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There was a rustling of fabric, and twelve midnight-colored cloaks and hoods were swept aside to reveal twelve high fae.

They stood seven feet tall, all powerfully built but not bulky, and each clad in tight-fitting leather that at times seemed brown, then green, even black. The colors shifted like shadows and sunlight through a forest. As mesmerizing as their clothes were, it was nothing compared to their faces.

Ethereally beautiful. Stunning, just like Ossian. And, just like him, their skin glowed with a magical golden aura. Their hair and eye colors ranged as much as any human’s, but each sported similarly pointed ears.

My mother’s warning rose in my mind, cautioning against anthropomorphizing the fae. ‘They might look like us, but they are not human. And to confuse them as such would be a deadly mistake. Theirs is the magic of deception and illusion, designed to lull and distract, then strike.’

In their hands were spears with metal heads that gleamed with an inner radiance .

Spears they lowered and trained on us.

“She wears his colors,” one of them hissed, jabbing his spear at me. Or rather, at the cloak I wore about my shoulders. This one spoke in Faerish, but my basic understanding of Gaelic allowed me to understand the gist of what he was saying. “Kill her, Fionn. Kill her now.”

“Our orders are to kill the Banished One should he ever return,” the one called Fionn replied in the same language, the owner of that regal voice. He swept purple eyes over me. “And this most decidedly is not him.”

“Ossian, friend of Ossian, what does it matter?”

“Quiet, Ler.”

“The Stag Man is no friend of mine,” I snapped. Sweeping my hand at my friends, who had all shifted closer together, I said, “And no friend to any of us here.”

“Spies, then,” Ler persisted, “in his employ. Gods above, she has a sword of faebane, Fionn, and a faelene! Use your eyes!”

“That’s no faelene I’ve ever seen,” a third fae countered, giving Sawyer a wary look. He traced a hand down four fine scars that marred his face from just under his left eye and across his cheek. “And I would know.”

“I’m a domestic shorthair, thank you very much,” Sawyer said.

“And we’re not spies,” Flora shouted. She shoved Sawyer off her and stomped up to the nearest spearhead. “We were in the middle of kicking Ossian’s ass before we came here.”

The twelve high fae shared a look.

“You know, fighting him?” she elaborated.

Fionn cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t see how kicking someone’s beast of burden is an effective method of combat.”

“The point is, the enemy of our enemy should be our friend,” Daphne clarified. “Please, let us go in peace. ”

“You are strangers here, druidess,” Fionn said flatly. “You will not be allowed to wander at your leisure.” He lifted his spear, a cue to the others to follow suit. “You will be taken to the court where the high lord and lady will decide your fate.”

“Seems fair,” I said, my own cue to my friends not to resist. It was better than a sword through the gut, that’s for sure. And this high lord and lady—Callan and Shannon, if the legends were true—were supposed to be fair rulers. They could probably point me in the right direction of the Samildánach too.

Six fae produced black blindfolds while the other six remained alert and on guard.

“Like either of us is gonna see anything?” Cody complained, wagging his thumb between himself and Emmett.

“You should take this as a compliment that we consider your eyesight as undiminished as one of our own elders,” Fionn replied.

“Well, since you’re being nice about it.” Emmett folded his glasses and tucked them into his overalls, then dutifully held still while the fae knotted the blindfold around his eyes.

“Fionn.” The scarred high fae’s voice was clipped. Alarmed. He stood frozen before Shari, eyes wide as if she were a cobra who had just flared her hood. “I smell . . . demon . She’s Unseelie!”

The six fae on guard sprang into the air as graceful as leaping dancers and stabbed down with their spears. The white spearheads streaked for Shari’s chest like a volley of comets unleashed from the heavens.

A savage wind scattered them like flies.

The high fae recovered quickly, rolling out their falls or landing catlike and brandishing their spears with that incredible speed of theirs.

Shari clutched Ossian’s cloak as I stood before her, brandishing Faebane and a magic vine that dangled from my hand like a whip. “We’ve come here in peace,” I snarled, though I was feeling very far from peaceful at the moment. “ All of us. I hope to demonstrate that by not finishing what that faelene started and scratching out every one of your eyes. Before moving on to something else equally tender.”

I had no idea what a faelene was, but it was something they seemed to respect, even fear.

That gave them pause, but so did the fact that Shari hadn’t even raised a hand to defend herself. From the cautious looks the fae shared amongst themselves, I gleaned that an Unseelie demon would’ve behaved quite differently.

“Give me your hand, creature,” Fionn commanded.

Flora raced over to us, green magic boiling around her hands. “What are you going to do to her, long-legs?”

“Stand aside, fairy.” Then his purple eyes drilled into mine. “I could order your deaths at this moment, and only you seem to be up to the task of defending yourself. Will you risk their lives, or will you give me her arm?”

He rammed the butt of his spear into the ground and held out his hand expectantly. He wielded no weapon in his other hand, but with his reflexes, that could change in the blink of an eye.

Yet, he was being exceptionally fair given the circumstances. Goodwill would go a long way here.

“I’ve got you, Shari,” I promised her, pulling her out from behind me. I kept one arm around her shoulders and Faebane at the ready in my free hand.

The quiet crafter shrank into me, whimpering, but extended her hand.

To his credit, Fionn didn’t grab her and yank her forward. He merely took her wrist and pushed back the sleeve of her oversized sweater up to her elbow. Holding her steady, he dragged his thumbnail down her inner forearm .

Shari whined, leaning against me.

“You’re hurting her,” Daphne cried, rushing forward. The scarred fae blocked her path with his spear and gave her a warning shake of his head.

Fionn examined the shallow wound he’d created, rotating her arm back and forth in the moonlight. Shari’s blood glittered like crushed ruby; in fact, I’d never seen blood so sparkly before. But whatever Fionn was looking for, he didn’t seem to find it. He released her and straightened with a sharp inhale.

“We bring them,” he announced.

I quickly passed a hand over her wound, healing her, and held on to her trembling hand. “Are you alright?”

“I want to go home,” she whispered. She released me to be accepted into Daphne’s embrace, the older woman murmuring comforting words into her ear and stroking her back, when she wasn’t glaring daggers at Fionn.

“Finish,” the high fae said, indicating to his subordinates that we should be blindfolded. He carefully confiscated Faebane, holding the sword away from his body like it was something that could come alive and bite his head off his shoulders at any moment.

Ler grabbed Fionn’s arm. “You’d bring a demoness back into the high lord and lady’s grove?”

In a move too fast to track, Fionn had disengaged himself and simultaneously dropped the high fae on his back. “You might be my lady’s brother, but I am my lord’s captain. You will obey, Ler, or know dishonor.”

Ler shoved himself upright and smacked the grass from his clothes before retrieving his spear. “ Yes , Captain.”

There was no blindfold for Sawyer, so he was put into my cloak. At least they let me hold him in my arms. Two fae stayed behind to monitor the portal while the rest of us marched through the wildflower field and through a wood with a merry creek that had all sorts of stones to skip over. The forest changed—the whisper of the wind was thinner here—aged, and a somber atmosphere you could almost taste filled the air.

“Step up,” Fionn told me, and my boot touched stone.

It took only a handful of steps before the ground leveled and my footsteps echoed. A courtyard?

There was another flight of steps, another courtyard, then another. I was beginning to think we were climbing through a series of terraced patios, each one marked by a different flower. Rose and gardenia, honeysuckle and jasmine, lilac and hyacinth.

“My knees can’t take much more of this,” Cody announced.

“Could we just . . . take a minute,” Emmett puffed, “and rest? Maybe . . . some tea?”

“If it’s peppermint tea with some whiskey in it, I’ll take it,” Flora moaned, sneezing violently.

“Keep moving,” Ler snapped.

“Is that music I hear?” Daphne wondered aloud. “It’s beautiful.”

There indeed was music—harps and flutes. And the air also brought the scents of pastry and roasting turkey and the sweet notes of something bubbly and alcoholic. Fairy wine. Rustling, like small waves sputtering along a beach, denoted the swish of ballgowns and the synchronized clicking of boot heels revealed there were couples dancing.

We were about to enter a party.

The music hushed, and Sawyer tensed in my arms as we both felt the attention of hundreds of eyes landing on us. Fionn removed my blindfold, and I blinked through the glare of a thousand candle flames.

Stone pillars that resembled trees lined a massive terrace, but there was no domed ceiling for them to support. Only the night sky dappled with stars and purple streaks of celestial dust stretched overhead. And the party was a winter solstice-themed masquerade, every fae clad in various shades of white, ivory, pearl, navy, robin’s egg, and the pale blue of arctic ice.

It was unnerving to bear the scrutiny of so many masked faces, but I kept my spine straight.

Fionn must’ve heard me preparing to speak—an inhale, a swallow, I didn’t know—and said in a low voice, “You do not speak here. Yet.” Then, louder, resonant, and in English: “My lord Callan, we found these visitors at the Banished One’s portal.”

There was a collective gasp as the masked fae shrank away from us, but whatever a clear feminine voice spoke in Faerish calmed them.

The party parted, quick-stepping this way or that, to create a path for a high fae who could be none other than the high lord of the Court of Beasts. He was dressed similarly to all the other males present in a doublet and breeches—silver slashed with navy and studded with diamonds—yet he was the only one adorned with silver feathers.

Heron feathers, if I wasn’t mistaken, though I had no idea if silver herons even existed.

Beside him was a striking woman with shiny brown hair that fell all the way down to her ankles. Unlike the other masquerade attendees, she had opted for elaborate face paint and diamonds instead of a gilded mask. The silver heron feathers painted at the corners of her eyes made it very clear that she was none other than the high lord’s bride.

“Sister,” Ler entreated, “this one has demon blood, and the one Fionn barely restrains wears Ossian’s colors. And look at the sword she brought with her. It’s faebane!”

Fionn gripped Faebane harmlessly by the hilt and showed it to his monarchs, point down. “And the one my subordinate claims is a demon is only tainted, my lord.”

The high lord and lady didn’t touch the rapier, of course, and Callan gave it only a brief look before returning his attention to me. He had jewel-green eyes, just like his older brother. The same chiseled jaw, full lips, handsome build. He was shorter, though, his hair darker, more auburn.

“You wear the filigree key around your neck, woman,” Callan said. “Were you the one who also summoned and anchored the portal?”

“I am, Lord Callan.”

“The witch has manners,” Shannon observed.

If she was impressed, her husband did not share the sentiment.

“And who are the four who charged the primal diamonds of the key? You and these others?” A sweep of Callan’s hand indicated the Crafting Circle ladies.

“Our cider witch did that all by herself,” Flora said proudly.

The high lady’s brow furrowed slightly, the diamond between her sculpted eyebrows twinkling.

Ler snorted in disbelief. “Impossible. And just like a fairy to lie.”

“Quiet, Brother,” Shannon ordered sharply.

“His scent is all over you and you’re wearing his cloak. This abomination of a sword is also a union of your magics.” Callan wet his lips, and his next words were cold. “Are you wedded to my brother?”

I shook my head. “No—”

“Do not lie to me again,” the high lord thundered, the power of his voice setting my bones to shaking. “Did you offer him fruit? Did he give you his cloak?”

“Meadow,” Sawyer warned through the bond, tensing.

Shannon’s attention snapped to the bundle in my arms. Then to my heart.

“Answer the question, witch,” Callan roared.

“Yes, but—”

Callan flung up his hand. “I’ve heard enough. Kill them.”

The End of The Filigree Key.