Page 94 of Atop the Faerie Throne
“What. Fomorian. Refugees?” Florian finally grinds out.
My own tone sinks lower as I answer. “The ones fleeing Elatha’s desperate attempts to unearth some ancient evil beneath his stinking mountain.”
The sobering thought—that perhaps Caed wasn’t talking out of his arse about these bàsron—hits both of us at the same time. No part of me wants to believe that the monsters are anything other than some tale told to scare Fomorian children.
Caed believes they’re real. More importantly, Rose does too.
Her instincts are guided by Danu, which means there’s a good chance that Elatha is about to unleash something terrible on the world.
Even if she’s wrong, her soft heart wouldn’t let the Fomorians suffer. Especially not now that she’s seen that half-blood child.
So it’s now my job to ensure this works.
“He’s throwing them at the Deep Caves,” I continue. “And I doubt these are the only ones who will end up on our doorstep.”
“Those same Fomorians are responsible forthis.” Florian gestures at the groups of mourners dotted along the wall, his icy eyes falling to his knights’ names briefly. “They can’t stay here.”
With that proclamation, he starts to stride back along the parapet.
“You say that like you don’t wear a Fomorian’s mark on your skin.” I fall into step beside him.
He shrugs, but his brow softens incrementally as he looks down at his arm. He’s very lucky that mating a Fomorian grants him a mark. Matings with mortals and some other races are one-sided, with the mortal gaining a mark, and the fae untouched.
Perhaps that’s yet another sign of the Goddess’s favour.
“Praedra and I have history. She’s committed to making this right, and she works night and day on improving our defences. These Fomorians have come here, seeking our aid, and what do they offer in return? They don’t know how to work the land. They can’t use magic. They have very few healers.”
“They can fight.”
“Would you fight side by side with one of them, knowing they might’ve been responsible for the death of your loved one?”
I offer him an unimpressed look. “I’ve accepted one into my mate’s bed, knowing full well that he’s killed dozens of fae. More than likely one or two members of my own Host.” I cut myself off there before I can reveal too much.
There are thirteen days until Beltaine. Thirteen. Less than two weeks. The fae in the inner city are already enthusiastically planning the celebrations, working with what they’ve got even though what they have is pitiful.
“You don’t trust him, though.”
The frustrated breath I draw in through my nose must clue him in to how little I want to discuss Caed’s Goddess-damned curse, because he quickly moves on.
“I don’t think the people will forgive so easily, either.”
Therein lies the problem. Rose still doesn’t even have the support of all four minor royals. Now she’s courting disaster by adding these refugees into the mix. Eero has been claiming all along that Rose has been corrupted by Fomorians. Having Caed in her Guard was bad enough. Now she’s welcoming the enemy into the Nicnevin’s own city…
“Her whole court is meeting to discuss the issue,” I finally say. “I hope Kitarni might have some insight.”
But when we get to the war room, it’s chaos.
Rose sits at the head of the table, her court opposite her, with Wraith’s white furry head in her lap. The others pore over the huge map of the city spread out on the surface.
“We just drove the Fomorians out, and now you want to open the doors and let them back in?” Caed shakes his head. “You can’t trust them.”
“It’s too much change, too fast,” Jaro agrees, and though his tone is softer, there’s still a touch of the wolf in his eyes. “Rosie, there’s been too much death, too recently, for anyone to even consider trying to make this work.”
“The Goddess demands it,” Kitarni places both rough brown hands on the map, leaning over it with her spine straight and her brows pinched in challenge. “Everyone saw Danu’s proclamation in the Temple. She claimed the Fomorians as her own.”
“Danu’s orders are one thing,” Gryffin says. “But very few people actually heard them. Short of her hand-delivering instructions to welcome the Fomorians with open arms to every fae in Faerie, it isn’t going to happen. People will die.”
Rose drops her head into one hand, hiding her dull violet eyes from my view, and I grimace as Caed opens his mouth to drop yet another speech about how his own kind can’t be trusted.
