Page 41 of Atop the Faerie Throne
Danu is me.
We are one, and I am lost.
Fourteen
Caed
Icurse myself a thousand different ways for taking off, even as I sprint after Elatha, holding my guts together with one arm.
He can’t get away.
If he survives this, then I’m still under his control. Rose will never be safe around me, and there’s no chance that I’ll ever earn the dullahan’s trust.
“Slow down,” Bricriu calls, and I adjust my pace a little for the struggling fae.
The iron is thicker here, but he’s my best chance of not being ordered into something even worse. It would be suicidal to chase my father without him.
The power flowing to us from Rose drips away, and pain from the barely healed wound to my abdomen hits me full force as I adjust. Fuck. I hope that’s not a bad sign.
The others are supposed to keep her safe.
Bree draws up alongside me as we burst into the courtyard. “We have to get him before he reaches?—”
“Bastard!” Draard’s voice thunders above the shouts and the fighting, and I grimace as he plants his bulk between us and the exit, trapping us in the courtyard. Fuck. My father is getting farther away by the second.
“I call right of challenge,” he declares in Fomorian, drawing a great battle axe from where it’s strapped across his back.
My eyes roll before I can stop myself. The most basic laws of challenge are that the king has to be present to grant permission, and that they can’t be settled in the middle of a battle. Honestly, I didn’t pay attention to the elders’ lessons, but Draard must’ve actively ignored them.
“When you die, the Ancestors will praise me for culling the stupid.” I strain hopefully for my magic, then grin when it’s right there, waiting for me.
Shit, if my magic is back, that means… “Bree. The king!”
“On it,” the púca replies, raising a glamour and disappearing.
“I’m right behind you,” I promise his retreating form. “This won’t take long.”
Draard scoffs, circling me while dragging his axe along the ground, assaulting my ears with the grinding scraping noise that follows. “You’re nothing without your stupid fairy magic.”
He doesn’t know that Rose’s mating mark unleashed my swords from the stupid curse. Somehow, the change in the tattoo hasn’t clicked in his tiny brain.
My pride screams at me to defeat him without my powers to prove a point. As satisfying as that would undoubtedly be, my father is getting away. Draard lifts his axe, swinging it in a wide arc as he builds momentum for what will probably be a crushing blow.
All six of my ghost swords appear around his neck in a perfect ring. Anger bleeds into his face, but some shred of self-preservation stops him in place. The heavy weapon falls to the ground in a clunk that sends chips of stone flying.
“Face me like a true son of Balor, you?—”
“You deserve a slower death,” I interrupt. “But it would be a waste of my fucking time.”
As one, all six blades swing, separating his head from his shoulders in a precise sweep. Disturbingly, he manages a single step forward before his head topples. The white locks of his warrior braids are stained red as it rolls through the blood pooling on the floor. The rest of him follows shortly after, but I don’t stay to piss on his corpse like I want to.
I have bigger problems.
Maybe I’ll offer to let the redcap mutilate his remains if we survive this. Seems like the crazy shit he’d be into.
“You’re the Ancestors’ problem now,” I mutter, jogging past his body without a second glance.
The púca hasn’t gotten far, and neither has my father. Unfortunately, that’s because the king has found reinforcements, and Bree is taking them on alone, with only his animals to help him.
