Page 33 of Atop the Faerie Throne
His touch, and the comfort all five of them are sending down the mating bonds, steady me as we reach the doors to my throne room.
I do my best to straighten my spine and shake off his hold. Whatever happens, I am the Nicnevin, and I will not cower before Elatha. Even if my heart is galloping in my chest and I’m physically sick with fear.
I’m not alone. My Guard is here this time, and that changes everything.
The doors swing open…and all of my resolve crumples like paper.
Eleven
Rhoswyn
Once upon a time, I entered this room in a beautiful dress to the sound of applause from a crowd of refined courtiers. The hawthorn throne was decked in flowers, the ceiling dripped with wisteria blooms and fae lights, and expensive floral perfumes flirted lightly with the freshness of the breeze.
It hasn’t taken long for Elatha to sully the room beyond recognition.
The Fomorians have brought in huge tables, arranging the space like one of their feast halls. They line the benches, drinking from horns and chewing on roasted meat as they yell to be heard over the pipes and drums filling the air. But the music falls silent at our arrival, and it takes less than a heartbeat for them to single us out as the cause. A hundred pairs of grey eyes watch Caed and me with wicked delight, and one of them actually spits in our direction.
Caed tugs me forward, using the shackles like a leash, but I freeze when somethingdripson me, drawing my eyes to the ceiling.
The boughs of the wisteria are blackened and burnt, like all the other plants in the room. But that’s not what turns my stomach and sends my heartbeat catapulting into my throat.
Instead of flowers, there areheadshanging from each vine. The Fomorians have lashed their victims’ skulls to the deadened plant with rope. The messy wounds at their necks still weep blood, turning the iron below sticky beneath my boots.
It’s not just soldiers who have been treated this way. Servants. Priests. Anyone who didn’t make it out in time must’ve been subjected to this. Black veins crawl across their faces from the iron they must have inhaled.
Goddess. I recognise some of them. That’s Ghislane, the banshee who oversaw the housekeeping, and over there, Ascal, Kendel, and Merith, who all served directly under Florian, spin in the breeze, their final expressions warped with pain.
And wings. So many ruined wings flutter in the spaces between the heads. Refracting the light like grisly sun catchers.
This is Elatha’s trophy collection.
I feel Jaro’s shock, and then his grief, a second before he manages to lock it all down behind a tough mask.
He grew up in the palace. He knew most of these fae.
The horror threatens to crush me, but I know if I let it, these fae will never receive justice for what was done to them.
In vain, I reach for Danu. She’s there, and she ispissed, but the iron blocks me from taking that final step towards her.
“Ah, finally. My useless heir returns. If only the summer king would be so prompt.”
There he is. Elatha sits onmythrone, hands spread wide like he’s savouring the moment. His flat black eyes are as cold as ever as the anticipation in the room ratchets up a notch.
Above him, with his arms tied out to branches on either side of him like a cross, is a familiar fae. His armour is dented and bloody, and his silver hair has been roughly shorn short until his scalp bleeds in places. All of that, combined with the way my head is spinning, is why it takes me a second to recognise him.
Florian.
My brother isn’t conscious, and blackened lines spread out from his eyes, nose, and mouth. I can’t look away, searching for signs of life right up until Caed puts himself bodily between me and the rest of the room.
We’ve stopped in the doorway, and I feel his relief pour through me. I really, really hope that means that he’s fulfilled his orders. Carrying out my crazy plan with him on our side will be infinitely easier than having to fight him, which is exactly why Bree’s primary objective is to keep Elatha from using Caed’s name again.
The iron doesn’t affect my mates as badly as it does me. I just hope they’ll still be able to use their magic while surrounded by so much of it.
Goddess. What if they can’t? What if Bree can’t protect Caed from Elatha’s orders?
Drystan made sure we planned for me not being able to use my powers. Lore was going to blink me to an unoccupied part of the palace, and we were going to continue from there. But the iron is so thick I can’t see my guides, let alone the knights I’m supposed to be calling back.
“Bring her closer,” Elatha orders. “And someone chuck him in the dungeons. He’s served his purpose.”
