Page 116 of Atop the Faerie Throne
Instead of hiding in their homes, the fae become the hunters. Females are chased through the streets by their suitors, only to be caught and taken for all to see. Those who aren’t partaking in the great rite dance and drink around the Beltaine fires, keeping them stoked until the end of the feast, when the ashes are distributed as protective charms amongst the masses.
A celebration of life, and yet Caed’s hangs by a thread.
“Please, Danu,” I whisper, pushing the request at the part of myself where the Goddess lies quiescent and insipid. “Spare him.”
“Danu would listen to your prayers, above all, if she could,” Kitarni says, and I turn to meet her sad eyes. “But I fear that this is out of her hands.”
My guides disappear, content to leave me in the care of my high priestess. Or perhaps they’re sick of my morose company.
“It’s her curse,” I argue, dragging in a shaky breath as she clasps a bark-covered hand around mine and leads me back to the stairs. “There must be something.”
“If there is, it will not be discovered here, in an abandoned garden. Come. Beltaine is a time for wishes. Dance the fire with the other young fae.”
She raises a hand to her blossom-strewn hair and snaps off a strand, weaving it swiftly into a heavy flower crown that she places atop my head.
“I don’t feel like dancing,” I say, only to stop in place as I realise who waits for me at the bottom of the steps.
Two pairs of eyes, one amber and one turquoise, flash to meet mine. When they catch sight of the tear tracks on my cheeks, they both freeze. Caed’s hand comes up to rub the back of his neck, and my dullahan crosses his arms.
“Rhoswyn, I…” Drystan starts, then clears his throat. “I thought you might enjoy spending the feast with the Fomorian.”
He bows, his self-directed anger filling the space between us for a second before he turns and strides away.
Caed offers me a small smirk. “I think that was his awkward way of apologising for killing me later.”
The Fomorian is completely shirtless, tattoos on full display, and I can’t help glancing hopefully at the mark on his arm.
No change.
It takes every single ounce of bravery I possess to paste a smile on my face. “Apparently, Kitarni has decided I’ve got to dance around the bonfires. Care to join me?”
“Fomorian warriors don’t dance,” Caed corrects, then ruins the snooty impression when he adds, “But I might be convinced if a certain little queen were to ply me with enough fairy mead to drop an ogre.”
Snorting, I take his hand, even though he hasn’t offered it. If I cling a little harder to him than usual, he doesn’t comment aswe navigate the steps down and out of the palace. Wraith bounds over as soon as he spots us, butting my shoulder with his huge head. Someone has already saddled him, ready for our trip, and my fingers stroke the smooth leather.
“There are some rituals that ought to be taken care of in the Temple,” Kitarni says abruptly. “Enjoy yourselves, both of you.”
The excuse is so transparent that it might shatter like glass if I say anything, so I nod and wave her off.
“That was the closest I think I’ve ever seen her come to lying,” Caed comments as he lifts me up onto Wraith’s back and hands me the reins, then accepts a horse of his own from the waiting page.
“She was being nice,” I say. “We can call her back if Drystan thinks we need a chaperone.”
Caed coughs. “This was actually his idea.”
My brows rise into my hairline, but I keep my thoughts on that to myself.
Either it’s his way of apologising, or some last-ditch attempt to save us. Either way, I’m grateful. I can’t even be mad at him, not really.
“He’s trying,” I say. “I don’t think he hates you anymore.”
“How could he? He’s been exposed to my sparkling personality pretty much constantly for the last week.”
Though the words are cocky, there’s a hint of annoyance there.
“I take it that all of those war meetings weren’t fun?”
Caed huffs out a breath. “I get that he was trying to trust me, but honestly, I’d rather he beat me into a pulp daily. At least that would’ve been less boring.”
