Page 24 of The Red Woman and the White Bear

“You dare to mock me, creature?” Kael hissed. He caught a glimpse of the sylph’s ethereal form through the darkness, the pointed features and shimmering wings that marked their kind.

The sylph fluttered closer, their mischievous expression undeterred by Kael’s hostility. “Why not?” They paused, letting the words sink in before continuing. “Tell me, King of Shadows, do you truly believe you are in control, or are you just the puppet of your beloved god?”

Kael’s grip on the dagger tightened until his knuckles turned white. The creature was in his head. The sylph’s taunts struck a nerve, stirring the doubts that he had worked hard to suppress since the ritual.

“Quiet!” Kael roared, and his shadows surged into the cell, snatching the sylph out of the air in a fury of inky filaments. The prisoner laughed, teasing Kael even as the shadows pulled them closer. Ignoring the way the iron bars burned his skin through hissleeve, Kael lunged forward and slashed the faerie’s throat open with the tip of his dagger. Honey-colored blood leaked out of the gaping wound, but for a brief moment, the sylph’s lips twisted into a self-satisfied smirk. They’d goaded him into this—into giving them a quick death. It was clever, really. Kael withdrew his shadows to let the sylph’s lifeless body drop to the ground.

In her own cell, Aisling sucked in a ragged gasp. She scrambled back to press herself against the wall when Kael returned to stand before her. “Why did you come here?” he demanded.

“I told you, I’ve heard stories.” Her voice trembled now and her eyes were locked on the dripping dagger still clutched in Kael’s hand. “My mother told me stories of your kind since I was young. I wanted to see for myself.”

“The púca glamoured you.” A statement, not a question. Aisling winced. “His home reeked of quicken tea.” Kael left out what he hadn’t realized when the girl, as a pixie, had been pressed against his body: that the faint fragrance of rain-soaked earth beneath her lingering pine scent had been that of magic.

“It was my idea, not his.” This human was an anomaly—not only knowledgeable to a degree about the Fae, but friendly enough with one to attempt to protect him now.

He hummed, scrutinizing every movement of her hands. The heaving of her chest as she struggled to breathe through her fear. The tone of her voice. He thought she may finally be telling the truth—if not in its entirety, at least the better part of it. But even if she was only a foolish little girl, not a spy or an assassin or a threat tohis court, she still held more power than she realized. And that in and of itself was reason enough to keep her locked away.

If Werryn had noticed what had passed between the two in The Cut, he hadn’t yet let on. Kael thought that he’d reacted quickly enough to mask the exchange, but surely the High Prelate would have questioned how the tether had survived. They rarely did, if ever. Kael had stayed clear of the dungeon for several days following the ritual to ensure his visit wouldn’t raise suspicion, and even then he’d been careful to avoid the eyes of the Prelates when he made his way down. As he exited now, he confirmed with the redcap sentinels that no one had followed. His secret was safe for the time being.

But, as though drawn by Kael’s unease, Werryn found him later on in the throne room cleaning splatters of dried sylph blood off of his boot.

“You’re troubled,” he observed. “Why? We completed the ritual. Can you not feel His blessings?”

Kael gave a curt nod. “I feel them. It will not take two tries next time.”

“The human girl played a pivotal role in our success, did she not?” Werryn watched him closely.

Kael’s jaw clenched. For a second, his movements with the leather brush became a bit rougher than they should have before he managed to mask his agitation. “A mere tether, Werryn. Nothing more.”

The High Prelate raised an inquisitive brow, not entirely convinced by Kael’s clipped answer. “Are you telling me she had no effect on the outcome? That her presence was inconsequential?”

“I assure you, her involvement was limited to anchoring the magic,” Kael replied firmly, keeping his emotions under strict control. “The same as all the others.”

“And yet she lived, unlike all the others.”

“Perhaps I needed less grounding to maintain control this time.” Having scrubbed his boot mostly clean, Kael uncrossed his legs and lowered his foot to the ground. He sat back in the throne and rested his chin on steepled fingers.

Werryn observed Kael’s relaxed pose, at odds with the impatience that flickered across his face. “A good sign, then. You’re making progress.”

“Thanks almost certainly to your persistent needling,” Kael retorted in a tone that bordered on acerbic.

Werryn ignored his sarcasm and repeated, “Almost certainly.”

Kael would try again to use the girl—he might have done so tonight in the dungeon had he not been distracted by the impudent sylph. He would try again and this time, he’d make sure she didn’t survive.

“We’re standing ready to attack, Your Highness, but scouts have returned describing numbers far greater than we expected.” Raif held out a scroll of parchment to Kael that illustrated the disparity in detail. If the scouts had counted correctly, the Third Company was outmanned two to one, at least. The front wasn’t far from the Undercastle, just a day’s ride, but the Captain of the Guard had made it back in half that to share this news with the king directly.

“All Solitary?” Kael asked as he read over the notes.

“Not all; a group of Seelie warriors arrived yesterday.” Raif set his gauntlets down with a noisy clatter before wiping his brow with the back of his hand. His face was streaked with grime from the ride andhis dark curls were plastered to his forehead. With a grim expression, he accepted a chalice of honey wine from Kael.

Kael paced the study with long, graceful strides. While he read, he held the edge of his own chalice against his lower lip without drinking. It wasn’t until after he’d finished reading that he tipped it up and emptied it in three swallows. Then he poured himself another. “How do they look?”

Raif held a hand over the mouth of his own chalice to abstain from a refill when Kael offered. “Our troops, or theirs?”

“Both.”

“May I speak plainly?” Raif set the chalice aside and crossed his arms over his chest plate.

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