Page 42 of Atop the Faerie Throne (The Fifth Nicnevin #5)

Forty-One

Rhoswyn

D isquiet lingers in my veins, but I try my best to quash it as I fly down from my garden room with Bree at my side. Drystan has been drawing closer ever since the bond reformed three days ago, slowly but surely returning.

I missed him.

I’ve never insisted on all of my Guard sleeping in the massive bed in my garden before, but I have ever since Beltaine. Realising how fragile the bonds in my chest really are was awful, and I still wake multiple times each night just to check they’re all there.

Even Bree has stayed, though he confines himself to the end of the bed, so as to avoid even accidentally touching the others. I woke this morning with his hand wound around my ankle, Caed twined around my back, and Lore pressed against my front. Jaro took fur some time in the night and splayed out on the rug-covered floor with Wraith, the two of them deliberately placed between the rest of us and the top of the stairs.

I’m reluctant to leave any of them, and I don’t see that changing for a while. The only reason I let Bree cajole me into flying down was because they promised to meet me in the courtyard, and I desperately wanted to stretch my wings.

It’s a good day for it too. The sun is warm on my bare back as we meander down.

“Do you think…” I begin, then trail off. “Do you think Caed will ever rejoin the Guard?”

Bree is silent for a long glide. “No one has ever been removed before. It’s hard to say.”

Not the answer I wanted, but I suspected as much.

The restoration of our mating bond is a poignant victory. We’re poised on the edge of a battle unlike any the fae have fought before, and Caed is no longer immortal. I can’t heal him without Titania’s help or send him my magic.

I know better than to suggest leaving him behind when we sail to Fellgotha, but I wish I could.

A hooded figure gallops through the gate, and my wing beats stutter a little in relief as I recognise the black stallion. Before Bree or anyone else can stop me, I dive sharply, heading for the courtyard with a huge grin on my face.

“Rose, slow down!” Bree calls, laughter in his voice as I weave between stairways and waterfalls, choosing the fastest path.

Jaro, Caed, and Lore are already there, but they back away as they catch sight of my approach.

Drystan has just managed to dismount his horse and pass over the reins to an unusually pale stable hand when I slam into him at full speed. I crush myself against his chest, sending every ounce of my relief and happiness and gratitude down the bond without any kind of restraint.

“What happened?” I demand. “Where did you go?”

Silence.

It’s not like him to hold back. I honestly expected him to start grouching at all of us the second he returned or at least make some barbed quip at Caed.

I turn my face up, searching for the answers in his eyes.

But they’re not there.

His hood is filled with the shadows that take the place of his head whenever he removes it, and the golden flames flicker lightly as he regards me. Instinctively, I search his saddle next but find the loose-woven bag tied to the leather empty.

“W-where’s your head?” I ask, my mouth fumbling the words.

He can’t reply. Like this, he can’t even hear me.

I’m probably nothing more than an aura shaped blob.

“Dragonfly,” Bree starts, putting a hand on my shoulder. “I think we ought to bring him inside and call for Kitarni.”

I shake my head, not at his suggestion, but in pure disbelief.

Slowly, the pieces line up.

He was in pain, and my mating bond to Caed returned shortly afterwards. Now my dullahan has misplaced his head, and his end of the bond isn’t vibrating with panic like it ought to be in this situation.

One of Drystan’s hands cups the side of my face, thumb caressing my cheek once, before prying me from his body and leaving me with Bree as he approaches Caed.

My Fomorian mate’s hands ball into fists, but he doesn’t back down as Drystan stops right in front of him and waits. Something silent passes between them, making my heart stutter, before Caed jerks his head down.

I’m not sure how much detail Drystan can perceive from auras, but he grabs Caed’s shoulder once in a strange gesture of solidarity, then releases him and turns away, striding into the palace as if he expects us all to follow.

A hiccough-laugh threatens to erupt at the familiar arrogance of the motion, but I seal my lips to contain the sound. If I let one emotion free, there’s a good chance the rest will follow, and none of the gathered fae need to watch their Nicnevin break down days before we’re due to fly into battle.

I’ve regained half a bond and lost half a mate.

“It’s the Goddess’s handiwork,” Kitarni decides, dropping Caed’s hand. “I sense her power over them both.”

I lean forward on Jaro’s lap, searching for Danu in my chest, hoping for some explanation or even a tiny bit of reassurance.

Nothing.

Danu is a dark river within me; calm on the surface, with the depths so completely obscured that I can’t tell what she’s thinking.

“As for her intention…” Kitarni hums as she paces a circle around them both in the centre of the throne room, trailing her twiggy fingers through the air around them. “A bargain was struck, but the terms…” She shakes her head, sending blossoms falling to the floor as she cradles her forehead like it pains her. “No. That is beyond my ability to discern.”

Lore appears on Drystan’s shoulders, waving his hands through the shadows there, only for the dullahan to toss him to the floor. He lands flat on his back with a grin, completely uncowed by my grumpy Guard’s folded arms and tapping foot.

“It seems obvious to me,” Caed grunts. “He asked for our mate bond back, and it cost him his head.”

Kitarni sighs, brushing petals from her robes as she steps away. “Drystan is far older than you and an experienced negotiator. The Goddess, too, is said to have passed on her own love of bargains to her children. If what was agreed was as simple as that, I would be very surprised.”

“There could be other terms that we’re unaware of,” I surmise, head falling into my hands as Jaro presses a kiss to his mark on my neck and rubs my upper arms soothingly.

“Undoubtedly,” Kitarni shrugs. “But whether they’re a help or hindrance, we may never know. The Goddess was clever in demanding his head. We have no way to communicate. I’m sure that was intentional.”

“He could still try,” Jaro protests. “He can use a pen without seeing, surely? It would just be messy.”

“Messy? He won’t be able to space the letters,” Bree says. “It will be an illegible squiggle at best.”

Silently, I have to agree. Fae script is written vertically, the spaces between the letters and the width and direction of each mark critical for comprehension.

“We could try interpretive dance!” Lore crows, jumping up in excitement before executing a series of moves that I’m not sure anyone in the realm can properly decode.

Ignoring him, Bree adds, “There are enchanted aids that would normally help fae with similar impairments, but they won’t work if his head isn’t here. He has no ears to hook them onto.”

“Fetch some paper,” I decide, because we have to try everything at least once. “And… What do we do when we sail to Fellgotha? He can’t fight like this.”

Lore shrugs as Kitarni passes him on her way to the door, then lunges without warning, a blur of silver in his hands.

Drystan doesn’t hesitate, ducking and delivering a savage punch to the redcap’s abdomen, which he dodges by blinking away and coming at the dullahan from behind.

When Drystan manages to dodge that as well, catching Lore by the throat and chucking him away with clear irritation, Caed snorts.

“I’d say he’s fine.”

Lore nods, picking himself up with a smirk. “Headless, but feisty.”

“And what about you?” Bree presses. “You’re not a Guard anymore.”

All the levity disappears from Caed’s face at once. “I will always be her Guard. Besides, I don’t see you making the same argument about all the other fae you’re taking with you. Prae’s going. She’s never been immortal, and she’s still acclimatising to fighting with two eyes.”

I sigh. I anticipated that would be his answer. We all go silent as Kitarni returns, paper and a pen in her hands. With a tiny smile of thanks, I slip from Jaro’s lap, taking them from her and leading Drystan towards a small side table.

His fingers skim over the page, learning its shape; then I dip the pen in the inkwell and pass it to him. His amusement and a thread of hope slides between us as he carefully tries to align both before him.

The first inky stroke is sure and steady down the centre of the page, creating the backbone of whatever word he’s trying to form.

But the next diagonal line doesn’t connect to it as it should. In fact, it’s almost as far as it can be without missing the page entirely. He pauses, disappointment echoing in answer to my own, then lowers the pen.

No. I refuse to let him give up that easily. Maybe it will help him align the letters if he has something to use as a guide? I take my index finger and place it helpfully at the bottom of his first line. I imagine, given my own experience with auras, that he can probably make out our vague outlines. Or at least, that’s what I’m hoping.

Reluctantly, he tries again, using my digit as a reference.

I think it’s going well, at first. Then his hand jerks midway through the third line.

Still, he perseveres. In the end, he lowers the pen, and I can’t keep my dismay from shining through.

“Completely illegible,” Jaro huffs, glancing over my shoulder.

“It’s worse than I feared,” Kitarni murmurs. “Did you watch his hands? It was almost like the Goddess herself was messing with his attempts.”

“I think it says ‘Fellgotha,’” Bree muses. “But I could be wrong.”

It would be just like my dullahan to encourage us to focus on the matter at hand. He’s right, as always. We don’t have time to sit here and learn how to communicate with him. The ships are ready, the troops are waiting for us to depart. Prae’s messages from the front have been less than patient.

There’s a chance we can come up with something…

Drystan stops my thoughts as he tries to put the pen down, misjudges the position of the inkwell, and ends up dropping it onto the table with a splatter of ink.

Time , I remind myself forcefully. We just need time. Lots of things have happened in a short week.

What matters most is that we are all here, alive, and we can make it through this. Everything else will work itself out if we can just stop Elatha and call an end to this stupid war permanently.

Prae is an inventor. If we give her the challenge, I’m sure she could create a device to aid him. Especially now that she has the opportunity to work with fae magic.

I have to cling to the hope that she can come up with something. Because it’s becoming abundantly clear that I’ll never hear him say my name in that exasperated tone ever again.

The doors slam open, startling all of us. Cailu pants, his face sweaty as he casts about before his eyes fall on Jaro.

“Knight commander, news from the northern shore. Something’s happening.”