, praying to Danu that the worry I’m feeling is misplaced.

Under the weight of every single gaze in the room, my Fomorian spreads his hands in a peace gesture. “It’s not what you’re all thinking. But I did take care of the refugee problem—single-handedly, I might add. You’re welcome.”

“What?” Prae’s voice is a little high-pitched.

Drystan’s eyebrows are disappearing into his hairline, and Florian and Jaro look heavenward like they’re both begging the Goddess for mercy.

“Just so we’re all clear,” Gryffin begins. “By ‘taking care of it’, do you mean you slaughtered them, or…?”

Lore blinks in front of Caed, dagger at the ready. “A slaughter without inviting me is just rude, and my pet was attached to those little blue urchins.”

Caed flicks the blade away with an eye roll. “Of course, I slaughtered them all. Honestly, so little faith…”

Every fae in the room grimaces at the astringent taste that accompanies his sarcasm.

“Goddess, I know you can lie, but could you just… not?” Bree hisses. “You have no idea how vile that is.”

Snorting, Caed draws a crumpled-up piece of paper out of his pocket, smoothing it out onto the table. “So, while you were all arguing, I did some reading.”

“You can read?” Drystan drawls.

Caed doesn’t take offence. “Well, the wolf’s mother can. She helped me draw up another copy of this treaty…”

“You went to my mother?” Jaro growls.

Florian elbows Caed out of the way without preamble, bending over the parchment with his brows pressed together in panic. “You drew up another copy of the treaty of Marlen?”

Drystan’s groan of frustration echoes through the room. “That treaty led to the stupid pilgrimage and the entire situation with Eero?—”

“So we adjusted it based on the shit you were arguing about. I figured the head scholar knew what she was doing, and this way, Rose isn’t forced to figure out what to do with the Fomorian Mountains, as long as their monarch swears allegiance to her.”

Drystan slams both hands on the table. “Monarch? You think Elatha is going to?—”

“Ancestors balls, will you all shut the fuck up and let me explain? I swear, it’s like you think I’m stupid or something. No. Not Elatha.”

“Praedra.” Florian looks up. “You named my mate as queen of the Fomorians without even consulting her?”

“Well, it’s not like I have time for the position, and Rose didn’t object to the idea.”

Everything in me shrivels at the mention of my name, and I bite my lip nervously. Yes, in theory, I never disagreed, but also, I never meant for him to do that.

“You idiot!” Prae turns on her heel, smacking her palm into her forehead. “You’re the heir. I did all of this so you could be king. I can’t—ugh!”

Caed offers her a sheepish smile. “Technically, you’re currently the heir, remember? Even if Elatha hadn’t changed his mind, you’re a full-blooded Fomorian. And you might hate to talk about it, but a lot of people supported your mother before he had her executed.”

Prae’s face goes very pale very quickly at the mention of her mother. I vaguely remember her telling me once that Elatha killed her for trying to take the throne, but that doesn’t explain her reaction. My gut sinks, because while I thought Caed’s plan was a good one, I don’t want to force her into it if she hates the idea this much.

“I’m not queen material, Caedmon. I invent things. You’re the warrior. You’re Balor’s?—”

“No.” Caed shuts her down. “Actually, I’m not. I renounce it. I’m no son of Balor. I’m a Guard of the Nicnevin. She is all, Prae. I can’t—I won’t—abandon that, even if I do live past Beltaine. Our people need someone smart enough to navigate trade agreements and create a place for them in the queendom. You can teach them to work other metals, farm underground, and all of that other shit. Rose trusts you, and she needs to trust the new minor royal. It has to be you.”

“What about ships?” Bree asks. “Homes for the Fomorians until this is over? Did you come up with any kind of solution that still works if we don’t manage to subdue Fellgotha? Those mountains are full of iron. There’s no guarantee we’ll even succeed, or that the rest of the Fomorians will submit to this.”

“They will. We’ve actually done quite a good job of thinning out the heirs of Balor. Draard, Haor, and Hogart all died when we retook the city. Which leaves…”

“Us,” Prae whispers, pacing in disbelief. “We’re the last two direct heirs. Caedmon-fucking-Fomorii, I swear to the Ancestors, I—” She snaps her jaw shut and takes a deep breath through her nose, her hand rising to touch her bad eye as her tone softens to something akin to regret. “You know why I can’t do it.”

Caed’s brows furrow. “Prae…”

I can’t help but feel like I’m missing some important subtext here, and the atmosphere quickly becomes uncomfortable.

“Do you need us to give you two some space?” I ask.

Prae shakes her head. “No. You might as well know.” She folds her arms. “When I was six years old, my mother wanted to make me queen and name herself regent. She smothered Caed’s infant sister in her crib, tricked Bres into calling right of challenge against him, then murdered who knows how many more of our cousins in an attempt to have Elatha name me his successor. It was an obsession for her. She even…”

Her breath catches, and she looks away, only continuing when Florian takes her hand.

“She took a knife to my eye, trying to convince the court that I was Balor reincarnated. Unfortunately, she was too ambitious. Elatha put his foot down after Bres’s death. He executed her, then gibbeted her body for weeks.”

And branded Prae a traitor. I remember her telling me that much.

“I picked my king the day you stood up for me, even when my mother was responsible for so much of your suffering,” Prae tells Caed. “I did everything to see you on that throne, because I knew once your stupid father was out of the picture, you’d be the first good king our people had ever known.”

Caed shakes his head. “You said it yourself; I have a conflict of interest. Besides, Elatha made me swear never to plot to take the throne from him after I killed Bres.” He raises his hand when she would’ve interrupted. “I know you don’t want it, but if your only objection is because Elatha traumatised you into thinking you can’t have it, then?—”

“If I sit on that throne, my mother gets her final wish,” Prae growls. “She’ll be laughing in her grave, because it means that this”—she points at her bad eye—“was justified, and I’ll finally realise her vision; a new Balor, one of her blood, ruling over all Fomorians.”

The room is silent as she releases Florian’s hand and finishes, “I know what you want, but… I can’t give her the satisfaction.”

Caed scoffs. “She’s dead. Who gives a fuck what she’d think? And you’re not Balor. He was a meathead, remember? You’ll probably be the first Fomorian with brains to rule Fellgotha.”

“And what about when they all start challenging me?” Prae demands. “I’m blind on one side, idiot. Both you and Gryffin have managed to use that against me. It’ll get me killed in Fellgotha. I’ll be queen for three days, tops, before someone manages to catch me unawares. And don’t you dare say my mates will protect me. Any Fomorian queen who needs fairies to defend her ass will be a laughingstock.”

The rest of us are unwilling to intervene, and I think the two of them have honestly forgotten we’re here, because when I finally clear my throat, Prae startles.

“Can I ask why you refused my offer to heal it if you hate it so much?” I ask her.

Caed stares at me, blinking. “You… did?”

“At the time, you were a prisoner.” Prae shrugs. “I figured it was just some cunning fae plot to get me to remove your shackle. You never brought it up again, afterwards…”

And her pride would never permit her to ask.

Guilt swirls, because she’s right. I didn’t offer again. “I didn’t want to pressure you. It’s your eye. You’re an amazing inventor and warrior, regardless of whether it’s healed or not.” I pause. “And, for what it’s worth, I think you’d be an amazing queen, too.”

“Of course I would,” she retorts, then looks away. “Not that I’m agreeing to anything.”

“My aunt is still a formidable ruler, even after what I did to her legs,” Gryffin broaches. “No one would ever dare call her less of a queen.”

Cressida is stubborn and blunt, much like Prae. I suspect both of them would simply kill whoever inferred anything of the sort.

The difference is that the withering is famously resistant to healing. I probably couldn’t help Cressida, not that she would ever ask me to.

Kitarni nods slowly, finally weighing in on the discussion. “Both issues are very personal, Praedra. You ought to think about it. Besides, adjusting to the change in your vision would probably take some time?—”

Prae snorts. “You think I need to ponder whether I want to look in the mirror every morning and see a glaring reminder of my mother’s frantic attempts to seize power? Of her pinning me down and torturing me?”

Kitarni remains as unflappable as ever as she replies, “No, but I think you’re hoping that healing your eye will erase your past and take away all the reservations you have about accepting a court of your own. It won’t.”

“How noble of someone with two working eyes to tell me how I’m fucking feeling,” Prae lashes out. “I don’t need to erase my past. I own that shit.”

Kitarni inclines her head, conceding the point.

“I’m not some soft-ass fairy,” the Fomorian princess continues. “It’s pretty obvious I’ve got to do this or you’re all screwed. I’m not selfish enough to condemn an entire realm to continue this stupid endless war out of stubbornness. It all comes down to whether I want to sit on that throne looking like the queen my mother imagined me to be, or not.”

“Read the treaty before you make a decision,” Florian insists, grabbing the parchment and pressing it into her hands.

“And for the record, I can just wither whoever dares comment on you having fae bodyguards,” Gryffin adds. “If they’re good enough for the Nicnevin, they’re good enough for a Fomorian queen.”

Prae hesitates, then bends, scanning the neat columns of text as Caed adds, “If Elatha doesn’t die, it’s written in there that Prae becomes the queen of all Fae-allied-Fomorians. Every single refugee signed it in blood.”

And indeed, at the bottom is a collection of scarlet thumbprints. I know it’s mainly symbolic—the Fomorian monarch isn’t an elected position—but it’s something.

“If Prae becomes queen of the Fomorians…” Jaro begins, looking pointedly at Florian. “You couldn’t be knight commander. Mates don’t separate.”

Florian shrugs. “I’ve done the job for a long time. I could take a change of scenery.”

“Ascal was?—”

“Also of the opinion that you’d do fine in the role.” Florian stares levelly at the wolf shifter. “And, given that she and the rest of the city fell under my leadership, I don’t think you can continue to cite losing the outer wall as your reason for not taking the position.”

My heart warms at the flare of hope in Jaro’s eyes and then softens with pity as he looks away.

“That was before my wolf?—”

“Being a little feral can be helpful,” my brother says. “My having a temper certainly did. Besides, you’ll need it to keep the twins in line, if you mean to make them your seconds.”

It takes a long time, but eventually Jaro nods. “I would be honoured to follow in your footsteps, Knight Commander.”

“I’m sure I can put aside my very important responsibilities to move across the ocean for you,” Gryffin says, and Prae smacks his upper arm lightly.

“Your biggest responsibility before you met me was getting up before noon and following your aunt’s orders without pissing her off too much.”

She leans back, swallowing deeply before meeting my eyes. “Well, it looks like you’d better heal my fucking eye.”

She’ll do it. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so conflicted over being relieved before. At least this way, she can separate herself from her mother’s actions and be the ruler she wants to be, but I can’t help but worry that I’m forcing her onto a throne.

“I—” The words of apology, of comfort, that I want to give die on my lips. Prae doesn’t react well to empathy, so I settle for, “You’ll be an amazing queen, and if you hate it, you can always make my brother do the boring parts.”

“Hey!” Florian forces some false indignation into his tone. “Maybe I’m retiring.”

“At your age, I would hope so,” Gryffin retorts.

Florian punches his upper arm. “Shut up.”

Meanwhile, Drystan’s concern flares as Caed uses their distraction to shift closer to me, tugging me into his embrace, enveloping me in the scent of almonds and liquorice.

My Fomorian lowers his mouth to my ear. “So, not bad, right?”

Goddess, the cockiness in his voice, combined with his sudden closeness, does things to me.

Not bad? Well, I suppose the outcome is better than we could’ve hoped for. Still, guilt flutters in my gut, because what we’re asking of Prae is no small thing.

Change is coming for us all, and it makes me nervous.

I offer him a sad little smile. “Do you think it’s the right decision?”

Caed snorts, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t have given her the push if I didn’t believe she’d love it. Prae’s pretending like she’s only considering this because she’s the only option, but this time next year, she’ll be happily ordering people around from her throne room. She’ll be the best minor royal in the realm.”

He adores his cousin, so I know he genuinely believes that. That’s what gives me the strength to smile as I summon Titania and prepare to do as she asked.