Page 23 of Atop the Faerie Throne
Rose melts, and I feel it happen.
Then she looks up at me and does it all over again.
She loves me as much as she loves him.
That should be impossible, but there’s not an ounce of favouritism. Even when the rest of them—Caed exempted—are so much better for her than I am.
“Forgiven,” she whispers, looking down at him, then at the place where my thumb is still lightly tracing my mark on her skin.
There’s enough unsteadiness in her limbs as she pushes to her feet that I remain alert and ready to catch her, but she doesn’t even notice. She’s too busy looking at my mark, examining it from all angles, then crushing her chin to her chest as she tries to interpret Drystan’s white marks over her heart.
To me, it looks almost like the edge of a sheer veil, merged with the silhouettes of horses and other animals… or…
“The lights of the Otherworld,” she mumbles softly, her cheeks turning red as she meets her dullahan’s eyes.
Then she catches sight of his right forearm and the vivid matching purple mark that now covers it. She beams.
“Lore, can you fetch some chains for the Fomorian?” Drystan asks, still surprisingly mellow. “That way, Rose can focus on calming Jaromir’s wolf.”
It seems we’re all on our best behaviour now that she’s awake, because the redcap doesn’t argue, quickly shackling Caed’s hands in front of him as the Fomorian kneels on the floor. Unfortunately, that draws our Nicnevin’s attention to the blue idiot, who cradles his right palm like it’s made of glass.
“You didn’t want to attack us.” I wish I could read her face. “I can feel how much you hate being under his control.” She twists, her pretty eyes landing on mine, and I belatedly realise my hold has gone from supportive to restraining. “It’s tearing him apart.”
She wants to go to him. That’s understandable. The bond thrives off closeness, and right now it’s going to be at its worst. But he’s unpredictable. He used the moment we were all vulnerable to strike, and he won’t have a choice but to seize every opportunity he’s given.
So I don’t plan to give him any until we’re ready.
Jaro’s wolf—unhappy that he’s yet to be acknowledged—abandons the Fomorian and jumps up so his fore-paws are on the altar. The sandy fur of his ruff is marked with a deep purple pattern that’s difficult to discern, but Rose’s perfectly healed bite-scar is surrounded by pale brown slashes which could almost be confused for birthmarks, if not for the glittery incandescence that all marks possess.
The wolf licks at it, making a pleased chuffing sound, and Rose presses an answering kiss to his cheek. “Can I have Jaro back, please?”
Whining, the wolf licks her again, and Rose smiles. “We can snuggle tonight, I promise.”
He’ll hold her to that, and I resign myself to the edge of the bed. I don’t want to risk accidentally touching someone who’snot Rose. Maybe one day all the work I’m doing with Priestess Claudri will get me to a place where I can join in without fear.
But we’re not there yet.
She tugs at my arms as Jaro’s body reforms, her fingers automatically rising to the purple slashes climbing up from his throat to wrap around his ear. The top half of the mark is mostly covered by his hair, but I sense it won’t be for long.
It’s bold and dark and everything the wolf wanted.
“You already stabbed me,” Caed grumbles, dodging the redcap’s knife as he shuffles forward on his knees. “I’m not trying to hurt her. I just want to see my mark.” There’s a long pause, a deep breath, and then he meets Drystan’s cold eyes with surprising sincerity. “Please.”
Rose has stopped breathing, and I count the seconds before she remembers to do it again.
Drystan glances back at her, sees what I can only assume is her pleading expression, and sighs. “Fine.”
Jaro moves aside to let him approach, though the gold of the wolf flashes into his irises as Caed comes within touching distance. Rose extends her left arm, revealing a geometric sunburst not unlike the curse mark on his arm, except in vivid blue, the exact shade of his skin.
Caed’s eyes grow suspiciously shiny before he looks away and extends his right hand, showing her the matching violet design that shines across his palm and up to his forearm.
It’s a surprisingly delicate mark, given the heavy tattoos that cover his opposite arm, and I wonder if Danu did that to make a point, or simply to distinguish her curse from her blessing.
“Right. Back to my cosy little cell, then?” Caed’s voice is full of forced peppiness, but none of us is falling for it.
“No,” Rose replies.
“No?” I’m not sure which of us says it, because all five of us are probably wondering how she’s somehow found out about the surprise.
