Page 111 of Defy the Fae

He is wondering if she’s been here. He wants to know if she’s nearby.

I must give him those answers, but not yet. My hand sweeps through the frothing pool from which we’d entered, sending a message through the river to our band.

We have him.

Belatedly, I register theWe. I should have elaborated to them, but my perception is lagging to catch up. Between the journey and proximity to the iron, it shall take a few hours for the effects to wear off.

Condensation sails through the enclave. Humidity licks my flesh.

I smell the pool extracting blood and grime from Cerulean’s flesh and wings. The vile evidence of his torture shall fade into the water like paint drops, leaving behind only clear fluid. The pool will infuse his pores with healing properties. Though, against this much destruction, it will take a while.

I cut my jaw toward the echoes of stirring fluid. “These waters will help my brother.”

Concern wafts from the man. “Will he live, then?”

The question immobilizes me, tugs me in place like a noose. Suspicion sits on my tongue. “You could try to kill me now.”

“How would I do that?”

“With the knife you took from my brother.”

A beat of silence follows. My brother had been hiding a knife with familiar etchings on the hilt. It belongs to Scorpio, but that enigma is best left for a later discussion.

For now, I focus on the mortal who’d helped free my brother yet had done so while pocketing the weapon when he’d thought I was distracted. Had Cove taught him that trick? I wager yes.

I am naked, laced with iron, and I’m one-third of the Faeries who captured his children. What’s more, I can barely raise my daggers at this point. This provides him with an opportunity.

Yet the man’s respirations remain steady. “Do you expect everything that a person does to be out of vengeance?”

My throat contracts with shame. Something like pity has dragged his voice down an octave. I’m used to this sort of inflection, for it’s another hallmark of my lady.

When I make no reply, he sighs. “Well, Fae. I’m not a murderer, however much I would like to castrate you.”

With my cock hanging in plain sight, this certainly wouldn’t be difficult.

“Cerulean is Lark’s mate,” I say. “He can lead you to them once he awakens. You have incentives to want him alive. Not me.”

“My eldest hasn’t told you? A nightingale delivered a letter from them. I know about you three.”

I had forgotten. Lark, Juniper, and Cove had wanted to visit their father in secret, but too much had happened to make it possible. Cove had mentioned sending a letter instead, which she and her sisters had written from The Heart of Centaurs.

“What…did the missive say?” I dare to inquire.

“That you’re not the enemy,” he supplies. “That you’re not monsters. That you matter to them.”

My heart jolts inside the shell of my chest. The mortal does not sound placated, yet that hadn’t stopped him from caring about Cerulean’s wellbeing. It had not stopped him from exercising compassion.

The gesture has Cove all over it.

But like Lark and Juniper, he has questions, whereas I don’t even have my fucking pants on.

I avert my gaze and gain my feet. “Wait here.” Then I pause and think of Cove. “Erm, if you please.”

Using the last of my physical reserves, I vanish before the man can open his mouth. I manifest to The Pit of Vipers, appearing beside the dome’s central vat. I would have brought Cerulean and Cove’s father here, amongst the restorative mixtures. However, with the flood devastation, it is still restricted. The Mer Cascades had been the next credible option.

Making haste, I stalk to the wall mantle housing the only elements and ingredients I have managed to restore thus far. My fingers flick among the bottles and vials, glasses clinking. Once I have collected the right vessel and stepped into a pair of leggings, I evanesce and materialize back in the enclave.

“Dammit!” the man grunts, startled when I reappear next to him. “Do you plan on doing that often?”

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