Page 56 of Crown of the Fae King

“The next time I miss them so badly I cannae bear it. And we will play and we will laugh, and we will pass another perfect day…until this is all over and I can return them to the world.”

I hated to say the words, but we currently lived a dangerous life, even if we pretended it was only semi-so. “And what happens to them if something happens to you?”

He turned his head, looked me square in the eyes. “Then my wife and sons will cease to be.” He closed the distance and grabbed my hand. “Come.”

Dark again. We were inside that hut. Morning sun slipped between the slats in the walls. Sprawled on grass mats, on the floor, lay three boys. The oldest was maybe ten or eleven, the next a couple of years younger. The smallest maybe six or seven and was wedged sideways between the other two--like any youngest in the family, trying to make trouble, even in his sleep.

Sand spilled off their hair and feet onto their mats. None of them were breathing. And though I knew they weren’t dead, it was upsetting. Even Wickham didn’t look at them for long.

“Alexander, J.W., and Gavin.” He turned to gaze at a blonde woman on a bed in the corner, her face tan, her bare shoulders slightly pink. “My wife. Ivy. Grew up in Wyoming as well. Did I tell ye?”

“With Persi, that makes three of us.”

His gaze lingered. His hand closed around my wrist, and the scene was gone. We were back in the landing room. This time, he didn’t hurry for the door, but moved to the window and pulled the curtain aside. “Now, perhaps ye’ll understand if I do not risk this mission unduly in order to save other witches.”

“Thank you. I can’t imagine…” I paused at the door. “Thank you.”

We hada standing policy to not discuss business, as it were, during mealtime. That must have been a British or European custom because it certainly wasn’t an American practice.

The Youngs adjusted seamlessly to a dinner for ten. The table was long enough to accommodate four to each side. Everly, Kitch, myself, and Persi sat with our backs to the windows and watched the Muir sisters in action, flirting with Brian and Flann. Sometimes, I suspected the silence meant the men were either chatting telepathically with the women, or with each other. It was impossible to tell until two of them would burst out laughing after saying nothing at all.

It was like watching a tennis match, though much more was said aloud between Brian and Lorraine.

What was left of my attention was spent trying to get the meat off my little quail. Kitch suggested I use my fingers and give up on my fork. Then he demonstrated. It was thanks to him I didn’t starve.

Too excited to eat any more, I excused myself before dessert was served and went up to my room to decompress. The day had been long and bizarre and promised to get even more so. The Muir brothers planned to share what they’d interpreted thus far. And though the bookmarks hadn’t led us to any links between an Uncast and a star stone, I was as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

Someone knocked on the door and I lost my chance for peace.

“Come in.”

The door opened and Persi slipped inside. She pulled Hank from her pocket and handed it over, then sat on the bed. “I don’t think he appreciates me when you’re around.”

“Sorry. I’d forgotten. Did it hiss at you?”

“No. No hissing. Just…a feeling.”

“Since I spent the morning sensing the emotions of four illustrated pages, I can honestly say I believe you.”

Persi stared for a minute. “So?”

“So what?”

“Did he kill her?”

I realized she must have heard part of my argument with Wickham before we popped out, so I shook my head to reassure her. “She killed herself. He showed me where he took her. A dungeon somewhere. Said she slit her own throat with her fingernail rather than answer his questions.” I omitted the fact that the little pages were happy to hear of her demise. The more I talked about them, the more I worried I’d lost my mind.

“I’m relieved. I mean, I wouldn’t have blamed him. We all went a little berserk when we found you…like that. The men were sure he’d ripped her apart, like one of O’Ryan’s dogs, but I still couldn’t quite believe it.”

The effect that memory had on my stomach made me wish I hadn’t eaten so much, and the last thing I wanted to do was talk about it. So I kept the conversation on Wickham. “Maybe he’d rather they went on believing he is that ruthless. Maybe it’s a street cred thing.”

“Yeah. Maybe. I won’t say anything. But I’m glad you told me.” She got up to go.

“Pers?”

“Yeah?”

I decided not to tell her that I’d seen Wickham’s family. But I had to say something. “Um, no matter what, we need to make sure Wickham makes it out of this alive, okay?”

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