Page 193 of Brimstone

I could hear Lorreth’s teeth grinding from ten feet away. “The problem, Saeris, is thatyoucould carry out the impossible plan withouthim, and I’m very concerned that you might get it into your head that it’s a good idea—”

“I promise you I won’t.”

The warrior shot me a complicated look. “You’ll forgive me, sister, but you aren’t exactly Oath Bound.”

Selanir was in my hand before he’d finished the sentence—the sword named Honor. I went to the warrior and held it out for him to see as I dropped down and closed my hand around the blade. My blood ran down Selanir’s edges and dripped the sword’s point onto the stone next to Lorreth. “Ipromise,” I said. “I swear I will not act upon whatever you tell me now, unless it’s with Fisher’s explicit knowledge and help.”

Lorreth stared down at the blood I had shed.

“Are you satisfied?” I asked.

He took a deep breath and began to speak.

When he was done, I understood. Itwasan impossible plan. A terrifying one. I’d needed to hear it, though. Without knowing what I knew now, I would never have been able to put it out of my mind. I would have assumed that my mate had gone offwithout me again with the intention of saving me and the rest of the realm by himself. The thought would have eaten me alive. Now that I knew that wasn’t the case . . . I didn’t feel any better. If Fisher had gone off on some ridiculous mission, I could have gone after him. Now I had no idea where he was or what he was doing, which made my insides fuckingboil.

Overhead, the gulls screamed. Hundreds of them circled in a great column over the cliffs. Occasionally, one dropped from the wheeling mass and dove, plummeting from the air like a stone. Lorreth had told me that’s how they caught the fish they ate.

“Are they always like this?” I asked. “So loud. Somanyof them?”

Lorreth nodded. “Yes. Always. Birds don’t care about war, Saeris. It doesn’t matter to them that half of Inishtar was wiped out last night. This is their home. They only care about protecting their nests and their young.”

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, thinking about that. I couldn’t stop staring at all those flapping wings. There were hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. The sight of them stirred something inside me, though I couldn’t name the sensation. It was like a memory, floating below the surface of a frozen river, trying to find a crack in the thick ice so that it could rise to the surface and find open air. If I pushed a little harder, I might—

Lorreth cursed, dropping his handful of rocks. “Sheascar.What’sthisnow?” He was looking off to the left, to the street fed into the town square . . . and the droves of satyrs marching down it brandishing all kinds of weapons in their hands. Swords. Daggers. More flails like the one Foley had found in the grass last night. They were even carrying pitchforks and brooms with them. Their voices drowned out the screeching gulls as they poured into the square.

The game taking place in the square came to a stop. As more and more satyrs piled into the square instead of passing throughand heading on down to the cliffs, it became apparent that they’d come here forus.

A stout female with raven-black hair, nubby velvet-covered horns, and matching shaggy black fur covering her legs approached the bottom step of the stairs. Her hand rested on the hilt of the sword that hung from a belt at her waist—the blade was so long that its tip almost scraped the ground as she walked. “Where is he?” she demanded.

“I’m sorry, Galwynnian. Kingfisher isn’t with us. And even if he were, he’s not responsible for any of this,” Lorreth said, holding up his hands and gesturing to the destruction that surrounded us.

“Not Kingfisher,” the female said. “The Forgotten King.”

“The Forgottenwho?” My gaze skipped over the crowd, trying to discern their mood. It was difficult to get a proper read on the satyrs. They were proud, serious creatures. Their tempers seemed to skew on the angry side. Lorreth swore under his breath again, shifting uncomfortably in his armor as he got to his feet and straightened himself out.

“Now isn’t the time for strife, Gal. We have no crowned kings among our party—”

“Achht. Away with your Fae sidestepping, Lorreth of the Broken Spire. I won’t be fooled by careful wording. I know you have no crowned kings with you. The lad hasn’t been coronated yet. But heiswith you, I know. The whole of the South Lands is ringing with the news. Rurik’s boy has returned, and he travels with the Bane.”

Ahhh, right.

Shit.

I knew who she meantperfectlywell now. On the other side of the square, Carrion stood with his hands resting atop the shoulders of one of the male fauns he’d been playing with, a stricken look on his face. For the first time, I noticed that therewere no auburn-haired satyrs. Save for Iseabail, Carrion was the only redhead in the square, and he stuck out like a sore thumb because of it. Even from so far away, I could see his cheeks coloring. He drew his hands from the faun’s shoulders and slowly began backing toward the corner of the square, where a small side street offered the promise of escape.

Lorreth would have made an excellent poker player. Not once did his gaze flit toward Carrion. I, on the other hand, was openly staring at him. Kicking myself, I looked away, focusing on my boots, but it was too late. The damage was done. Slowly, the crowd started to turn and face the back of the square.

“Gods and martyrs,” I muttered. This was going to be bad. There were hundreds of satyrs in the square now. They were strong, they were angry, and they werearmed. If they planned on hurting Carrion, there was literally nothing we could do about it. I moved forward, boot hovering over the stone step in front of me, but Lorreth grabbed my wrist and pulled me back, shaking his head.

“It’s done,” he rumbled. “No taking it back now. Some things he’s just going to have to face on his own, Saeris. Let him work it out for himself.”

Carrion sent a pleading look at us over the top of the crowd. Horns—twisted, straight, curved—bristled in the air, all pointed and deadly. I knew what he was thinking. He was imagining a set of those horns plunging into his stomach and disemboweling him. It would be a horrific way to die. Bloody, painful, slow. But when the satyrs present lowered their heads, they didn’t charge Carrion. They dropped to their knees at the same time and laid their weapons down in offering, bowing to the Daianthus heir. All was silent, save for the scraping of hooves and the clatter of metal against stone.

“Ahhh, gods. He’s going to beinsufferableafter this,” I groaned.

The satyrs started to sing. The low ululation was so deep that it made the smaller pieces of rubble at our feet jump and dance. I’d never heard such a resonant sound. As far as I knew, no human or member of the Fae could have replicated the bass in the somber melody. It was so powerful it made the air inside my lungs vibrate.

“What is that?” I asked Lorreth. “What are they singing?”