Page 109 of Atop the Faerie Throne
The rock gets heavier and heavier with each lift until I’m barely raising it at all. It’s okay, though. His skull is pretty much flattened.
It’s over, a quiet part of my mind whispers.It’s over. He’s dead.
But is he? Is this just another glamour? Another trick? Even if he is, is there any world in which the shadow of his eyes won’t linger, waiting to charm me, in every crowd?
“Bree.” My mate’s voice filters through the red-hazed fog, and my hands slow to a stop. I look up. Rose stands on the other side of the mess of bright silk and gore that was once my father, the redcap by her side. “Bree, it’s done. He’s gone.”
Without blinking, she steps over his body and takes the rock from my hands, passing it to Lore. He gives it a quick amused once-over, then stuffs it into his hat for safe keeping.
I don’t get a chance to wonder what he’s going to do with it, because Rose kneels beside me, ignoring the crimson that’s seeping into her white clothes as she takes my hands in her smaller ones and brings my fingertips to her lips.
“It’s over,” she says, echoing the tiny voice I didn’t believe before. “You’re safe.”
She presses her hand to my chest, connecting our mating marks. As soon as they meet, the grey numbness starts to lift from my thoughts, leaving behind a tidal wave of shock, relief, and fear.
“He’s dead,” I croak, fingers trembling as they fall into my lap.
Lore is humming happily, dragging his cap through the splattered remains in front of us. He offers it to me, and that’s when I realise I’m so covered in blood and gore that I can’t evenmake out my tattoos. Not fit for Rose to touch. Too dirty for a Nicnevin. Too damaged?—
Rose’s body slams into me, arms winding around my neck, and I stiffen as some stupid part of my brain tries to work out if she’s a threat, before melting like butter under her touch. All tension seeps from my body as I finally press my face into her neck and sob.
Thirty-Four
Rhoswyn
“It will take some time for the ships to reach the northern shore,” Ciara says as we stroll the corridors of the palace. “I’ve not been allowed near the war room since this all started, but my father wasn’t planning to fight anyone by sea. The majority of our forces are either in the capital or along our northern and eastern borders. We’ll need to recall them as well.”
“How long?” Jaro asks, probably already doing the calculations in his head.
He, Drystan, and Caed trail behind us as we walk down sun-dappled corridors, forming an impenetrable wall between us and any prying eyes. Siabethan nightshade perfumes the humid air, and I breathe it in reluctantly as I wait for her answer, all the while wishing my full Guard was here.
Lore is taking messages to the other minor royals, calling our forces back to arms. As for Bree…
We spent the night together, though I’m not sure it helped. For the most part, he just stared into space, battling silent demons in the dark, while I held him and prayed that itwas enough to keep him from breaking. For all that he hated Torrance, I don’t think he ever really considered what it would be like once he was gone. Far from burying the years of being used, the betrayal, and the terrible way he was treated, it’s brought it all back to the surface, tugging open old scars.
At my pressing, he sought out Priestess Claudri at dawn. Deep, deep down, I wish Danu had given me some mind-healing magic, and not her. I would give anything to be able to take his pain away and return it in manageable chunks to give him time to process it.
I almost called on my mother’s spirit for the first time, because her gift of empathy would’ve been stronger; but he refused, saying he didn’t want a stranger in his head.
Now, worry for him pervades my every step. The quiet song in my chest tells me he’s more at peace than he was, but I’ll remain concerned until I see him for myself.
Ciara is quiet for a long minute. “Ten days. Two weeks at the most.”
“That’s after Beltaine,” my dullahan mutters, and I flinch.
An answering pang ofsomethingfloats down the bond from both Caed and Drystan. If I had to define it, I’d say it was anxiety and resignation, tangled up in thick ropes of tension.
The fact that Drystan was the one to note that tells me he’s not as oblivious to the impending deadline as he pretends to be. The frame on Caed’s arm remains the same as ever, unmoved despite the time they’ve spent around one another.
If I’m truly honest with myself, I thought perhaps if we killed Elatha before Beltaine, and Caed’s name was his own again, then all of our problems would be solved.
If we can’t get to Fellgotha before sunset in nine days’ time, that won’t happen.
I swallow harshly as I realise another issue I’d not considered. Even if Ciara could get her ships to the northern shore tomorrow, crossing the Endless Sea takes days.
Time has snuck up on us. Now there’s every chance Caed won’t be alive by the time we leave.
My heart seizes, and Drystan’s anger ratchets up a notch on the other end of the bond. The only outward sign he gives that he’s even mildly affected is the subtle clenching of his fists.
