Page 35 of Atop the Faerie Throne (The Fifth Nicnevin #5)

Thirty-Four

Rhoswyn

“ I t will take some time for the ships to reach the northern shore,” Ciara says as we stroll the corridors of the palace. “I’ve not been allowed near the war room since this all started, but my father wasn’t planning to fight anyone by sea. The majority of our forces are either in the capital or along our northern and eastern borders. We’ll need to recall them as well.”

“How long?” Jaro asks, probably already doing the calculations in his head.

He, Drystan, and Caed trail behind us as we walk down sun-dappled corridors, forming an impenetrable wall between us and any prying eyes. Siabethan nightshade perfumes the humid air, and I breathe it in reluctantly as I wait for her answer, all the while wishing my full Guard was here.

Lore is taking messages to the other minor royals, calling our forces back to arms. As for Bree…

We spent the night together, though I’m not sure it helped. For the most part, he just stared into space, battling silent demons in the dark, while I held him and prayed that it was enough to keep him from breaking. For all that he hated Torrance, I don’t think he ever really considered what it would be like once he was gone. Far from burying the years of being used, the betrayal, and the terrible way he was treated, it’s brought it all back to the surface, tugging open old scars.

At my pressing, he sought out Priestess Claudri at dawn. Deep, deep down, I wish Danu had given me some mind-healing magic, and not her. I would give anything to be able to take his pain away and return it in manageable chunks to give him time to process it.

I almost called on my mother’s spirit for the first time, because her gift of empathy would’ve been stronger; but he refused, saying he didn’t want a stranger in his head.

Now, worry for him pervades my every step. The quiet song in my chest tells me he’s more at peace than he was, but I’ll remain concerned until I see him for myself.

Ciara is quiet for a long minute. “Ten days. Two weeks at the most.”

“That’s after Beltaine,” my dullahan mutters, and I flinch.

An answering pang of something floats down the bond from both Caed and Drystan. If I had to define it, I’d say it was anxiety and resignation, tangled up in thick ropes of tension.

The fact that Drystan was the one to note that tells me he’s not as oblivious to the impending deadline as he pretends to be. The frame on Caed’s arm remains the same as ever, unmoved despite the time they’ve spent around one another.

If I’m truly honest with myself, I thought perhaps if we killed Elatha before Beltaine, and Caed’s name was his own again, then all of our problems would be solved.

If we can’t get to Fellgotha before sunset in nine days’ time, that won’t happen.

I swallow harshly as I realise another issue I’d not considered. Even if Ciara could get her ships to the northern shore tomorrow, crossing the Endless Sea takes days.

Time has snuck up on us. Now there’s every chance Caed won’t be alive by the time we leave.

My heart seizes, and Drystan’s anger ratchets up a notch on the other end of the bond. The only outward sign he gives that he’s even mildly affected is the subtle clenching of his fists.

“My father could’ve found the portal and unlocked it by then,” Caed mutters, deliberately avoiding the topic.

Ciara shrugs. “I can’t make the wind blow faster. Can you?”

The silence that cloaks us is thick and bleak, broken only when the new queen says, “I have much to do here. My father’s corruption ran deep, and my sister’s supporters linger. I did have my own plans in place to seize the throne, but your return to Faerie and your pilgrimage disrupted them.”

Does she expect me to apologise? A quick glance at her contemplative expression says she doesn’t. She’s simply thinking out loud.

“My admirals will begin summoning the fleet tonight. Cyreus will be named prince consort tomorrow at dawn and will lead our ships to Autumn in my place,” she continues. “I’m no warrior, and someone needs to remain here and deal with the last of the old loyalists.”

When I say nothing, she continues, “Prince Bram’s remains will be returned to Elfhame, of course. I regret, more than anything, that he was taken from you amongst all of this. It was an awful loss of one of the greatest minds of this age.”

My throat thickens, and I jerk my head down sharply.

“Siabetha will work hard to earn the Goddess’s forgiveness. Our city is beautiful and vibrant, and my people deserve the blessing of Danu as much as any other. If you return after everything is done, you’ll experience our deepest hospitality. I hope that, eventually, Danu will reconsider her decision to withhold her blessing from our shrines and temples.”

“And conveniently, such a visit would give the Nicnevin plenty of time to bless your mating ceremony,” Drystan interjects, cynically.

Ciara frowns. “It would be an honour if she would, but?—”

“Cyreus made it a condition of his helping my mates and me escape,” I tell her.

Her mouth goes a little slack and she blinks rapidly for a moment before recovering. “Nicnevin, may I be frank?”

I wave her on, though the guarded part of me that has become used to the machinations of minor royals surges forward defensively.

“I am young,” she says derisively. “Barely sixty, and without any of the great and powerful magics that make up for that inexperience. Therefore, I would like us to be allies, if not friends.”

The quiet strength of the female beside me is enough that I actually consider her offer, despite everything. She’s not a warrior, by her own admission, but I don’t doubt that if circumstances had been different, her shrewd and quiet form of leadership would’ve eventually put her on the throne.

“The treaty of Marlen prevents the Nicnevin from interfering—” Drystan begins, but Ciara waves him off.

“I’m not asking her to secure my throne from threats. I’ll do that myself.” The steel that enters her voice is unyielding. “I’m saying that we have much in common, more than we do with other females, or even other royals. Her grandmother was great friends with Queen Cressida. It’s hardly outside the realm of possibility.” She pauses. “If nothing else, it would be a relief to speak openly of the struggles of having an under fae mate with a female who understands.”

I swallow back the instinctive urge to accept.

“You took Drystan’s head,” I remind her. “You kept me in the dark while your father plotted against me.”

She raises a brow. “I did. My position was precarious, and I had to walk the line to keep my place as crown princess. A tiny misstep was all my father and Máel needed to push me out of court, and then all my plans would’ve been for nothing.”

She’s not apologising, but she’s fae. I hardly expected her to. She’s also incapable of lying. I’m still mulling the idea over in my mind when Bree’s hands finally land on my waist and he turns me.

As his eyes rove over my body, I catch sight of Mab and mouth, “thank you,” at her before releasing the magic that kept her corporeal. She’s been watching over him since he left the privacy of his session with Claudri, just in case.

“Dragonfly,” my púca greets me quietly, stealing my attention.

His green eyes are sad, shoulders low, and he feels hollow but lighter than he did when I kissed him farewell this morning.

“Queen Ciara has promised me that the ships we need will be ours, but after Beltaine,” I say, trying hard to keep the tiredness out of my voice.

Bree’s hands go from cradling to supportive as he dips his head to mine and presses our foreheads together.

“There is still time,” he whispers, looking over my head at the males behind me. “The priestess told me that the entire city is already preparing for the celebrations. We could join them and give the rest of the Guard some space.”

He’s only making the suggestion to give Caed and Drystan some time to do whatever it is they need to do to get over this block, but I seize the distraction, anyway.

“I think the queen of summer has other things to attend to right now,” I say. “So that sounds delightful.”

Ciara takes the dismissal for what it is and bows. “Until we next see each other, then.”

Guilt flares as I realise I never actually gave her an answer. If she is being genuine, then I don’t want to turn her down, so I force a smile and say, “Yes. Hopefully, my next visit will be more peaceful.”

Her bow deepens a fraction, and then she turns and leaves without pressing the matter.

Goddess, I want her offer to be real. It would be nice to have some living female friends outside of Kitarni and Prae. Honestly, at this point, I’d settle for a minor royal who doesn’t want to play games just because they can.

“How are you doing?” I ask Bree the moment she’s gone.

“Claudri helped me put things into perspective,” he says, without really answering the question. “I think it’ll take some time to sink in. I’m going to oversee his burial myself. Hopefully, that will bring some closure.”

“Do you want my help?” I offer, but the tightness of his shoulders and the way he avoids my gaze tells me his answer before he even opens his mouth.

“It’s not a funeral, dragonfly. I’m flying over the sea and dropping his remains into the water. If I’m lucky, a passing kelpie will be hungry enough that he ends up as horse dung, decorating the bottom of the ocean.”

“Fitting,” Caed mutters. “Can we do that with Elatha, too?”

Lore doesn’t keep us waiting long. He scoops me up in his arms and blinks us back to Elfhame.

“For some reason,” he says, depositing me on the edge of the Temple roof, “Cressidick didn’t find me crumpling the note up and throwing it at her head amusing. I was told to deliver it, but the method of delivery was left completely up to me. Ashton at least threw it back a few times first.”

I take a peek at the ground below and the city beyond, but my ability to fly and trust in Lore has erased any fear I might’ve felt at this height.

“Do I even want to know how Aiyana reacted?” I ask.

Lore shrugs, dropping to crouch beside me. “She was boring. Didn’t even look up from the males fucking her.”

The fact that my redcap saw nothing wrong with delivering his message to a queen while she was enjoying her lovers makes me smirk, but the expression falls from my face as our location and the mention of Cressida tugs at my brain.

“Lore, I want to ask you a question,” I say, fighting to keep my tone neutral. “And I’d like it if you’d answer me honestly, without changing the subject or downplaying things.”

His cap shoots upwards, and a salacious grin lights his face.

“And no, I’m not asking to tie you up,” I tack on quickly.

Watching his hat deflate makes the tight discomfort in my chest worse.

“What do you want to know, pretty pet?” he asks, tone turning cautious in a way that’s entirely out of character for him.

Taking a deep breath, I turn so I’m facing him on my knees. “Did Cressida hurt you?”

It’s the only conclusion I can come to, after her comparison to Aiyana and Máel.

Lore’s cap shifts again, becoming tight knit and covering almost all of his hair. He says nothing for a long time, rocking across the balls of his feet.

“Sometimes…” he eventually says, “things are so far in the past that they’re boring, wouldn’t you agree?”

I don’t respond. I’m not sure how to. His lack of denial is as good as confirmation.

What do I really know about their relationship? That he was sworn to her service until his oath to me broke that vow, and that the two of them were lovers until Cressida found her three mates. Nothing more. No explanation for how he came to be her assassin in the first place.

He’s kept that part of his life quiet out of consideration for me, and truthfully, I think Lore is too in the moment to ever think about it properly.

“I’ve waited thousands of years for you, pet,” he says, giving me big, sad red eyes as his clawed finger taps my nose once. “I would rather we spent our time fucking away the past than seeking vengeance against a bitch-queen who’s one of the few minor royals who’d put cities to the blade for my mate.”

Flopping down onto his ass, he drags me into his lap and plops his cap back onto my head, where it becomes my favourite hooded poncho.

“Are you saying you’ve forgiven her for whatever happened?”

He shrugs; all traces of seriousness gone. “What’s a few decades of torture between friends? And—her questionable matchmaking abilities and awful inability to take a joke aside—she’s tolerable. I considered killing her as soon as my oath was broken, just for the giggles, but Kitarni convinced me that minorly inconveniencing her for the rest of all time was much more fun.” He winks. “Before you found me, I was blinking sand into her boots every night; and before that, I stole all of her cutlery, piece by piece, over several months.”

Swallowing, I nod. In a way, I’m glad Kitarni talked him into this crazy campaign. Cressida’s help has been useful, and I’m not sure any other monarch would’ve dealt as capably with the Fomorian invasion.

As things stand, the minor courts are stacked more in my favour than against. Ashton is trying to repair his relationship with Drystan. Ciara is working on earning Danu’s blessing for her court—although I’m still not certain if that’s to foster a genuine friendship between us, or just another way for her to solidify her claim on her new crown. And Cressida is driven by loyalty to the memory of Maeve.

The only minor royal who would betray me if they could is probably Aiyana. Her confidence might have been rocked by what I did at the end of my visit to Pavellen, but if given the opportunity to stab me in the back, I’m certain she would.

When this business with Elatha is done, and I no longer need her, nor care about instability in the Spring Court, I grimly admit to myself that I’ll probably ask Lore to visit her in her sleep.

Because Jaro isn’t thousands of years old. His wolf was irrevocably changed from the soft, puppyish beast who once snuggled me. Watching him nobly face down torture for me was one of the worst moments of my life.

“Your brows furrow when you’re plotting murder, pet. It gives you away.”

Predictably, for Lore, there’s a hard line growing beneath my thigh in response. I snort and let him tilt my head back to kiss me.

“Not Cressida’s,” I tell him as we draw apart. “If you want her to live, I’ll respect that.”

“And if I get bored later and change my mind…?”

“I won’t say a word.”

He whoops and dips his head to kiss me again.