Page 4

Three

Rhoswyn

D rystan is actively avoiding me and has been since I asked Lore to take Caed to the Court of Blades to recover two days ago.

I don’t really blame him. I’ve spent so much time making such a big deal of staying neutral about Danu’s curse, and now this happens. I’m such a hypocrite.

The instant where I believed Caed had betrayed me tore my heart out. I didn’t realise it would hurt so much. It couldn’t have done so if I didn’t love him.

Danu. It’s not like I meant for it to happen.

“Why so glum, pretty pet?” Lore asks, from his position, crouched atop Roark’s table while he snacks on an apple from the fruit bowl.

“He’s not ready yet,” I say, instead of directly answering him.

Tonight is the night Hawkith and Cedwyn are being laid to rest. Ashton has ordered it to be a quiet affair, partly out of sympathy for Drystan, and also out of spite for his brother.

I’m glad.

A long, protracted mourning period isn’t what anyone needs right now, and I’m not sure that my mate or his uncle truly wish to grieve either of them. At least, not in the conventional way.

Cedwyn and Hawkith weren’t easy people to love. Still, they were Drystan’s parents, no matter how toxic that relationship was. Goddess only knows how he’s feeling right now.

“Want me to fetch him for you?” The redcap blinks to my side, kissing my temple, but I grab him before he can follow up on his suggestion.

“No. He needs time… How’s Caed?”

“Still paralysed and in agony!” Lore gushes. “This is fascinating . I’ve never seen anyone live so long after a bite from a nathair. I’ve set Widders the task of recording his reactions. For science.”

Caed can’t die, and yet there’s no antidote. I wanted to heal him, but apparently all that would do is allow the venom to eat away at his organs all over again. Worse still, he’s too out of it to stop himself from drawing on me. More than once, I’ve had to discreetly send him the Goddess’s energy down the bond when the urge becomes impossible to ignore, but even that doesn’t do much.

There’s nothing we can do but wait for the venom to run its course, and I hate it.

“Can you check on him while we’re gone?” I ask Lore.

He salutes, grinning, and blinks away.

I know Prae won’t leave her cousin’s side, but I don’t have the luxury of doing the same right now.

The hair on the back of my neck prickles with the force of my dullahan’s disapproval.

“He deserves worse.”

Was he waiting for Lore to leave, or was the timing just a coincidence?

My shoulders slump, but I pray Drystan doesn’t notice as I stand, turning to fix him with what I hope is a sympathetic smile. “Are you ready?”

Right now, I want to focus on being there for him. It’s not like Caed is going anywhere.

“You don’t have to come,” Drystan replies.

He makes for the door, his fingers fastening his black furs around his shoulders with swift efficiency. I chose a long white dress—the fae colour of mourning—but he wastes no time in covering it with my own dove-grey cloak, double checking the buttons before opening the door and ushering me out of Roark’s apartment and onto the snowy street.

“I won’t leave you to face it alone,” I insist, struggling to match his pace.

“There are better uses of your time.”

“Like what?”

Winter is mobilising its troops. The plans are set. Unless he knows something I don’t, I have very little to do besides grant audiences and fret over everything that can go wrong.

The stairs are slippery, but Drystan’s pace never falters, and I hurry after him with far less grace.

“Are we going to talk about this?” I pant. “Drystan, wait.”

“What would you like to talk about?” Goddess, he’s managed to make his tone so bland, despite the anger that’s making his steps so damned fast.

“Your mother’s potion, Cedwyn’s oath, the fact that they’re both gone and?—”

“That’s irrelevant. My uncle has sworn the vow, and Elfhame has the troops that it needs.”

“You know that’s not what I meant. How are you feeling? It’s okay to grieve?—”

“I’m not grieving. They were your enemies, and now they’re dead.”

I grab his sleeve and drag him to a stop. “They were your parents, and you loved them.”

Amber eyes stare down at me, full of that unshakable false ambivalence. “It’s difficult to love two fae who continually torment and use you, and then try to kill your mate.”

That’s the problem with love. No matter how difficult people can be, often our traitorous hearts beat for them, regardless.

I try to say as much, but he gets there first. “If you think I regret anything that happened, you’re wrong. My mother was a traitor, and Cedwyn was not fit to rule. Whether Ashton will be any better remains to be seen. He’s certainly the least stoic king of winter in recorded history.”

“And what about Caed?” I dare to venture.

For the first time ever, the flames in those beautiful amber eyes go out, leaving them flat and empty.

“You wish to discuss the fact that you’re in love with the Fomorian, and if we kill him at Beltaine we’ll break your heart?”

“I can’t change how I feel.”

“Maybe not,” he concedes. “But neither can I. I don’t see how I can forgive this .”

“He wasn’t in control of his actions.”

“And he never will be . Unless Elatha is killed—which might not happen, even if we win the war—he will always be a threat to you. And, thanks to your charm, I can’t even protect you from him. What if one day I’m in Bree’s place, and he’s kidnapping you in front of me? You’ve neutered me to protect the fucking enemy, and what happened two days ago was proof of how dangerous that could be.”

My heart squeezes.

He turns on his heel, then just as suddenly whirls back to face me. That familiar fire has roared back to life, and suddenly I’m up against the full force of his anger.

“When did it happen? Were you just going to let us kill him and then suffer in silence?”

He might be furious, but his words are quiet. The last question drips with raw, unhidden anguish, and my lips press shut. The truth is, I don’t know the answer. I didn’t have a plan.

Maybe I started falling for Caed under the mountain. Maybe it was when he saved the rest of my Guard in Siabetha. I realised the truth of it for myself during the Lantern Festival, even if I didn’t dare voice it until now.

Despite my intention to remain impartial, loving my Guard was always going to be as inevitable as breathing. Our souls were cut from the same cloth, and I need all of them, my Fomorian included.

“Do you trust me?” I ask at last.

Drystan swallows, casting his gaze across the deserted street. “I trust your good intentions. I also trust that a male like Caed would know exactly how to capitalise on your overly compassionate nature.”

My deep sigh echoes across the chasm between us. The hardest thing about arguing with him is that he’s often right, and usually well-meaning, for all that he’s as prickly as a hedgehog.

“What if I asked you to reserve judgement until after we’ve retaken Elfhame?” I ask.

His jaw clenches, that vein throbbing at his temple. Right when I think he’s about to offer me a scathing retort, he takes a deep breath and looks away. “I can’t make a bargain like that unless I know what you plan to do with him.”

“What do you mean?”

He starts walking again, his pace mercifully slower now. “When the venom leaves his system, are you going to leave him in the Court of Blades, under guard, or try to welcome him back with open arms, knowing that he’s being controlled by his father…”

Oh.

“I don’t know,” I admit, after much thought. “I suppose that depends on Caed. I hope he’ll let me charm him and discover what his father’s orders were.”

Drystan draws up short. “You’d do that?”

I take a breath of frigid air and let it out with a slow huff. “I’m not going to blithely allow him so close to me without taking precautions. I want his permission before I do anything like that. And… if you promise not to punish him for what happened… I’ll remove the charm on you both.”

If Drystan is to trust Caed, perhaps I need to trust them, too. I still feel bad about charming them to begin with. It might’ve been an accident, but I don’t want to cross any ethical lines with my magic.

“That’s… sensible.” The surprise underlying Drystan’s comment makes my lips twitch.

“I can be, on occasion,” I remark dryly. “Only… I don’t know if it will work.”

My dullahan considers it. “If you ask the right questions, you might be able to work around whatever geas Elatha has set.”

The doors of the palace swing open to admit us both, and I grab his hand before he can cross the threshold. “You’ll help me? Without being mean to him? And you won’t hurt him if I remove the charm?”

His long groan is heavy with resignation. “Did you expect I’d leave you to question him alone?” He pauses. “He has until Beltaine, as Danu decreed.”

It’s a grudging acceptance, but I take it as progress and let him lead us through the halls, pleasantly surprised when he doesn’t release my hand despite the fae staring at us. Neither of us speaks again until we emerge onto the roof at the base of the crystal tree.

The battlements are deserted, and I frown. “I thought…”

“Not many will risk coming to a traitor’s funeral, and everyone understands the relationship between Cedwyn and the new king was?—”

“Fucking awful,” Ashton interrupts, from his place atop the bartizan. “I wanted to kill him and Hawkith most days, and now we’re finally rid of the two of them.”

Beyond him, two white-shrouded forms wait patiently atop matching altars in the snow.

“It might be prudent to be a little more careful with insulting them, given how Archibald haunted Cedwyn,” Drystan remarks, releasing my hand to step closer.

Ashton just snorts. “I have it on good authority that the Wild Hunt will be collecting all wayward souls from Calimnel this year.” He sighs, looking back at the bodies. “Can we get this over with?”

Drystan climbs the short set of stairs with sure feet until they’re side-by-side, his posture stiff as he regards the smaller shrouded figure.

What does he see? A traitor to the crown who used him at every opportunity? Or the mother who raised him despite her faults?

I take my spot on his free side, tucking myself beneath his arm and wrapping my arms around him for comfort. For all that he seems unaffected, it’s no easy thing to bury a parent—let alone two. Cedwyn wasn’t truly his father, but for centuries, he believed he was.

There’s an awkward void between Ashton and my dullahan as they stare stonily at the silhouettes against the dark sky.

“This is more than they deserve,” Drystan finally mutters. “Hawkith, especially.”

Ashton nods. “They were both troubled fae.” Drystan snorts, but his father shushes him. “They were , lad. Cedwyn fell apart when Hawkith turned twenty-five and he realised the daughter of the male who killed our parents was his Goddess-given mate. It broke him more than Archibald’s haunting ever could. And for Hawkith, can you imagine being kept alive first as a reminder of what happens to those who crossed the Froshtyns, and later as the unacknowledged mate of the male who scorned you so badly? Circumstance wasn’t kind to either of them.”

“They could’ve risen above it.”

“It’s not so easily done.” Ashton pauses and regards his son. “I’m surprised they’re not hanging around you.”

Drystan shrugs. “Their spirits seem otherwise occupied. I’m fairly certain they’ll be busy squabbling until the Wild Hunt collects them.”

That’s a sad thought. “I hope, when they reach the Otherworld, they find some healing.”

In another life, one less cruel, perhaps they would’ve been happy together. I can’t imagine Danu making them mates if that wasn’t at least a possibility.

Ashton laughs. “Danu’s forgiveness is endless, or so they claim.”

Drystan snorts sardonically. “Then Rose is truly the Goddess’s daughter.”

He raises his hand, palm out, towards Hawkith’s body, and Ashton echoes the move.

“On three?” his father suggests, staring down Cedwyn’s corpse like he’s daring it to move.

My mate huffs. “Just get it over with.”

Ashton doesn’t even wait for him to finish speaking before a blast of frost explodes from the centre of his hand. Flames follow a half-second later. The intense heat he’s throwing off doubles until I’m sweating beneath my cloak. In seconds, all that’s left of his mother is ashes.

On the other altar, Ashton’s ice magic consumes his brother until he shatters , bursting into snow. The flakes drift into the sky alongside Hawkith’s remains, propelled by the force of the power that’s consumed them.

It’s an unexpectedly beautiful end, and perhaps one of the purest displays of magic I’ve ever seen.

A shame, then, that it’s wasted on the two of them.

“One of the servants will seal what’s left of them in the crypts,” Ashton says, turning his back and heading for the door by the trunk of the crystal tree. “Come. We need to talk.”

Drystan doesn’t follow. “There’s nothing to discuss.”

“You’re avoiding the subject of your inheritance and your name.”

“I’m a member of my Nicnevin’s Guard. She is all.” His hand clenches on my waist. “There’s no point rebuilding Mirrwyl, as I’ll never live there, and I have no use for a fancy name.”

“Your children might thank you for it.”

“My children?” Drystan stares out over the starlit sky, momentarily lost for words. “You really think they’ll care? They’ll be princes of the realm.”

“By all means, tell them that you didn’t think they’d be interested in inheriting a great house and an honourable legacy. Pretend like the people of this court won’t treat them like Iceblyds, with all that comes with it.”

“It’s a long way in the future,” Drystan says, turning me and practically dragging me down the steps until I have to dig my heels in.

“Hey,” I whisper, stopping him with a hand against his heart. “I know this is all very raw right now, but your father—” I cut off at his grimace. “ Ashton means well.”

I ache for him. Drystan didn’t want to come here in the first place, and now with all that’s happened, his world is changing so fast. It’s not my place to get involved, but my guides haven’t caught anything suspicious from Ashton. I think he genuinely does care about his son, and Drystan could use more fae like that in his life.

“I don’t give three flying fucks if I die on the battlefield,” the king continues. “Being in the Guard might make you a poor choice, but you can bet your ass that there will be fae trying to put you on that throne the second I’m gone.”

“There are more than enough Froshtyn cousins to fight over it.”

“Aye, but are you willing to risk your mate’s safety when they decide to eliminate the competition?”

Ashton’s point hits hard.

Drystan’s breath hisses out from between clenched teeth. “What do you want from me, your highness ?”

“I want you to let me draft up a contract that makes your son my heir if I die without another child of my own. You never have to touch the throne, but the Nicnevin can appoint a regent, and your son will have the choice he deserves.” Ashton’s tone softens. “My brother did everything he could to stop me from having any kind of relationship with you. Now I have the chance to make things right. Let me.”

“You can’t. The damage is done, and I’m too old for a father.”

“I want to try,” Ashton presses. “If for no other reason than it will piss him off in the afterlife.”

The corner of my mate’s lip twitches. “Fine.”

Seriously? That’s what convinces him? I’m not sure why I’m even surprised.

“Well, this is hardly putting the fun in funeral,” Lore drawls. “We could at least do with some music. Shall I fetch the púca? ”

Drystan’s good humour evaporates as he notices the male making angels in the snow a few feet away. “Redcap, I told you to leave me alone.”

“Aww, don’t be like that, Daddy D. Besides, Caed’s awake.” Lore’s hat turns into an executioner’s hood. “And hating being alive.”