Page 47

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

With Mrs. Bilberry and the rest of the castle staff safely sequestered in the kitchen and enjoying their own supper, serving food became a free-for-all affair that showed the Brotherhood were just as beastly with their table manners as they were in all the other aspects of their lives.

Greed had a way of rotting you from the inside out, I supposed.

On the other side of the table, my friends did their best to mimic their . . . fervor. As far as the fae king knew, the Crafting Circle ladies and the two old codgers were still enthralled. Technically two of them still were, though his hold on them had lessened significantly.

Ossian himself dined lightly, more out of obligation than anything else. He was a picture of calm confidence, but on the opposite side of that stolen bond, I felt anticipation. And if I could feel that, then my tumultuous anxiety was no secret to him.

After my third bite of pie—a supersized version of the beef pasties Mrs. Bilberry had served at tea that afternoon in the atrium—the Stag Man cleared his throat expectantly .

“Eight witnesses, dress,” he drawled, pointing at me, “feast . . . but where is the seeded loaf?”

“That’s after the cake,” I replied. “Obviously.”

“Ah.” With a flick of his fingers, a knife of copper magic cut through the air and sliced the wedding cake into neat little squares. “Clear your plates,” the Stag Man ordered. “ Now .”

That didn’t mean cram the food into your mouth as fast as you could. That meant quite literally upending your plate and dumping the contents on whatever spare piece of table you could find. Grumbling, the Brotherhood quickly obeyed.

I shot my friends a concerned look. It was too soon. Cake, fruit, cloak, seeded loaf—the rest of the wedding ceremony would take mere minutes at this rate, and Auggie hadn’t finished gnawing on the heretic’s fork. We would know if the snail had. I hoped.

“Cernunnos,” Daphne ventured lightly, “don’t you think you’re rushing this a little? Meadow’s only getting married once, after all. A wedding feast is to be savored—”

“That’s not the piece of the wedding he wants to savor,” Alec jeered.

My fork clattered against my plate as I forced a flush to my cheeks.

Sawyer spat out his chunk of beef and hissed, back arching.

“Well I never,” the mare exclaimed, playing her part perfectly.

“Watch your mouth,” Emmett snapped at the magic hunter.

“Yeah, shut up and eat your cake,” Cody said. “’Bout the only thing that one hand of yours is good for. Shoveling cake into your mouth and wiping your—”

“You dare talk to a Brother like that, beaver?” Carissa demanded.

“I dare to do a lot of things. But definitely not your haircut. ”

The magic hunter passed a self-conscious hand over her hair before she caught herself.

“I like the Viking-braid look,” Shari said, still crocheting her chain stitch. “Very crafty.”

“Yeah,” Flora agreed, “I bet it gives something for these guys to hold on to at night when they’re—”

Carissa erupted from her seat. “Just what are you implying?”

“Well, had you let me finish,” the honey badger said with a mild look, “I wouldn’t have been implying anything. I would’ve said it straight to your face that you’re a slut.”

Carissa went red.

“What?” Flora asked, looking around at the other livid Brothers and feigning confusion. “Can I not say that? Your own leader, Mr. One-Arm Wonder Boy over there, implied Cernunnos—our king—is gonna treat our best friend no better than a rutting stag would a doe and we can’t make jabs at your after-hours behavior?” The honey badger crossed her arms over her chest. “Not fair.”

“Hear, hear,” Cody said, lifting his wine cup.

The Stag Man slammed his fist down on the table, making the plates quake. “Eat. Your. Cake .”

A surly hush fell over the table, then everyone viciously stabbed at their square of lavender-colored cake. The Stag Man leaned over to me, jewel-bright eyes glittering dangerously. “Get control of your friends or I may become displeased. Another inch or two and Faebane might nick a lung.”

I didn’t risk a glance at the bear, and I didn’t have the chance to retort, because someone dry-heaved and muttered, “Ugh, what is that smell?”

“Is that licorice?”

“Why does it remind me of soap?”

“I think I’m going to be sick. ”

“Anise is supposed to help with that,” Shari supplied helpfully.

“It’s my favorite,” I lied in a self-conscious mutter, careful to lift only a forkful of the cake and not the frosting to my mouth. It was quite terrible, but I smiled anyway and flicked my gaze to the Stag Man. Then I mouthed, Feast, which definitely implied I could not be properly wed until that cake was eaten.

“Everybody has a bite right now or I’ll break your necks,” he announced calmly, lifting his own fork. “And make it a big bite.”

The Brothers ate, each one of them gagging.

The Stag Man went rigid at the taste, jaw clamping shut to prevent him from swallowing. He forced it down anyway with a shudder. “Can’t say that’s my preferred confection.”

He drained his beer, sucked in a shaky breath, and poured himself another from the pitcher. “You can offer me the fruit now.”

Leaning to the side, I retrieved the basket where Shari had set it on the ground. With as much ceremony as I could, I set it down beside his plate. If intent was nine-tenths of magic, then confidence was nine-tenths of convincing Ossian this fruit was exactly that and not the cloch na wight.

His lips pursed, his fingers drumming against the tabletop. “A plum.” His eyes flicked to mine, unamused.

“You never said you had to eat it.” And by the Green Mother, I hoped he wasn’t going to. That was the whole reason I’d glamoured it to look like a plum.

“It was implied.”

I swept my hand towards Alec and Carissa, who were glaring daggers, knives, and all sorts of other proverbial pointy blades at Cody and Flora. “And look where implication has got us this evening.”

“I suppose it’s the offering that counts.” He snapped his fingers at me. “Get up. ”

I rose, pulse thundering through my veins like a river broken free of its dam. Ossian fiddled with the gold clasp on his cloak, the movement jostling the chain around his neck and caused the filigree key to dance. Dress, feast, fruit, cloak, seeded loaf. It was all still progressing too fast and there was no sign that Auggie had been successful.

“Maybe we should dance first?” I asked. “That music is quite good.”

I made to leave the table, but Ossian clamped a hand on my shoulder.

“We are both means to our own ends, but tonight does not need to be unpleasant for you, Meadow.” His fingernails dug through the satin and fleece into my skin. “But continue delaying the inevitable and it will become so. For you and the bear.”

When I didn’t protest, he unbuckled the clasp of his cloak and swung it around my shoulders. My knees didn’t buckle but they certainly twitched under the surprising weight of Ossian’s cloak. He took my hand and murmured something hushed and nearly inaudible in Faerish. I felt invisible threads knit around our joined hands, but I knew they wouldn’t fully bind us together. Not until . . . after. His mutterings done, he lifted my hand to his mouth and brushed a kiss over my knuckles. It was all done with such cold, unfeeling efficiency, I was almost insulted.

“Now where is this seeded loaf you made such a fuss about?” he asked, leading me back to the table. “There is bread aplenty here but nothing like what you’ve described.”

“That’s because it needs to be baked fresh.”

His hand seized me again, this time around my biceps, and cinched down like a ratchet strap. “You are not leaving this hall. Gods above, Meadow, what did we just discuss? ”

I reached up and gave him a patronizing pat on the cheek. “Of course not.”

He jerked away from me with a glower. Despite his frustration, his gaze still dropped to my breasts when I leaned forward to retrieve the little bell from where it nestled in the basket beside the plum. It was the same bell he’d spelled for me during my vigils in the rambler rose courtyard.

Its chime was pure and sweet, and Mrs. Bilberry knew what was expected of her when she heard it. She appeared a few minutes later with a trolley. Upon it was a five-gallon ceramic jar decorated with blue glaze and oxeye daisies with a matching lid. With a little curtsy, she parked it beside the table and returned to the kitchen.

Wrinkling his nose, Ossian gave an inquisitive sniff in its direction but didn’t touch it. “Smells rancid.”

“Sourdough’s not for everyone.” I surveyed the table, pinning Flora with an expectant stare. “Has everyone enjoyed the cake?”

I was banking on the voracious honey badger to come through for me—Mrs. Bilberry and the others needed time to get away—and she didn’t disappoint. “I could go for another slice. Make it a big piece, yeah?”

“I do love that lavender flavoring,” Daphne agreed. “May I have some more, too?”

Smiling, I made a show of serving them more cake and returned to my seat, folding my hands in my lap and preparing to wait until they had finished. And ignored the penetrating glower Ossian was using to try to will me to look at him.

“Meadow,” the Stag Man finally growled. “Midnight draws ever nearer. I think we can dispense with courtesy and just get on with it.”

“My lord,” Alec groaned. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Shut up, Alec.” Ossian gave me a skeptical look. “And you’ll bake that loaf here? With what oven? ”

“With my fire magic, of course.”

Carissa moaned suddenly, arms banding around her stomach. Another magic hunter belched loudly, immediately doubling over in her seat.

“What a bunch of wussies,” Flora snorted.

“It’s not that bad,” Ossian snarled at his magic hunters. “Straighten up.”

No sooner had those words left his mouth than an explosion on the bridge rattled the windowpanes and shook the very foundation of the castle.

There’s your sign, Lewellyn.

The Stag Man stared at the cloud of fire and black smoke billowing into the sky in true bewilderment for only a moment before he erupted from his seat. Before he could utter a single word, let alone berate the Brotherhood for what had to be their fault , a magic hunter farted with such force he actually jerked sideways in his seat. Then he fixed us with a horrified look before clutching at his trousers. A fifth actually fell out of her chair and curled up into the fetal position on the floor.

“What has gotten into you all?” Ossian demanded, his attention torn between the scene on the bridge and this catastrophe before him.

As if to answer him, there was a loud click in the far corner. The sound of a hollow shell clattering against stone.

A garden snail with a shell the size of a walnut burped, twitched its tentacles, and slunk away, leaving a trail of slime in its wake.

“What the . . .?”

There was a second click, followed by a third, then a symphony as the chain shackling the bear slithered off the floor. The grizzly rose onto its rear paws, an amber light kindling and catching fire in his eyes.

Before the Stag Man could react, the Bear Prince shifted .

“Boy?” Cody whispered.

Hair and beard shaggy and overgrown, and himself entirely naked, Arthur Greenwood yanked the now oversized collar off his neck and warped it in half with a mere clench of his hands. The heretic’s fork, completely devoid of those glowing runes, was nothing more than simple antler. Brittle, it shattered as the collar clattered to the stone floor beside Arthur’s bare feet.

“You’re not free yet,” Ossian snarled.

Just as the copper smoke ring condensed around the hilt, Arthur threw a hand behind his back and grabbed the rapier. Jaw clenched and blood oozing out between the seams in his fingers, the bear shifter struggled to keep the blade from stabbing into his heart. From the way he shook, it wasn’t a battle he was going to win.

With an agonized grunt, he gave it one brutal yank.

It wasn’t enough.

Blood spurted from Arthur’s mouth as Faebane tore through his body, impaling itself in the seam between two stones in the floor and sheathing itself up to its hilt. The silver cross guard and handle and every crystal embedded in its silver scales were red. Its spell complete, the copper cloud dissipated from the hilt in a twinkling of sparks.

The bear shifter swayed, eyes rolling back in his head, and collapsed onto his hands and knees.

A wordless scream ripped through my body and a wail rose from the oak tree. Pain exploded through my knees as I dropped to the floor, but I barely felt it. My heart had shattered.

Raw, unfettered magic burst from the oak tree. My fingernails turned black and lengthened into points. Heat and power pricked at the back of my eyes, the sclera flooding with a green as dark as the heart of an ancient forest. Battle magic, reinforced by the Tree of Life, was ready to be unleashed.

My promise to Marten, to my family, was forgotten. As was the vow to myself that I would never become the thing I hated. The Stag Man had taken so many lives without remorse, and it was my turn now.

Forget the Mabian bindings. Forget Elfame. I would not leave this hall until I had the Stag Man’s bloody head and antlers tacked up on the wall above his throne like a trophy.

Then, Arthur coughed.

H-he was still alive?

A new agony flared in my chest—hope rekindling, and my heart beating once more. My battle magic faltered.

Sucking in a ragged breath, Arthur spat a mouthful of blood out onto the floor and heaved himself upright. With a groan, he looked down at the blood smearing his chest and wiped it away.

There was no hole where the rapier and its cross guard had ripped through him. Just pink scar tissue.

The Stag Man staggered back a step in disbelief. “You should be dead!”

“Coalition enforcers are built different,” Arthur replied, his voice hoarse and harsh from disuse.

Was this one of the secrets Arthur had kept locked away in his mental vault?

Gripping Faebane by the hilt, the bear shifter tore the magic blade free of the stone floor. A magic blade of iron, the only metal that could kill a high fae with a mere scratch. And with no more copper smoke ring directing its movement, it could obey a new master.

Ossian tensed, readying for a fight, and (I suspected) for the first time since he’d been banished to the mortal realm, he trembled.

In the pregnant pause that followed, where even the mewling cries of the distressed Brothers seemed silenced, Sawyer was the first to act. Hooking every paw into the silver weave of the collar, the tabby tomcat shucked the infernal thing and launched it across the great hall. The sensation akin to a farmhouse door bursting open from a blast of summertime wind flooded into me. My familiar released a joyous trill and leapt into my arms.

The moonstone clicked against the floor like a skipping stone and slid to a halt against the bear shifter’s toes. Arthur lifted his foot and crushed the moonstone beneath his heel. Then he returned his burning amber gaze on the Stag Man.

“And it’s pokeberry juice.”

“Wh-what?” Ossian stammered.

“That’s what got into them.” Arthur jerked his chin at the eight Brothers writhing in their seats or on the ground. “In high doses it’s severely toxic. In the lower concentration my mate put in that frosting, it’s like an abdominal grenade.”

Tension tightened the bear shifter’s shoulders, the tendons in his forearms standing out in stark relief as his fingers squeezed into a fist around Faebane’s hilt. “But it’s nothing like the reckoning you’re about to receive at my hand.”