Page 69 of Atop the Faerie Throne
I nod bitterly. “Fine.” Then I pause. “We should deal with the bodies.”
We’ve been cutting them down as we pass, laying them in rows just outside the walls. We didn’t have time to bury them, but I wanted them to have freedom in death. It didn’t appease the angry spirits lingering just out of earshot, but Drystan ensured none of them got close enough to give voice to their accusations.
He needn’t have bothered.
They weren’t thinking anything I wasn’t. That if we’d been faster, planned better, we might’ve been able to rescue them.
“They’ll get a proper burial,” Jaro assures me. “Cressida’s soldiers have started patrolling the riverbank again, and since most of the camps are on Autumn shores, it’s up to them to deal with it.”
“You can’t save everyone,” Bree reminds me. “Come on. Right now, there’s nothing good for us here. You haven’t properly slept since the battle. Return to Elfhame and remind yourself what you fought for.”
That sounds nice. Too nice. I can’t help but wonder if it’s selfish.
But Lore is in front of me in the next blink. “Are we finally going?” he asks, red gaze wide and eager. “Because as much as I love fucking you in nature, pet, there are seven hundred rooms in your palace still to be crossed off.”
Before any of us can say anything in response, I reappear in my courtyard.
I brace myself for the headache, but it never comes.
The stone has been swept clean, and the space bustles with soldiers who bow hurriedly, all of them rushing around, almost like they’re trying to escape?—
“I need to know how many of them there are!” my brother bellows, and I suppress a smile because I know there’s only one female in the realm who can bring out that side of him.
“For the last time, it was a prototype!” Prae snarls back. “Pro-To-Type. Meaning, anexperiment. I wouldn’t be surprised if Elatha’s goons broke it when they fired it.”
I creep towards the source of the yelling—the throne room—as Jaro appears behind me.
“Are we spying on them?” he asks, joining me as I loiter beside the doors.
“Nooo,” I whisper back. “They’re just being loud.”
His disbelief is written all over his face, but Florian is still ranting, albeit quieter now.
“I still can’t believe you’d design something like that in the first place.”
“We were on different sides of a war. How was I to know Caed would take one look at Rose and turn into a honeymallow?”
Florian isn’t appeased. “Weapons of that magnitude are unsportsmanlike.”
“I said I was sorry! And unsportsmanlike? It was war! You’ll be grateful for my unsportsmanlikeness when you see what I’ve been working on to deal with that Summer Court asshole.”
“I lost dozens of warriors. Good fae. Fae with mates, with families. Friends I’d had for centuries.”
There’s a hollow silence, one that rings with the echoes of Florian’s pain.
“Elatha never paid attention to me,” Prae murmurs. “I never thought he’d go through my workshop, let alone have someone read through my notes… Most Fomorians in his court can’t even read.”
“There will be a trial, Praedra. Peopledied. I don’t think you understand how serious this is.”
“So you think I’m stupid now?” She pauses, huffs out a long breath, and then tries again. “I said I was sorry. I offered to delay the mating until you’d processed?—”
“You didn’t fire that iron dust weapon, and I wasn’t waiting another minute for the bond. I’ve craved you for years, as you very well know, you crazy female. But now, there’s a very real chance that we’ll be living out our matehood in a cell in the dungeons or the Otherworld.”
“Your sister would never let that happen!”
“Sweetheart,” Gryffin interrupts. “He’s seelie. He’s probably still pissed that Elatha didn’t walk up to the gates and demand a duel like an honourable Fomorian.”
“Honourable Fomorian is an oxymoron,” Prae corrects.
