Page 49 of Atop the Faerie Throne (The Fifth Nicnevin #5)

Forty-Eight

Jaromir

R ose is blood-soaked and vacant-eyed as she kneels beside the stone arch. Lore clutches her to his side with one arm, snarling at my approach. He’s just as feral as my wolf became in that battle, and I don’t see him coming down any time soon. Bree and Drystan flank me as we approach the two of them, and my shoulders droop when our Nicnevin doesn’t even look up.

The black mist wraps around their legs, thicker here than anywhere else. A creepy reminder of what remains at stake.

I hate what I have to do, and my beast hates it even more. He’d rather curl up with our mate to comfort her.

But this isn’t over yet.

“Rosie,” I cajole, trying and failing to keep the wolf from my voice. “Rosie, you need to close the portal.”

Her palms are slathered in green paste—likely the redcap’s doing—the blackness in her veins slowly paling as the medicine works. I risk reaching forward to take one of her hands between mine.

Shit. She’s cold as ice.

Shooting a dark look at the redcap that promises death should he intervene, I scoop her up against my bare chest, hoping my warmth will help.

Yes, Jare, because body heat is going to fix her blood loss and iron sensitivity. Idiot.

I try again after a few seconds, bringing her closer to the churning black smoke. “Rosie, the portal. Come on, it’s right there.”

“She needs a moment,” Bree murmurs, coming to stand at my other side.

I’d do anything to give her longer to process what just happened. Unfortunately, it’s not possible. That portal is a ticking bomb, and we have no idea when it will blow open and unleash an ancient Fomorian horror into the realm.

“We don’t have time.” It’s the brutal truth.

But whatever magic Rose and Kitarni have been working on to seal it is beyond her right now.

Swallowing, I think back to the last portal she closed. She was almost unconscious from restoring the Summer Court’s connection to Danu at the time, but she still managed it.

“Rosie, make a bargain with me.”

“What are you doing?” Lore hisses.

“It’s how she destroyed the last one,” I press, heart twinging at the memory. “Close the portal right now, sweetheart, and we’ll take you home.”

It’s the most simple, honest bargain I think I’ve ever made, but it works. Her chin dips in acceptance, and one of her black-streaked arms stretches lethargically, grazing the stone just like she did to that gate all those months ago.

Only, this portal doesn’t crumple. It implodes. The black mist is sucked back, the medallion dropping to clatter on the stone as the air around us heats until it’s unbearable.

Sparks fly, the stones crunching and crumbling as they too are drawn into the void.

Then it’s done.

The portal is gone, and all that remains is our battered, broken quintet in a room full of dead Fomorians.

Now that the battle is over, there’s only one thing that matters, and she shivers in my arms as Bree crouches beside her and examines her back.

“It’s a clean cut,” he whispers, though I don’t think Rose hears it. “Redcap, she needs the healers in Elfhame.”

“Take Drystan, too,” I say. “Bree and I will rendezvous with our people above and sort things out there.”

My wolf snarls in my head at the decision, but it’s the right one. Rose needs to be tended to before any of us will feel comfortable drawing on her magic to heal ourselves. Lore is missing an arm up to his elbow. Drystan is a fucking mess, leaning heavily on one leg as he uses magic to cauterise a gash in his side. Bree and I are the best off, and the ones better able to ensure Praedra keeps her word when she learns what Caed just did.

And it’s better if the dullahan isn’t there when she’s told.

Still, it doesn’t make the animal inside me any less angry as the redcap clasps our mate’s limp hand and the weight of her disappears from my arms. He howls, fur abrading my skin from in the inside as I fight to keep him back.

When Lore returns, he chucks a pair of shorts at me before taking the dullahan.

I tug them on with a grunt of thanks, snatching the medallion from the floor a second before the cold stone room blurs, and I find myself beneath the portcullis of the fortress we ignored in our quest for Elatha.

In front of me, Prae takes the head of a kneeling Fomorian general with a vicious swipe of her axe.

“I am Praedra, daughter of Tiuri, last of the line of Balor,” she announces to the Fomorians on their knees in the courtyard before her. “Rightful ruler of this shit hole, and you will accept me as such, or die.”

Fae line the walls of the castle, bows trained on the prisoners. Her skull-like war paint glints in the flickering light of the braziers, Florian and Gryffin flanking her like sentinels while Wraith licks blood from his muzzle at their feet.

I’m glad the barghest made it. Rose has experienced enough loss today.

“Fairy traitor!” someone yells, only to wither to a husk seconds later.

“Anyone else?” Prae asks casually, scanning the masses. “Because I don’t have all day.”

Silence reigns, broken only by the moans of the wounded.

“Good. From now on, the fae are our allies. We’re subjects of Nicnevin Rhoswyn, who has graciously allowed us to keep this cesspit and made me its queen, which means there are going to be some fast fucking changes. Got it?”

Murmurs of assent rise, followed by someone boldly calling, “All hail Queen Praedra.”

The proclamation goes up with surprisingly little resistance. From what Caed told me, they respect strength, and the blood-splattered new queen certainly projects that.

“She works fast,” Bree acknowledges from beside me.

“Good thing, too,” I say. “We don’t have time for a succession crisis, and Rose shouldn’t have to deal with that on top of everything.”

“First order of business,” Prae continues, pacing in front of her new subjects. “Is stripping every piece of iron from the castle. Shove it in that stupid hole Elatha made you dig, then fill it in. No more Deep Caves. No more iron.” There’s a pause, where no one moves. “Well? Get on with it!”

Her snapping tone brokers no argument, and I have to admire the way the people around her scatter. Still, my steps are heavy as we force our way through the mass of warriors who suddenly all have somewhere else to be.

Prae kicks the corpse out of her way as she spots us, striding forward with Wraith bounding ahead. I watch as she catalogues our injuries, the medallion in my hand, and then… the notable absences.

“Where’s my cousin?” she demands, her hands fisting at her sides as the barghest gives me a huge lick of greeting. “Where is Caedmon?”

My throat locks, and I can’t meet her gaze as I reach up and stroke Rose’s pet. “He killed Elatha. Drove him back into the unstable portal.”

She’s a smart female. She understands what I’m not saying. The knowledge tears across her face in a raw emotional wound that almost has me backing up.

“You let him?—”

“Never,” Bree promises. “It was a mess. Elatha used his name, and in the end, he was the only one who could protect Rose. He… died doing it.”

“No. You told me you had a plan,” Prae insists, stepping forward as her voice rises. She stops short of poking the púca in his chest with her outstretched finger, but it’s a close thing. “You promised Rose.”

My wolf whines in my head at the reminder of our mate’s suffering.

“Praedra,” Florian begins, grabbing her hand.

At his voice, her anger evaporates like a fire starved of air. She turns into his chest, uncaring of the way their armour impedes the embrace. Her eyes squeeze shut, throat working as she composes herself.

“And the Nicnevin?” her mate asks.

Shattered anew , I silently think to myself, my wolf curling protectively around the dim bond in our chest. I’d almost rather it was screaming her pain at me.

This… numbness is so much worse.

“Grieving.” I snarl, looking away.

“Lore has taken her home to heal,” Bree answers, more evenly. “She… lost half of her wings in the fight.”

The very wings I swore to defend. If Caed was alive, I’d deck him all over again for destroying my honour.

Then I’d hug the bastard, because his expression when he heard his father call his name was pure misery. It shouldn’t have happened. If Bree hadn’t taken a blow to the head during the chaos of Lore’s arrival, it wouldn’t have.

But it did.

And here we are.

I give it fifty-fifty odds that we’re summoned to the Goddess’s cave within the week, Rose having chosen to follow him to the Otherworld.

“We have shit to do,” Prae grinds out, her eyes suspiciously shiny as she releases Florian. “Starting with melting that thing down and turning it into my fucking crown.”

She holds her hand out for the still-warm medallion I’m clutching, and I relinquish it gladly. Turning it into her crown is a good idea. Something new forged from a powerful symbol of the past will serve as a reminder to those who would oppose her.

Hopefully, it robs the thing of any lingering bàsron magic it might hold.

“Get yourselves fixed up and head back to your mate, knight commander,” Florian tells me. “We’ll handle things here.”

“The newest court in the queendom might even be ready to host the Nicnevin in… ooh, say about a century?” Gryffin mutters, kicking a rock as he rolls his eyes. “That’s how long it will take to get rid of all of this fucking iron.”

Silently, I wish them luck as I turn my back on them, leading Wraith and Bree back to the lifts and the ships beyond. If we’re lucky, the redcap will decide to collect us. Unless he decides he’d rather have Rose’s attention to himself, in which case, it’ll be a long trip home.