Chapter 28

Twenty-Eight

Rhoswyn

I ’ve been numb since we left Illidwen yesterday, taking the north road towards the Silfeyn. My trip to the temple yielded no answers, though the fire at the centre of the shrine turned violet after I blessed it—confirming my theory that the Goddess’s lack of blessings in the Summer Court were a result of her anger at Eero.

Now, resting against Lore’s chest, I stare blankly at the falling leaves around us. It’s raining. The cold droplets are fat, heavy, and deafening as they pummel the forest; but his hat has become so wide-brimmed that none of them can touch me.

Naris even tiptoes around puddles, hissing at Wraith whenever the barghest splashes through them without care.

The grim weather matches the mood of our group perfectly. Drystan is still angry with me, Bree is tenser than the strings on his harp, and Caed is shooting Gryffin scathing looks.

“We’ll reach Reyni’s camp by noon,” the autumn prince says, his voice muffled by the downpour and his own heavy clothes. “She’s one of my aunt’s closest generals.”

Ever since we left, he’s been uncharacteristically helpful, not that it’s brought Prae out of her quiet shell. The Fomorian princess is hard to read, though I get the impression she’s not exactly mad at him. Their auras reach for one another constantly, seeking one another out across whatever distance. I don’t think Gryffin really knows what to make of it either, hence how easily he’s divulging information.

“And she’ll have information on the whereabouts of Prince Uther?” Jaro asks.

“More than likely,” Gryffin agrees. “Though he hasn’t been seen for at least two weeks. If the Fomorians haven’t made any demands for his release to Elfhame, I’d assume he was Corcrannach food.”

Lore blinks away, leaving me undefended from the cold, and when I go to look for him, he’s on the back of Gryffin’s mare, knife to the prince’s throat.

“Do you think you can wither me before I take your head?” Lore asks, conversationally. “Keep upsetting my mate, and we’ll find out.”

A moment later, he’s behind me once more, nudging me to rest back against him with a sweet kiss to my temple. “Pet, you’re all wet, and not in the way I like. Gonna do something about that, bastard?”

Drystan stiffens, and my skin flares with warmth a second later.

Before he can repeat his endless assertions that leaving Illidwen was a bad idea, Jaro interrupts, “If Prince Uther is alive, we will find him.”

“And if he’s dead, we’ll torture and kill his murderers?” Lore asks, eyes gleaming.

“Exactly,” Caed agrees. “Eyeballs for everyone.”

“If you don’t keep him, can I?” Lore asks me, seriously. “He’s so much more fun than the others.”

My lips quirk up in a ghost of a smile, but I don’t think I’m capable of true humour right now.

It’s been two weeks. If Uther is dead…

No. I can’t even go there. He has to be alive.

“Up ahead,” Drystan says, quieting them.

Our whole group bristles, going from relaxed to warrior-alert in the space of those two words. I peer around Lore’s arms, searching for what Drystan is talking about, but I don’t have to look hard.

Three fae in leather armour stand in the midst of the falling leaves, spears held tightly as they assess our group. The male at the front has a red helmet, and I grin as I realise it’s another redcap.

“Hail, warriors of the Forest of Whispers,” Jaro calls, riding forward. “We seek an audience with General?—”

“We know why you’re here,” the redcap says. “My mate asked me to send you away. She has no interest in letting her warriors be used as pawns to test the powers of an unproven Nicnevin.”

“Tough shit.” Drystan rides forward. “General Reyni is sworn to obey Cressida’s orders, and Cressida swore allegiance to Nicnevin Rhoswyn. Your troops are hers to command. It doesn’t matter if she asks them to pick up every seashell on the western shore.”

“General Reyni is his mate?” Caed blurts.

The redcap takes offence, eyes narrowing as the feathered crown of his helmet turns to lethal spikes. “Let’s be honest, you don’t have a leg to stand on when it comes to criticising matings between high fae and under fae, shithead.”

“Ignore him,” Lore drawls. “He doesn’t get out much.”

The other redcap grins ferally. “If it isn’t Cressida’s escaped butcher. We missed your ugly face at court.”

“Awww, Finchikins, you missed me?” Lore blinks up to him, and the other redcap passes off his spear so they can clasp arms, exchanging those strange back slaps that males seem so fond of. “Let’s face it, Cressidick’s court was getting boring. It had been decades since we had a good slaughter.”

“We’ve got plenty of that here.” The other redcap looks beyond him. “But does your mate appreciate it as much as Cress did? I still remember the time she ordered you to take her to her knees in the middle of the Torvyn Estuary Massacre and fuck her in the blood of her?—”

Lore’s hand shoots out, snatching the other redcap’s tongue with his claws as rage flares bright and hot in my gut. Every single muscle in my body is taut as Lore cocks his head and smiles.

“Would you rather lose your tongue or your life?” Lore doesn’t seem to care about the two spears levelled at him. “Because my Nicnevin’s as gloriously murderous as I am, and I’m sure she’ll appreciate either.”

Gloriously murderous? He says it with the sincerity one might offer a compliment, but I’m struggling to reconcile those two words with myself.

The general’s mate rips away, uncaring of the blood that spurts as a result.

“Nicnevin or not, the elders all agree she’s no redcap mate unless?—”

“Was the rulebook lubed when they shoved it up your ass?” Lore demands. “I am an elder—though that makes me sound boring, which I most certainly am not —and I don’t remember agreeing to anything.”

The rest of my retinue is regarding the squabble between redcaps like it’s amusing, but I’m still caught between roaring anger and confusion.

Lore and Cressida were both so careful not to trigger any of my possessive instincts while I was in Illidwen. He wore my dust everywhere, and Cressida made certain to never be within touching distance. With her three mates always nearby, and their obvious devotion to one another, I sometimes managed to forget they’d been lovers for centuries.

But I’ve never heard of redcap elders, let alone whatever they’re arguing about.

“Besides,” Lore continues, blinking behind the redcap whose name I still don’t know with a smug smile. “During my mate’s fever, I got to feast on her sweet cunt in the middle of a battle. Far better than just fucking her in the aftermath.”

All the fire of my anger travels straight to my cheeks, and I resist the urge to hide. I’m pretty sure Caed, Prae, and Gryffin are all staring at me in shock.

“Almost scared ten years off my life,” Jaro mutters, breaking the silence that follows. “Now, are you going to escort us to Reyni, or do we have to wait out here all day?”

Lore blinks to me, and I lean back to whisper in his ear.

“Who’s that, and what did he mean I was no redcap mate?”

Lore grins down at me. “That is Finch. He’s got blood for brains, and knows absolutely nothing, little pet.”

His careful avoidance of my question doesn’t reassure me one bit, but I don’t have a chance to question him further, because Finch takes his spear back and bashes it against the trunk of a nearby tree.

I almost expect another portal, or perhaps a rope ladder.

Instead, the enormous tree lifts, branches groaning as the roots swell beneath it and raise the entire trunk upwards, revealing a dirt path five-men-wide that disappears down into the dirt.

“After you, Nicnevin.” The three of them offer me shallow bows, the kind I’m used to getting from the unseelie.

Maeve said they’d bow properly when I earned their respect, and that still hasn’t happened, not that I’m surprised.

They seem to respect blood and slaughter, and I don’t really make a habit of causing either if I can help it.

Drystan and Jaro ride first, with Bree, Prae, and Gryffin quietly bringing up the rear. That means Caed is forced next to us. His horse snickers nervously at being so close to Wraith. My Fomorian’s brows are furrowed, his eyes flicking back to Finch every so often.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, grimacing as the roots drop the tree back down with a heavy thud that makes the damp earth walls shake.

He bites his lip, then shakes his head. “Now’s not the time to explain.”

He’s right, because our tunnel opens out faster than I expected, giving way to a chasm full of… giant mushrooms?

Goddess, it really is. They’re huge. So big that, on the other side of the ravine, one of them is currently serving as a camping spot for several soldiers. Deep below, I can hear the rushing of water, and above us the trees and dirt of the forest floor teeter dangerously, scarcely holding on to the soil at the edge of the chasm.

The horses emerge onto one of the enormous cream polypores slowly, snickering as their hooves sink into the soft flesh. Wraith doesn’t seem to mind so much, but Drystan and the others take it as a cue to dismount, so I follow suit.

“This way,” Finch says, taking the lead. “Your mounts will be cared for while Reyni tells you to piss off back to Elfhame.”

Bree pulls me away from Lore just in time for my redcap to tackle Finch in a great bear hug that sends both of them rolling over the edge of the mushroom.

“Lore—!” My screech is cut off when they reappear right next to me, Lore on top and… tickling Finch?

“You’ve got to start showing my mate more respect, Finchy,” Lore says, and the redcap beneath him trembles with silent laughter.

“Stop it, you asshole!” Finch chokes.

“Why is he tickling him?” I ask Bree quietly.

The púca sighs. “After a while, redcaps get kind of immune to pain. Torturing them is fairly pointless. Hitting him wouldn’t even register as a punishment, so it appears Lore has gotten creative.”

“A’ight, a’ight,” Finch says, his hat retreating, forming a tiny flat cap that reveals the soft planes of his face. “I’ll stop. Enough, damn you.”

Lore, not content to win so easily, bends down and bops Finch on the nose. “Aww, your hat is practically cerise, no wonder you’re losing.”

The other redcap pushes up, groaning. Like Lore, he’s got chalky white skin and bright red eyes, but his hair is a slightly more silver shade to it and his jawline is harsher, almost as strong as Caed’s.

“Like you can talk. Yours is salmon.”

Lore looks at him, aghast. “Well, there’s only one solution, then.”

A second later, they’re both gone.

“Great,” Drystan snarls. “We’ve lost our guide. You’d think as the mate of a legendary general, he’d have a little more self-control.”

“Have you ever met a redcap who did?” Bree asks pointedly. “Because I haven’t.”

“Come on,” Jaro says, moving past him. “I’m sure Reyni is down here somewhere.”

“Does she have any children?” Caed asks, butting into the conversation. “Her and the redcap.”

Bree looks at him, frowning. “They had a daughter. Liana. She was lost to a raid on the northern forts a half century ago. I’d stay back and let the others do the talking. She has no love for Fomorians.”

Caed jerks, but none of the others catch it.

“Did you know her?” I ask, pulling free of Bree’s arms to fall into step beside him.

My púca doesn’t protest, but takes my hand instead, helping me down the steps carved into the flesh of the mushrooms and into an adjoining open cave.

I doubt he did. Caed didn’t talk to fae in Fellgotha. He only knew Bram because they were both in the Deep caves.

So when his turquoise eyes flash with pain, I frown. “You did. Who was she?”

A servant? A friend? Something more? My jealousy, already riled by the mental image of Lore and Cressida fucking in front of an army of redcaps, flares again, and I fight to tamp it down.

Goddess, I am not this person. Fae instincts may be wild, but I know my mates had lives before me.

“My mother,” Caed murmurs, and Bree’s head snaps up.

“That’s not possible.” My púca looks sick. “Fae are only fertile?—”

“During their fevers, yes. But what do you think a bunch of warriors do when a pretty young fairy has the misfortune to go through her fever under the mountain?” Caed looks away sharply. “She was gifted to my father ‘for the experience’. She died when I was so young that I didn’t even know her name until Danu told me.”

That quickly, a fae I don’t recognise is in front of him. Her hair is a wild mess of black strands, whipped up by the agitated flapping of her round bumble bee wings.

“General Reyni—” Jaro begins, but her eyes—bright, turquoise gems—are fixed on Caed.

She was here all along, I realise, likely wearing a glamour to disguise herself. Was she spying on us?

“How did she die?” Caed flinches at the harshness in her tone, and the general advances. “How did my daughter die?”

“Elatha was pleased with her, so he chained her in a cell and bound her with iron while he waited for her next fever.” Caed’s throat bobs as he swallows, and I can see the haunting fog of remembered horror creeping into his eyes. “He… forgot about her. She was so weakened by the metal that she starved to death. He only realised when he took me to visit her, and we found her corpse.”

I cannot imagine how awful that must have been, to die chained and forgotten in the darkness. And Caed… How old was he when he found his mother dead and forgotten in a cell?

I look to Drystan, a horrified certainty hitting me. The Wild Hunt never collects the souls of the dead from Fellgotha. For all we know, Caed’s mother’s ghost has been stuck in the dark all this time.

Reyni looks like she might be sick, but her next words are barbed with cruelty. “Get out of my camp, Fomorian.”

What? “He’s your grandson.”

“He’s the son of the monster that took my daughter from me.” Reyni paces away, the promise of violence written in the sharp jerk of her movements. “He’s killed hundreds of our people, sentenced Goddess-knows how many more to the same fate as Liana. As far as I’m concerned, he’s not of my blood.”

Caed looks like he’s been slapped. “Fine.”

My hand rises, ready to grab him, but he dodges, turning on his heel and taking off like a hundred barghests are chasing him.

“You bitch.” Prae shoves into the space where he was. “How fucking dare you? You have no idea what Caed went through to earn the privilege of seeing his mother. He is nothing like Elatha.”

“So he’s never captured fae?” Reyni challenges. “Never executed one of us for sport? Don’t make me laugh.”

Prae doesn’t back down. “He never took captives, and when he was forced to execute prisoners, he chose the ones who physically couldn’t take their enslavement anymore. He gave them the mercy his mother was denied.”

My mind flashes back to the throne room beneath the mountain, and the pit full of fae that Caed killed with those ghost blades. Was that really a mercy killing? Why wouldn’t he just tell me that?

He’s let me believe the worst of him since I escaped.

“When he comes back, you’re going to apologise.” I straighten my spine as I say it. “And while you’re at it, you’re going to explain why you thought spying on my private conversations was a good idea.” General Reyni stiffens, and I raise an eyebrow. “Unless you have some other plausible explanation for why you appeared when you did?”

“You’re an untested Nicnevin, swaggering into my war camp with a plan that’s likely to get my warriors killed.” Reyni looks about as impressed with me as Cressida was, and I take a deep breath. Goddess save me from the females of the autumn court.

“You’re right on all counts,” I admit. “But I am still your Nicnevin. If you try something like that again, I’ll let Lore kill you.”

Turning to Prae and Gryffin, I gesture in the direction Caed went with my chin. “Find him and bring him back.”

“Yes, Nicnevin.” Gryffin bows, and Prae gives Reyni one last withering look before following.

I pin the general with a look. “Now, you’re going to tell me where you last saw my brother.”