Chapter 29

Twenty-Nine

Caed

W hat was I even expecting when I met my grandparents? Hugs and tears? Oh, come on. What fae in their right mind would be happy to know they’re related to the blade prince?

I stomp through the fucking forest like an elephant, uncaring if the fae decide to shoot me. We’re close to the front lines, maybe if I’m lucky they’ll mistake me for one of my father’s people and give me an excuse to retaliate.

Fighting would be good right about now. Destroying something could also work, but this stupid court is struggling enough from my past actions without me setting it ablaze… again.

I’m a quarter redcap.

Fuck, that explains a lot. Goddess, Lore is going to love this, I can just tell.

I should’ve seen it coming. It’s not like the line of Balor has a history of happy families. Elatha murdered his own mother, Ethniu, when he was just over a century old. And that was after Ethniu murdered her brother, King Morc, to claim the throne on behalf of her son. Prae’s mother orchestrated my brother’s death, and my infant sister’s, and then was killed in turn by my father—her brother.

Now I’m trying to join the fucked-up cycle with a little patricide of my own.

Yeah, having fae grandparents who want me dead shouldn’t be that much of a surprise.

I hear the skirmish before I see it. The unmistakable clash of weapons and growls of warriors carries through the trees in a way that makes it impossible to determine what direction it’s coming from. Fucking Forest of Whispers.

Still, I pick a direction and draw my sword.

The uncomplicated mess of battle sounds pretty damned good right about now, and Danu must be smiling on me for once because I find them a few minutes later.

It’s an ambush, a lone brown bear shifter against over a dozen of my kind. There are a handful of fallen—both fae and Fomorian—on the ground around them, already being covered in the thick carpet of leaves and swept away by opportunistic roots.

You’ve got to appreciate how easy it is to dispose of bodies in this court.

The bear shifter roars, rearing onto her hind legs to swipe at one of her larger attackers. She’s huge. Easily twice the height of me, with wicked scars across her body from past battles. Her fluffy coat gets splattered as those huge paws deal a devastating blow, but she takes a deep slash to her vulnerable underbelly in the process. Her back is to a tree, preventing them from flanking her, but she won’t last long like this.

Two against those numbers aren’t much better than one. Maybe it would be more even if I had my magic, but Danu ensured I can only use that to protect Rose.

Whatever. I can’t die, and I really want to rip someone apart right now. With a snarl, I pounce, taking the hand of the warrior about to catch the she-bear from behind.

She roars at my interference but adapts quickly enough. I give her room, focusing on the ones trying to get a sneaky blow into her side, and it feels good.

Right up until I notice the kid.

A bear cub is curled into the roots of the tree nearest us, eyes wide as it watches us battle it out. A doomed battle side by side with a warrior is one thing. A fight where a kid gets orphaned is another.

“Get the child and go,” I growl at the bear. “Now.”

She roars out an answer that shakes me down to the bone, but I don’t have time for her.

“You need that to be an order from the Nicnevin’s Guard?” I demand, flexing the title for the first time as I spear my sword into the gut of a Fomorian wielding a mace.

A crossbow bolt slams into the trunk, punctuating my statement, and I curse as I catch sight of the reinforcements streaming towards us.

My fucking impulsive search for a fight is about to land me in a world of pain.

The bear roars again, but this time there’s regret there. She’s seen it, too, and she’s going to take the way out I’m offering and protect her cub. Something painful rips in my chest at the sight of her turning and scooping the small brown ball of fur up in her mouth.

She’s gone in the next second, glamour hiding her as she darts into the forest.

“Hey Danu, you fucking bitch, now would be a great time to give me my magic back,” I snarl, hissing as a bolt slams into my thigh.

But no. The Goddess abandoned me long ago. I don’t know why I expected her to be any different now.

Two more go down before a huge bastard slugs me in the face with his meaty fist. My nose snaps, blood filling my mouth, and I spit it at him. But it’s over.

I manage to kill one more before the next crossbow bolt gets lucky, catching me in the shoulder with a thud that sends me spinning off balance. I jab outwards with my sword, but my attackers bat it away with ease.

I keep fighting, keep struggling, making them curse and swear with the effort it takes to restrain me. But it doesn’t matter. They have the numbers, and soon I’m pinned to the ground with a knee in my back and my arms shackled.

“We went bear hunting and caught ourselves a traitor,” the one with the crossbow booms. “Dressed up like a fairy, too. I’m sure his daddy won’t like that.”

“Fuck. You.” I spit more blood in their direction.

“You wish,” he says. “You might be as pretty as a fairy, but I’m not willing to risk whatever dick rot your whore of a Nicnevin’s given you.”

“Was it worth it?” another of the warriors asks. “A few months of that tight snatch for whatever the king will do to you now?”

Someone backhands me around the face so hard my eyes water, but I lean into it. I’m no stranger to pain. This is like being wrapped in the familiar, fiery embrace of a long-lost friend.

A foot connects with my ribs, but I don’t answer them. I can’t, because I’m pretty sure they’ve dislocated my jaw.

The next hit knocks me out.

My eyes are crusted with dirt as I battle my way back to consciousness with a groan. I’m being dragged, a hand under each of my arms, through the wastes of a burnt-out forest. The tree stumps stand vigil as my feet trail through mud. I ache, like my body is one great big bruise. They probably kept on beating me after I was unconscious. Assholes.

Twisting hunger gnaws at me, letting me know it’s been a while since I last ate, but I have no idea how much time has passed. I’m fairly certain they’ve knocked me out more than once on the journey.

Unfortunately, whatever they did might’ve knocked loose a kernel of common sense, because I suddenly realise how indescribably bad this situation is.

Ahead of us, a great stakewall has been erected, and at the top, a single cerulean flag with three drakes emblazoned across it in black and white has been raised.

The king’s standard.

No. That’s not possible. Elatha has never left Fellgotha. Not once. If this is true… His armada must already be on the way.

Shit. Of all the times for me to fuck up…

The gates swing open as we draw close, and the jeering starts. I’d have to be stupid not to see the similarity to the way I leashed Rose and dragged her into a camp just like this one. If I’m dragged back to Fellgotha, I’ll be treated worse than she was, and unlike her, I have no defenders.

Unless I can find some miraculous way out of here, my death at Beltaine is assured. There is absolutely no way that the dullahan will believe I didn’t just run back to my father’s side of my own free will. He’ll probably convince Rose that I’m having tea parties under the mountain rather than being tortured and eventually killed when Danu strips me of my immortality.

Is this what the Goddess wants? Parity between me and her daughter before my death?

Well, I have no plans to make it fucking easy for her.

They pelt me with rocks as I’m dragged through the camp—of course they do. If there’s one thing our people hate more than a fae, it’s a traitor. And we don’t have many of those, so they’re probably champing at the bit to claim their pound of flesh.

Without stopping, I’m forced to my feet, then made to stumble under the flap of the largest tent in the camp before my knees are kicked out from under me and I’m left to sprawl on the rugs in my own blood and filth.

There’s a sinister silence, the kind I’m all too familiar with, but which I’d hoped to never feel pressing against my skin again. Even the wind seems to still.

My father is here, and he’s pissed.

“Get those stupid fairy clothes off him.”

My gut plummets. If he does that, he’ll see?—

The fabric stings as it’s torn free. I know the instant he catches sight of the tattoo because the tension ratchets up another notch until his displeasure is licking at my skin like flames. I don’t dare look up. If I do, I’ll crack.

All of my bravado has fled, and in its place is the one emotion that’s always lurked beneath our every encounter, but that I’m only now admitting to myself exists. Fear.

He hasn’t been this mad since I killed Bres.

“Shall we leave him to rot with the fairy prince?” Someone suggests.

Another over-eager soldier butts in, “How about we bury him up to his neck, and leave him for those creepy fae maggots?”

Elatha is less than enthusiastic about the suggestions. “Get. Out.”

The dirt beneath me shudders with the speed at which his orders are obeyed. I take a deep breath. My father is strong, but I have a chance of overpowering him. If we’re alone, then?—

“Draard, help my son to bow. He appears to be having trouble remembering how to greet his king.”

Shit. Draard is here, which makes this two against one. I’m not sure I even count as one, given that my ribs are probably broken.

My cousin isn’t gentle, not that I expected him to be, and I grimace as he buries his fist in my gut, making me bend double as my lungs seize in protest. Then he uses my short hair to drag me up and force me to glare up at the man on the throne before me through watery eyes.

It’s not really a throne, but a heavy gilt armchair, looted from one of the fae strongholds. Fomorians will see the gold, leather and wood as extreme displays of wealth, but a fae might laugh if they saw him sitting on it.

Elatha has never crossed the Endless Sea, so he doesn’t know how many similar chairs are scattered about the land. I doubt he cares.

“Did you not appreciate the fine accommodations I left you in?” Elatha asks. “Answer me.”

Draard’s presence behind me moves closer until the heat of him is against my back.

He’s giving me a chance, I realise. If I had left to fetch Rose and regain my honour, he might’ve punished me and moved on. I wish I could say that, even if it wasn’t true. But I can’t lie to my father, he saw to that when I was a child. Swallowing, I meet his dead eyes and cough up blood.

“The cell wasn’t quite to my tastes.”

The fingers in my hair tighten.

“Insolent as ever. We’ll deal with that when the time comes.” Elatha stands, crossing the gap between us. “You chose to betray me, didn’t you? You chose them over your own people.”

He knows I did, and perhaps that’s why he doesn’t insist on an answer this time.

Long blue fingers trace down my cheek in a mockery of a paternal gesture before gripping my chin between long, pointed nails that dig into my flesh.

“If you want to be treated like them so badly, I’ll oblige. Caedmon Fomorii”—my breath whooshes out as icy hands reach into my gut and clench hard—“tell me why you chose to leave my halls and take up with a weak fairy rather than returning her to Fellgotha.”

He’s using my name, and that’s how I know I’m not getting out of this alive.

It is unacceptable for a descendant of Balor to have that weakness. Which means he no longer considers me his son, no longer considers me Fomorian.

And though I struggle, I can’t help the words from falling free. “I left because Danu cursed me, and I stayed with her because—” I choke, the words pulling from my chest. “Because I love her. I couldn’t let you hurt her.”

The confession shocks them as much as it does me. Elatha drops my face like he’s been stung, only to rear back and slap me so hard that lights twinkle across my vision. Even Draard is silent, like he understands how close his king is to snapping and killing everyone.

I let out a hoarse laugh at my own stupidity. Of course, it would take my psychopathic father forcing the truth from me for me to finally realise the depth of my own feelings.

I’m in love with the fae queen.

I really should’ve realised it sooner. Loving anyone has only ever brought me pain, and from day one, Rose has been no exception.

Since meeting her, I’ve been imprisoned, flayed, tortured, beaten… and now I’m going to die for her. Perhaps Danu’s curse is really a blessing because all of this hurt will finally end.

Elatha’s boot drives into my gut, winding me until my laughter cuts off.

He’s not done.

“Caedmon Fomorii, tell me everything you’ve seen or heard about the fae’s war plans and strategies, and then explain how you’ve been cursed.”

“I heard nothing,” I laugh. “Nothing you can use, anyway. They don’t trust me.”

For the first time in my life, I’m grateful for the dullahan’s insistence on keeping me out of every single strategy meeting. Elatha’s fury when I know nothing of consequence is painful, but the idea of him using that knowledge against Rose is worse.

But my name still compels me to answer his second question. The sordid details of my curse spill out of me like a flood, pulled free like splinters from my throat. When I tell him about the mark, Draard scoffs.

“You were literally by her side for months, and yet you only managed to get two of them to trust you?”

Elatha examines my arm. The wolf’s head is a deep grey that’s almost half as dark as the top hat now. I was so close to winning Jaro’s trust. I grimace at the memory of how hopeful it made me when I first saw it.

My father grabs a scrap of my torn shirt and wipes at the marks. Neck aching, I swallow a grimace as I realise there’s the faintest outline of a harp in the frame closest to my wrist.

“Almost three,” he murmurs. “This changes things.”

No. No, it doesn’t, I think, desperately. “Just torture me, kill me, and be done with it.”

“Why would I do that when I possess the very things needed to finally make you useful?” The king steps back. “And I must say, having your unquestioning obedience is growing on me. I should’ve done this sooner. You were never a fitting heir of Balor, but you’ve always been a useful weapon.”

Goddess , I pray, hoping she’ll take pity on me for once in my life. Please, let me die.