Page 43

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

“How did this happen?” Ossian roared.

Shari squeaked, pricking herself in the paw for what had to be the hundredth time that morning. And like I had for what had to be for the hundredth time that morning, I sent a trickle of healing magic into her paw before the blood could bead and stain the dress she was hemming.

Ossian’s “guests” were seated at the trestle table, not necessarily enjoying breakfast—and they certainly weren’t commenting on the “live” centerpiece that was the pixie birdcage—though they were eating with gusto. There’d been no woodchuck parade buffet nor specialty beverages brought in by the Lancaster brothers. Mrs. Bilberry had set her platters and the cast-iron skillet of biscuits down on trivets and scuttled off to the kitchen with the hobs to prepare the elaborate multi-course meal and wedding cake for this evening. And, frankly, none of them wanted to be around Ossian when he was in a mood.

The Stag Man had returned to the castle at dawn with a half-empty quiver, the twinkling of the gemstones on his necklace hinting where he’d spent the wee hours of the morning. Since then, he’d been pacing with his bow and ranting and blustering about the attack by the “hobgoblin’s associates,” so this recent outburst was nothing new. And, it seemed, it wasn’t wholly believed.

Cody noted how 1) up until last night, Wystan and his gang had never used such coordinated attacks, and 2) none had been bold enough to attack Cernunnos in his own keep before, and 3) there’d been more than one whisper about shifters being involved, and why would supes as strong as they have a mere hobgoblin as their ringleader? It made about as much sense as using your tongue to shine your boots. That was the last verbal observation Cody had been allowed to make. For the sake of us all, Emmett had made it his sole mission for the rest of the morning to elbow the beaver viciously in the ribs anytime he opened his mouth other than to eat his scrambled eggs and ham steak or sip his coffee.

Beside them were the Crafting Circle ladies, aside from Shari, of course. Flora, in true honey badger fashion, was shoveling egg-and-ham biscuit sandwiches into her mouth with wild abandon. Half to mask her glee at Ossian’s strife and half to give her paws something to do other than disemboweling him. Poppy and Flint were still imprisoned and there was the fact that the kindest creature in Redbud was slumped in the corner with a sword sticking out of his back.

And Daphne . . .. The white Arabian mare had no appetite for the bowl of oatmeal and apple slices set before her. Only her ears twitched, noting the various flute-like trills and warbles of the pixies. She stood as if in a trance, flanks quivering.

She’d smelled Lewellyn.

But since I was on a stool in the middle of the great hall wearing my wedding dress and trying not to move as Shari made her adjustments, I couldn’t easily converse with her and assuage her fears. She wasn’t even supposed to remember him, after all. Sawyer sat by her untouched bowl, purring and trying to entice her to eat even as he gobbled down enough scrambled eggs to make his belly pop. He feared for Lewellyn too.

“Well?” the Stag Man demanded.

Alec was the only Brother in attendance, standing at attention with his back to the bay windows. The Brotherhood had suffered more than the two losses Lewellyn had inflicted upon them, and the rest were out hunting and seeking revenge. Shane was away “recharging,” whatever that meant, and I shuddered to speculate.

At Ossian’s prompt Alec squared his shoulders and answered, “We discovered a ring of toadstools by the northern border, my lord.”

“Ame,” the fae king snarled.

“A half circle, really,” Alec continued as if he hadn’t heard, “but when activated, it—”

“And your Brothers, who are supposed to be riding patrol every day,” Ossian interrupted, “how did they miss it?”

“You have us guarding the portal, the tree, the bear, the girl, and the castle, not to mention patrolling the town. We’re spread thin and losing more Faerish scripts by the day. And you killed the man who was scheduled to scout. Graham. Remember him? Oh, and during the raid the witches in the farmhouse escaped, by the way.”

If I’d been sipping on my morning latte, I would’ve spewed it halfway across the great hall at the sound of the magic hunter’s snark. Then with excitement.

My family was free!

Well, most of them. As far as I knew, my grandmother was still confined in her luxurious cell in the dungeon, but hopefully Lewellyn would be able to take care of that.

But where were the Hawthorne witches? Had they escaped before Ossian had strengthened the shield, or had they lingered in hopes of helping me? I could certainly use the Circle of Nine’s help when I returned from Elfame.

The Stag Man, who had been pacing in front of his dais, stomped to a halt and threw me a glare. I must’ve gasped at Alec’s news, but his ire did not remain fixed on me for long. Between one blink and the next, the fae king shot across the great hall and slammed Alec into the windows. The glass cracked from the impact and continued to fracture as the Stag Man shoved his second-in-command harder into the window. By his neck, as history dictated and fate delivered.

“Oh,” Cody groaned, tossing his fork down and throwing up his paws. “And I was enjoying that view. Nothing like staring out a pane of shattered glass to give you a headache first thing in the morning.”

Flora snickered.

“Perhaps I was wrong to put so much faith in you and your little band of brothers,” Ossian hissed at his second-in-command. “If you cannot perform the simplest of tasks, perhaps you are not ready for the responsibility I intended to leave you.”

The Stag Man flung his fingers wide, letting gravity reclaim the magic hunter. Shards of glass from the broken window followed him to the floor.

“Oh great, and now we’ve got a draft,” Cody muttered.

Alec braced himself on his hand and knees, coughing as he fought to regain his breath.

The Stag Man turned away to return to his throne. “Lucky for you, new events have dictated I give you one last chance. Those insurgents aren’t going anywhere, not with that fortified shield.” Ossian climbed the steps of the dais and sat down on the plump green cushion of his throne. “Hunt them down.”

“Redbud’s over twelve square miles,” he protested. “This is not a fish-in-a-barrel situation. Why must my Brothers die needlessly? Summon the mallaithe. Release the sluagh! ”

“The mallaithe are not old enough to face Coalition enforcers; they haven’t mutated yet. And—” Out of impulse alone, Ossian cast me a foul look.

“He can’t,” I gloated.

The fae king lunged.

Shari screamed, tossing her pins in the air like silver bits of confetti before scuttling under the trestle table. The fae king stood inches away from me, still towering despite the extra foot I gained from the step stool.

“Don’t test me, Meadow Ní Violet.” He raised his hand as if to strike me, but his fingers just bunched into a fist.

The grizzly bear howled in pain as Faebane sank another inch into his flesh.

“Arthur!”

A slew of protests rose from the breakfast table, Cody loudest of all, but they were quickly silenced when the Stag Man lowered his face to mine, caging me with his antlers.

“I warned you not to displease me,” he said. “And if it weren’t for your ridiculous rituals, I’d take you on this cold hard floor in front of your friends and that insufferable bear then drag you to that portal by your hair.”

“What charming pillow talk,” I snarled up at him. So much for limiting animosity.

Faebane slid in another inch and the grizzly bear roared.

“Please, Ossian, stop!”

The fae king glared down at me until I looked away. Down at my toes, my hands clasped in front of me. Submissive.

A warning growl was his final word before he returned to his throne. There, a large citrine on his necklace sparkled yellow, and Ossian used its magic to amplify his voice. He made a sound I’d never heard him make before—the bugle of a bull elk.

Everyone in the great hall clapped their hands over their ears at the terrifying sound; the bear moaned, too pained to move.

A moment later, there was a noise at the double doors like someone knocking, then a doe shouldered open the doors. Behind her a line of wild animals formed: deer, chipmunks, snakes, cottontail rabbits, wild turkeys, skinks, skunks, hundreds of birds, thousands of field mice. As if in a trance, they formed a line and approached the throne, more queuing up every second.

And it wasn’t just the herbivores and low-tier carnivores who answered the summons.

Coyotes stalked into the great hall. From wherever they’d been banished or imprisoned, they came in droves. Every dog, too, including Mayor Robert’s darling spaniel Peaches, but many more of them of the livestock guardian breed. In summary: huge, fearless, and powerfully built. There were a handful of red foxes and even a few black bears, though none came close in size to the grizzly chained in the corner.

The Stag Man waved his hand in front of the doe, and her liquid brown eyes turned blue. Her ears pricked, her tail lifted, and she bounded out of the great hall. The skunk who’d followed her did the same after its eyes changed and the massasauga rattlesnake after that.

He was enthralling them all with faelight.

“These will be your eyes and ears, Alec,” the Stag Man said. “And with so many, there will be no place for those insurgents to hide.” Standing, he enthralled the forest creatures en masse.

Hundreds upon hundreds of glowing blue eyes filled the great hall like gnomish lanterns. Hooves and claws and scales clattered and rasped against the stone floor as the whole herd turned to leave the great hall.

Ossian made no move to follow—he wasn’t letting me out of his sight until we were both in Elfame tonight.

Until a particular caliby cat stuck her head through the hole in the bay windows and asked, “Is all that for little ol’ me? Aww, I’m flattered.”

“ Ame! ” Ossian roared, launching out of his throne.

The cat had just enough time to yank her head back and fling herself away from the window before the glass exploded. Ossian leapt out after her, bellowing another war cry before disappearing from sight.

Alec threw himself against the broken pane, leaning over to confirm for himself that yes, he hadn’t just imagined the Stag Man throwing himself into thin air to chase after a cat. Then he lurched back with a surprised shout as that same cat climbed her way in through the window, pausing on the sill to shake the glass out from in between her toes.

“Ame,” Shari cried happily, emerging out from under the table.

Sawyer trilled, scooping up one more bite of eggs before racing over to his mentor.

“But you,” Alec began.

“You think your master’s the only one who knows how to cast an illusion or two?” Ame snorted.

“Cern—” The Stag Man’s name died on his lips as Flora clobbered him in the back of the head with the cast-iron skillet. The magic hunter dropped face-first to the floor amidst the biscuits without so much as a groan.

Immediately, Cody shoved himself away from the table and I hiked up my partially hemmed skirt to my knees and leapt off the stool. We both hurried over to the grizzly bear.

“Thank you, Flora,” Ame said.

The beaver pressed a webbed paw against the bear’s snout. “I know you, boy,” he murmured. “Milady’ll make it better. Somehow, I know that too.”

“Daphne?” Ame prompted loudly. “The pixies, please. ”

The white mare snatched up the birdcage and cantered over to the cat so she could dispel the wards and unhook the latch.

“This should’ve been your first order of business last night, Meadow,” the caliby chastised. “Don’t you remember what I told you when we first met?”

I was only half listening—my focus was on the grizzly bear. I stroked his fur, each caress soaking healing magic into his battered body. “Remind me,” I snarked.

The cage door was open now, and Ame fished Dart, Flit, and Zip out into the open air with a few quick jabs of her paw. The pixies wasted no time on farewells but streaked away like little silver hummingbirds.

“The problem with pixies is that they talk,” the cat said, dropping down from the sill and giving Sawyer a headbutt in greeting. “And lucky for you, Meadow Hawthorne, they’ll tell everyone what’s been really going on here. The truth about the Stag Man, what you’ve been forced to do to keep them safe, and that rebellion you’ve been fomenting? They’ll kick it into overdrive.”