Page 16 of Atop the Faerie Throne
“The palace has been locked down,” Ashton says, frowning at the Fair Isles in the far corner of the map. “There have been stirrings, but nothing concrete, and no sign of an army on the move—which is difficult to hide. Unfortunately, Ced only had one good bard on his payroll, and he killed the fucker when Hawkith slept with him.”
Goddess, even from beyond the grave, those two are still causing problems for us.
“Outside of the palace, the citizens are unhappy,” he continues. “The Temple has been refuting Eero’s claims at every turn, and most fae support the Nicnevin, even if their king doesn’t. I’m tempted to say leave them to it. If he has to battle his own people, he’ll be too busy to interfere.”
“Send a messenger to Aiyana and Cressida,” Drystan orders a page by the door, who rushes to obey. “They have their own spies.”
It’s a good move, and I make a mental note to send Mab to see what she can learn, too.
“Eero’s a fool if he thinks Elatha will leave him to rule Summer alone,” I mumble.
“They’ve made a bargain,” Drystan says. “I’d bet gold he believes the Fomorians are too dumb to wheedle their way out of it. It’s a typical arrogant seelie move.”
“He promised them my death,” I remember, thinking back to when Caed and I caught Ciara and her father in the hall while we were rescuing Bree. “We overheard Eero saying that the bargain would be null and void if they didn’t kill me.”
I lived, so what now?
“Bargains are rarely ever so simply ended,” Ashton advises. “Surely even the Fomorians have the brains to include a punishment clause for failure to uphold terms.”
“We have no idea what my father’s rat heard,” Bree pipes up, his arms wrapped around himself as he leans against one of the ice walls, as far from the table as he can physically be while remaining in the room. “He could even have been involved in negotiating terms between Hawkith and the Fomorians. I should’ve realised?—”
Breaking free of Jaro’s hold, I cross to him, pressing my hand to his lips. “You can’t blame yourself. It was Cedwyn’s lax security and Torrance’s own cunning that led to his escape.”
He kisses my fingers, promising, “I’ll make it right.” Then he pauses and drops his voice, his wings wrapping around us in a private feathery cocoon as his fingers bracket my hips. “Kitarni introduced me to one of the priestesses with a gift for empathy today. Our sessions are short, because they take a lot out of her, but I’m hopeful…”
My answering smile is equal parts relief and delight as he finishes by pressing a kiss to my temple. I think what happened with Hawkith scared my púca, but it was the push he needed to finally start working on healing everything the Toxic Orchid did to him.
“Elatha isn’t stupid,” Prae hisses, dragging us out of our little bubble.
I turn, peering through the gap in his feathers to find her glaring at Ashton over the table. Her fingers are wrapped around the hilt of her knife, which is buried in the wood in front of her.
“He sent Draard to deal with Eero, and he bargained with Hawkith. For some reason, he’s willing and confident enough to concede land to them as long as it helps him take Elfhame City. He won’t give two shits if Draard dies as a result, and our cousin is cocky enough to enter into multiple fae bargains for a chance at glory.”
“I guess it’s a family trait,” Drystan mutters lightly under his breath.
I shift away from Bree’s embrace to stare him down.
“Caed is nothing like Draard,” I retort. “Draard is truly vile.”
All of them bristle, and my púca ducks his head to whisper in my ear.
“Did he hurt you, dragonfly?”
I shake my head. “Hescaresme.” Jaro’s wolf growls at the admission. “Draard whipped Caed until he passed out, and he laughed while he did it.”
Nothing will ever make me forget that dark, smoky hall, or the sight of Caed’s shredded back dripping with blood on the floor.
One of Drystan’s brows rises. “They whipped their precious crown prince?”
“If you think that title comes with any kind of preferential treatment, you don’t know shit about Fomorians,” Prae grunts. “It’s been nothing more than a bullseye on his dumb ass since the day he took it.”
“You told us about how you were raised,” I remind Drystan, softening my gaze as I try to get through to him. “Caed’s upbringing wasn’t so different.”
It feels a little like breaking Caed’s trust to tell him that, but my dullahan swallows, uncertainty flashing over his face.
A second later, his mask is back. “That cocky asshole hasn’t ever?—”
“When he came back with her mark, Elatha made him stick his hand in the fire until the skin burnt off,” Prae interrupts. “He wastwelve. Then he was thrown into the Deep Caves and left to die. At one point, Elatha tried to feed him to his feral dogs. The king hates his son as much as Cedwyn hated you.”
