Page 124 of Throne of Dreams
He glowered. “No.”
Saoirse fisted her hands on her hips, and one eyebrow shot skyward. “Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on whatever decades old feud is going on between you two.”
Anger simmered along his skin and the Furies took note, moving closer. Watching carefully. “His offense, the crime he committed against my family, is beyond forgivable.”
“What’d he do?” Her flippancy was annoying. “Kill someone?”
Her words gutted him. “Yes, actually. My parents.”
Saoirse paled. “I’m so sorry, my lord.” She dropped her chin to her chest. “I didn’t realize—”
“It’s of no consequence now.” He turned away from her.
Dian glided toward them. “That’s not entirely true, Your Grace.”
Tiernan drew himself up to his full height, clutching Maeve against him. “I beg your pardon?”
“Aran Ruhdneah, High Prince of the Autumn Court, did not murder your parents.” Dian’s shadowy arms spread wide. “That was the work of the Puca. They are to blame.”
“I know this,” Tiernan spat out. “I wasthere.”
He’d been beaten, carved up with blades of nightshade, and left for dead on the forest floor. Even in his subconscious, he’d heard his mother scream. He could still hear his father shouting his name. Days later, after he’d woken starving, brutalized, and half dead, he’d discovered his parents’ bodies. Each of them had been bound to a tree, their flesh charred like they’d been burned alive. The pungent smell and their blackened flesh had haunted his dreams for more than a decade. It was not something he would soon forget.
There’d been no way to track down all the Puca responsible; trooping fae were notorious for vanishing without a trace.
Tiernan had been so consumed with grief, he’d gone after the one who’d been responsible for orchestrating the meeting in the first place.
Aran.
“The Autumn High Prince may not have been the one to place his hands upon my parents,” Tiernan faced Dian, his blood boiling, “but he issued the order.”
From beside him, Saoirse gasped, clamping one hand over her mouth.
“Are you certain?” Balor drifted toward him, the shadowy lines of his body shifting in the breeze. “Rumors circulating from the Dorai are that the Autumn High Prince is the most honorable among them.”
“And the most loyal,” Tethra added, moving closer.
Dian tilted his head, considering. “And the most trustworthy.”
“Perhaps,” Balor ventured, “there’s another whose devious ways are more suited to the picture you paint.”
Tiernan stilled.
Another more devious…
Garvan.
“Shit,” Tiernan mumbled.
He hadn’t considered Garvan before. During the Evernight War, Garvan had led the High Army of Kyol in a series of attacks against Carman. Shay had taken a unit of warriors to the north to help Ciara strengthen her borders while Aran remained behind to protect their citizens. Tiernan had assumed the letter had been from Aran since both Garvan and Shay were off fighting. But it was possible. All of it was possible. The message requesting a meeting could’ve been forged. The ambush easily could have been Garvan’s idea the entire time. Even now, he was in Parisa’s confidence, no one else. He was willing to hand over his own sister if it meant improving his standing and gaining more control.
But Aran hadn’t refused the claims Tiernan made against him. At the same time, he never admitted to them either.
Damn it.
Overhead, the sun was gradually descending in the western sky. Before long, night would be upon them. He glanced down at Maeve, who was still asleep in his arms.
As if reading his thoughts, Saoirse stepped forward. “The Shores are a day-long trip from here.”
