Page 66 of Atop the Faerie Throne
“Jaro is different.” She doesn’t get it. I let out a long sigh, watching the sparks fly up into the cloudless night. “Anyway, what I wanted to say is, if I die?—”
“You won’t.”
“If Ido.” Goddess, she’s making this so difficult. “You’ve got them. And… don’t blame Rose, or her Guard. I mean it.”
Prae looks away from me. “I’ll get Gryffin to wither his intestines. He can experience being as constipated as he looks with that constant scowl of his.”
“Praedra.”
She levels me with her one grey eye, and I roll mine in response. “Fine, hold a lifelong grudge and screw up your only female friendship. I know you secretly loved getting dressed up with her for the Lantern Festival.”
“So what if I did?” She sweeps her braids back, then joins me in warming her hands over the flames. “It just means you needto get your ass moving and make Drystan trust you so I can dress up more often.”
And we’re back to that, again. Unfortunately, I have a strong suspicion that with Drystan, I’m going to have to wait for him to come to me. If I press him, it’ll just piss him off.
Regardless, I appease my cousin with a noncommittal grunt and even manage a small smile as she allows herself to be tugged back into the dancing by her stony-faced prince.
Thirty-three days. My gaze settles on the scalding embers before me. He’s as aware of the deadline as I am.
If Elatha was dead, perhaps there’d be a chance. But he’s not. He’s probably on his way to summon an ageless evil, and the fae can’t care less. They’re so used to shoving the Fomorians back across the sea and forgetting about them for a few centuries that they don’t understand it’s not enough this time.
And what good can I really do to convince them otherwise? The second I mention following my father to Fellgotha, Drystan will see it as proof of my disloyalty, then we’re back to square one.
“Deep thoughts?” Jaro asks, coming up beside me.
Huffing, I shake my head. “Dark ones.”
His knowing nod is as infuriating as the joyous fae still partying around us.
“Tell me you don’t agree with their decision,” I demand. “They’re sticking their heads in the sand, and it’s going to get them all killed.”
“This is the fourth war between our people,” Jaro says. “The elders see the Fomorians’ inevitable invasion and our rebuke as a part of life now. I don’t think the likes of Aiyana and Cressida ever believed that we might lose this time, not really. As long as there was a Nicnevin and a Guard, Danu would save them.”
“But this is different,” I protest. “That medallion has been in Elfhame’s vault since Balor died with it around his neck.”
“I believe you.” He raises his hand in surrender. “I’m simply trying to explain why the minor royals didn’t.”
“So what do you think we should do?” I turn fully to face him now, watching him stroke his beard thoughtfully. “Sit around and wait to find out?”
“I think,” Jaro begins. “Drystan is right. We can’t chase Elatha across the ocean into a cave full of iron and expect to have the upper hand. We also can’t cross the Endless Sea without experienced Fomorian sailors to show us the way, and those aren’t exactly forthcoming. Even if they were, the majority of our seaworthy vessels are in the Summer Court.”
“We can’t wait here and hope to survive whatever my father is planning.”
He nods, grimly. “Then our only option is faith in Danu.”
Ancestors. I want to punch the fucker.
“Danu—”
“Didthis.” Jaro waves a hand at the joyous fae all around us. “If you’re so against belief in the Goddess, have faith in your mate. She just raised a thousand dead warriors from the grave and took back her city. If not for the iron, she could’ve done it without any of us.”
True enough, I suppose, but the little queen is still no warrior, and honestly, I think she loathes what she did here.
“It was still creepy, though,” I mutter under my breath.
I have no issue with Rose’s grandmothers, or her magic in general, but unstoppable dead soldiers with gaping battle wounds? Never ever gonna get used to that shit.
Jaro scoffs, then quietly agrees, “Just be thankful you didn’t encounter the ghost of your dead father.”
