Page 33 of Crown of Wings and Whispers

“No,” he said aloud. Wickham wasn't foolish enough to kill a DeNoy without understanding the consequences first.

To keep from going mad, Griffon forced all such thoughts out of his head. No use torturing himself until he knew what was going on. Finally, the turn came. He veered right, then turned left into the courtyard. Someone was waiting on the front step. Archer?

Not Archer.

He hit the brakes, hurled himself out of the car, and ran at him. "Muddy, you son of a--"

"Easy, now.” Muddy stood, tried to hide his smile. “If ye want her back, ye'd best take care--"

Griffon's fist connected with the Fae's jaw, which gave a satisfying crack, and sent him back against the steps, where his shoulders slammed hard against the front edges. Griffon grabbed the bastard's shirtfront and pulled him up, knocked his head to the left, then to the right, with enough force to behead a mere mortal. Then he delivered painful blows to Muddy’s midsection and was disappointed when he couldn’t get his fists to come out the other side. After another half dozen blows to the Fae’s face, he tossed him into a puddle of standing water where Fallon liked to play with sticks.

Where she would never be playing again.

If Muddy tried to fight back, Griffon hadn’t noticed.

A weak hand raised, silently begging him to stop.

"Where has he taken her?"

"Not...so fast. Ye owe me. I never told the king you and the woman were together. And ye need me." Muddy chuckled, then winced at the pain it caused.

"For what?"

"Inter…mediary. The King has demands. Wants to ken why ye've kept a secret family here.” He gestured to a forgotten toy next to the house. “If ye've a child, a son, he demands ye present him at court. And he wants…wants to know why ye tried to hide the last DeNoy from him. I suggest ye tread lightly, my friend. I cannae imagine how far yer punishment might…extend."

Griffon hid his relief. Orion was an idiot. He had no idea he’d walked away from Fallon and her power. But Muddy was the bigger fool. His weakness was his desperate need to be acknowledged, to be consulted, to be included. No doubt Orion was aware and had taken advantage. Griffon would do the same.

“Where is my brother?”

The Fae seemed genuinely surprised. “With yer mother, I assume. We left the house before ye did, if ye remember.”

“And you haven’t been back?”

“How could we go back? Even the king himself can’t see past those wards. For all we know, Bridie doesnae even live in Wales—”

“Never speak of my mother again.”

Muddy nodded and twisted his mouth to assess the damage. “I don’t know where yer brother is.”

Griffon started unbuttoning his shirt. “I assume he has either taken her to Fairy, to court…or to the Embrace…”

Muddy flinched at the latter.Bingo.

Griffon shrugged the fabric off his shoulders, balled it up, and tossed it onto the steps. He disliked shopping, so he saved the shirts he could.

Oblivious to the danger, Muddy kept talking. “Trust a Carew to find the last DeNoy. Tell me, did Daphne know? It would be a mighty pity if she died not knowing—”

“She knew. Now, tell me exactly how you found us in Yarmouth.” He offered the Fae a hand.

Muddy accepted the help out of the puddle, then he smiled sideways and tested his jaw. “A rune on the back of her arm. The King’s idea. When I told him about the woman staying at yer mother’s house, he was very interested when I described her odd haircut. Insisted I take him along to the wake. He chose not to install the rune himself, demanded I do it. Ye remember, when I kissed her hand? I had no choice, obviously. I’ve never seen him want anything so badly as he wanted her.”

Griffon ignored the attempt to rile him. “And when did he know she was DeNoy?”

“Not until he saw Daphne’s room. That hissing he claimed to hear. It meant something to him. Got him all excited. Said there’s a difference between revenge and justice, but now he can have both. Only…he’ll have to win over the DeNoy first, whatever that means.” His smirk said he knew exactly what it meant.

Again, Griffon swallowed the goading. “Justice from whom?”

“No idea.”

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