Page 106 of Atop the Faerie Throne
“This room,” Mab says, hovering at the end of the hall, about three doors down from where the dryad still won’t let me pass.
“Move.”
The female edges closer. “We could have some fun.”
The branches of her oaken hair are spreading, obscuring my view, and that’s when I realise what this is.
My father never would do his own dirty work.
“I don’t wish to harm you,” I begin slowly. “But if you don’t let me pass, there will be consequences.”
There’s a subtle widening of her eyes, the kind of panic you only see in the unwilling, and I grimace as she presses forward.
My wings burst out, slamming her sideways in the next breath. It works, but she’s not alone. A high fae strides toward me on bare feet, his toenails painted all different colours and his cock swaying openly. From behind me, I catch the creak of a floorboard.
Pursing my lips, I whistle low and long, winding the sound around me in a blast that knocks them all to their asses.
I know all of his tricks. I was on the other side of them once, when it was just the two of us running from whoever he’d conned. He charmed these whores, and now he’s using them as a distraction to slow me down so he can escape.
Not this time. I sprint across the soft carpet to the last door, where Mab waits pensively. I shoulder it open with my full weight, and it slams against the opposite wall. I burst through, keeping my magic close, ready to silence my father the second I see him.
Nothing.
The sheets are rumpled, and the open bottle of sloe gin on the dresser is a dead giveaway that he was here. But the balcony doors hang open, and the heavy scent of roses on the breeze masks the subtler notes of rosin in his scent.
Shit.
I cross the room in three swift strides and press my abdomen into the balcony as I search the back street below for any sign of him; then, remembering his favourite trick, I look up. The edge of a bright cerulean cape flutters over the lip of the roof.
His rat always gave him an advantage while climbing, but I have wings, and I flare them wide, executing a hasty vertical take-off as I scry the rooftops.
Nothing.
He must have glamoured himself.
Damn him.
“What’s your plan?” Mab asks, hovering beside me using her own wings. I quickly glamour the two of us again. My magic muffles her voice, stopping it from carrying. “We could fetch Rose and her redcap?—”
“No. By the time we do that, he’ll be gone.”
He’s here… somewhere. I know he is. I can find him.
My ears twitch, straining for any hint of sound. My father’s rat gives him better hearing than most cat-sìth, but my magic amplifies my own, so we’re evenly matched.
In other words, we’re now caught in a game of cat-sìth and rat until one of us slips up.
He feels safest in a crowd of people, which probably means he’s headed for Temple Square.
The large plaza is a few streets away, and I train my ears in that direction, hoping for a scuffle, a hint,anythingthat might prove me right.
There. A clatter of tile makes my head snap up and my gut clench. My wings draw in, I pull a blade from the skin of my leg, and dive.
Slashing out blindly isn’t the most accurate choice, but it’s successful this time. The blade catches on something—possibly his arm—and blood splatters onto the terracotta tiles.
I land in a crouch, making more noise than I mean to. I grimace as I swipe back in the same general direction as before and overbalance when I find only empty air.
Releasing a sharp whistle, I force my magic to magnify it into a sonic wave that sends tiles around me flying in a whirlwind.
