Page 90 of Atop the Faerie Throne
He raises a single dark brow, his dry humour filling the bond. “We know you, dragonfly.” Taking my hand, he kisses my knuckles softly. “Whatever you decide, we’ll support.”
“And if Daddy D has a problem with it, I can always blink him to the nearest swamp to cool off,” Lore announces, his glee restored at the thought.
Goddess, I don’t even want to imagine what Drystan’s going to say about what I’m about to do.
“Could you get Caed for me?” I ask my redcap, before he can preemptively drop my poor grumpy Guard into some bog. “I’d like his opinion.” The redcap nods, disappearing as I turn my attention back to my guides. “No weapons?”
“None,” Mab confirms.
But Maeve interjects, “That doesn’t mean they aren’t dangerous.”
“We’ll stay close,” Mab promises.
“But invisible,” Titania finally pipes up, straightening a little when the other two stare at her. “She’s forging her own path. Three prejudiced old crones aren’t going to be much help here.” She leans in to hug me, making me shiver. “We’re so proud of you, dear heart. But be careful.”
“We’re a thought away,” Maeve mutters, shooting the swelling crowd of Fomorians a sideways glare full of mistrust.
Whatever Mab might’ve said as they disappear is drowned out by Lore’s whistling as he drops Caed on my left.
“Oh, joy,” Caed groans. “When the redcap said we were going to a family reunion, I didn’t realise he meant another battle.” He turns towards Lore. “Can you go grab my crossbow?”
Before Lore can do just that, I step between them.
“I hope it won’t come to that.” I slip my hand into his, hoping the contact will distract him long enough for me to make my case. “According to Mab, they’re refugees. I want you with me when I meet them.”
“Meet them?” Caed snorts. “They’re Fomorians. We don’t negotiate, and we don’t seek refuge with fae.”
I shrug. “That was before. Now, can we hurry this up? I just felt a whole bunch of alarm from Drystan’s end of the bond, and I’m pretty sure both he and Jaro are on their way.”
A half-dozen ghostly swords appear at my request, ready and pointing towards the Fomorians. They follow us as we lead the way. Bree and Lore fall easily into step on either side, both clutching weapons of their own.
“Can we lose the swords?” I ask, knowing it’s useless.
“The dour knight will kill me if he thinks I’m not defending you properly.” Caed pauses. “I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t decide this is all some kind of trap I’ve dreamed up to drag your perfect ass back to Fellgotha.”
Bree drops the invisibility glamour the moment we’re within earshot of the gathered Fomorians, and despite my hopes, I can’t help but brace, waiting for violence to erupt.
They don’t rush us or draw hidden weapons out of nowhere, or attack. Instead, they drop to their knees, a move which drags forth memories of another group of Fomorians kneeling before Elatha. Then they go one step further, pressing their foreheads to the dirt.
Far from reassuring me, their reaction ratchets up the anxiety already churning in my gut.
Refugees, Mab called them. Too late, I find myself wondering what the proud, war-like people could be fleeing.
“Speak,” Caed snaps, but down the bond, his own unease echoes clear and strong. “And the first lie you tell, you all die.”
“We’re seeking sanctuary,” a heavy-set male with a brutal scar through his lip finally grouches. “The king has gone mad.”
“He’s sending dozens of warriors into the Deep Caves,” a female on our left pipes up. “Every day, he forces us to open up more of the old entrances and dig deeper. The tunnel wyrms are slaughtering our people by the dozens.”
Caed’s hand tenses on mine, and the swords around us tremble.
“Why?” I ask, but I’m afraid I already know the answer.
“He wants Balor’s portal,” the first male stutters. “He executed the elders for speaking up against him.”
Not one lie.
The first female looks up, her grey eyes pinning me to the spot. “You took in Caedmon and Praedra. Even a fucking fairy bargain is better than dying down there in the dark.”
