Page 47 of The Shadow Fae Rhapsody
The Shadow Fae, Landon, opens a wine bottle and draws a game set on the table. I don’t understand these fae at all. One second they look like they’re seconds away from killing eachother, and now they’re drinking, laughing together like they’re best friends.
Brothers.
But as much as their behavior is peculiar to me, I don’t miss that important information.
That masked fae is the Herald of the Wild Hunt? My heart is pounding in my chest so hard that blood is thumping in my ear.
One summon from him and the war begins.
The two fae start drinking while I’m stuck in this wardrobe, shivering in fear. I try to understand the boardgame they play on the table, but it’s too confusing. The Shadow Fae seems to play checkers on his side of the board, while the prince is playing chess over his side.
“The King of Myrkheim thinks there is hope for another treaty with the elves,” Landon mutters, moving his piece on the board.
I feel a tinge of relief at that knowledge. I wrote to Mavren Aeldrath Malgorth once, back when I was young and silly. The king was polite in his reply.
“Peace? With the elves?” Finnbheara scoffs harshly. “That softness is why Mavren is struggling with a rebellion.”
“The rebel orc Akaloth won’t be in this world for long,” the Shadow Fae says. I sense a glitter of amusement in his voice. “Eirik has sanctioned his death.”
He passes a set of parchments with lists and pictures to Finnbheara. I can’t stop the tendril of fear crawling up my spine when I glimpse a portrait of my face in there along with several of Aelfheim’s generals and nobles.
Landon leans back in his seat. “I’m to deliver his judgement.”
“What of his thousands of followers?” Finnbheara quirks an eyebrow.
“Anyone allied with Akaloth is either corrupted or damned by association,” the Shadow Fae says easily.
The Fae Prince studies a poster in his hand. “The warrant was issued last week. It’s not like you to stall… Trouble?”
“The rebels have a feud with the elves,” the Shadow Fae muses. There is an edge of darkness to his voice. “Should Aelfheim decide to attack Tavan, it would be the perfect opportunity to gauge their strength.”
Finnbheara’s eyebrows shoot up. “What is there to measure? We can defeat the elves by the land, sea, and air.”
“The technology by Aelfheim’s Tluryan elves is something to be feared.” The Shadow Fae moves his checkers piece again. “I don’t want to start a war we can’t win.”
“We’ll win, brother,” the Fae Prince says with conviction. “My advice is we must attack them now before they can gather more power.”
The Shadow Fae says nothing, stewing in his silence.
“But it’s your call to summon the hunt,” Finnbheara finally says. “I trust your judgement.”
Landon lifts his head to look at his prince.
“You’ve always been reasonable. Father made you his Herald for a reason,” the male adds, eyes sparkling with pride.
This guy who killed three people before breakfast is the reasonable one among the fae? I’ve heard enough… Svenn was right. I just want to go home to him right now.
The Shadow Fae slides his attention to the glass window. “What the fuck is Sanguisyl doing? He’s checking the nests too?”
“If his mate is a newborn, then it’s my responsibility to protect her,” the Fae Prince says solemnly.
The Shadow Fae lowers his head. I sense something sad in the movement. The first emotion I catch from the Fae King’s Herald. “Six more died this week. It’s the fucking draught. There’s nothing much I can do about it.”
Finnbheara purses his lips and lets out a smooth whistle. The sound is no different from the one Rainer used whenever he called for his late dog, Judge.
The walls around us tremble as the wyvern scrambles towards his rider. I’m genuinely afraid that the wyvern might actually destroy the house. Every violent shake of the castle floor slices a prick or terror inside me.
“No luck, big guy?” the Fae Prince asks his gigantic mount. The colossal red wyvern grunts, licking his back like a cat.
