Chapter 35

Thirty-Five

Drystan

C ompromise is not a word I enjoy adding to my vocabulary.

Fae lords do not compromise. We order, and fae obey.

Unless, apparently, that fae is a Nicnevin whose stubbornness might even be equal to my own.

My sword plunges roughly into the chest of the Fomorian beneath me, cutting his miserable life short with a wet gurgle. Blizzard’s hooves stamp down, crushing his skull with a fierce whinny. Behind us, two spirits made flesh slowly dissolve into nothing, the scout they took care of crumpling to the ground. An answering rush of power quickly follows as Rose grounds her magic along our bond.

She kept to her side of the bargain, at least. No more than a dozen spirits at any one time, and she’s not stepped foot amongst all of this iron.

Begrudgingly, I do have to admit that it’s working. Her assistance over the last few days has been… helpful.

My whole body shudders, and I resolve to never ever mention that truth aloud. If she finds out, she’ll only put herself in more danger, and I’m not sure my heart can take much more of this.

The situation brings to mind a different bargain, one made in anger, but which is pressing ever more firmly against my consciousness with every step we take towards the Torvyn.

When Ashton took my hand during Rose’s time in Fellgotha, I promised that she’d enter Cedwyn’s court with a full knowledge of his hospitality. The trouble is, I’m not sure what the bargain will demand. How deep the confession I’m to deliver will claw into my past.

I have a horrible feeling that it’s going to make me tell her everything . Not that I’m even certain where to begin on that torrid little tale.

Now, the Torvyn—the river between Autumn and Winter that the Fomorians guard zealously—is a little over two hours away. Every step we take brings us closer to a deadline I can’t ignore. I need to figure out what I’m going to do about it before the deepening chill gives way to snow flurries and treacherous mountain paths.

Rose is behind me, the floaty purple sleeves of her tunic blowing in the wind as she sits atop Wraith, surveying with sad eyes the now-dead pair of Fomorian scouts who chose to make this forest shrine their camp for the night. She rides more confidently now that she’s had some practice, and her fear of horses doesn’t seem to extend to Wraith.

It’s a good thing she’s doing so well with him.

Riding into Calimnel on a barghest will send a priceless impression of strength to Cedwyn and my mother. It might even put off their inevitable discovery of our Nicnevin’s soft, vulnerable heart until after he’s sworn his vow.

Dragging my gaze from her, I give the púca a calculating look, then scan the others. There’s absolutely no way in this realm or the next that I want to tell my sordid tale in front of Caed and his cousin. I’d rather not say anything in front of the others, either, but the nosy assholes will never let us have a private conversation. Maybe I can get Bree to agree to use his magic to hide it from them…

No. I may hate it, but there are things they need to know too, for Rose’s safety if nothing else. I’m just going to have to swallow my Goddess-damned pride and talk through it.

At least this shrine is sheltered and away from prying eyes. The worn statue is nestled in a carpet of shamrocks beneath an ancient moss-shrouded tree. It’s fallen into disrepair, covered in dirt and lichen, until the features of the figure depicted and the words inscribed below are barely recognisable.

There’s no chance of us being overheard.

“We should make camp here,” I suggest, slipping from my saddle. “Rose can bless the statue while we wait for Lorcan’s return.”

It would be stupid to try and enter the Winter Court without him. I suspect he knows… enough of what’s transpired, given his age and covert mentions of my parents. The others are young by fae standards—under a thousand—and so most of this will be news to them.

Jaro dismounts wordlessly, passing me his reins as he goes to help our mate down from Wraith’s back. Mounting and dismounting are the only parts of riding she still struggles with, but she’s getting there. We wait quietly as she tiptoes up to the statue, laying her hand on the stump of what might have been a stone arm and murmuring something quietly.

Decades of dereliction fall away beneath her touch. The warm smile of the flower-crowned banshee and the embroidered folds of her dress becoming as clear as they were when she was made.

From below, a rock rises up, revealing itself to be her lost arm clutching an intricately carved sewing basket. The clover beneath her bursts into full, fluffy white blooms that should’ve been impossible in Autumn, making my nose itch, and some of the ones closest to her even spout fourth leaves.

I roll my eyes at Danu’s dramatics.

Rose crouches, reading the inscription at the base of the shrine.

I don’t like the morose blue permeating the soft edges of her shielded aura, so perhaps that’s why I interrupt her. “There are some things you should all know before we enter the Winter Court.”

Jaro hesitates midway through setting up the fire pit.

Bree shudders. “I’ve heard the stories.”

“What a shock.” Caed rolls his eyes, dragging the first scout’s corpse away from the base of the statue, towards the woods. “Yet another stupidly deadly court. And this one comes with the added joy of getting our balls frozen off before we even step foot in Calimnel.”

“No one has to worry about freezing,” I grind out, although I’m seriously debating leaving him to fend for himself.

No one else seems to find it suspicious that he just happened to escape and destroy an entire camp full of his own people, returning Rose’s brother to her in the process. Not one person has mentioned how he dodged all of my questions, either. It’s a little too convenient. Rose asked me to drop the matter, so I’m holding my tongue until I have more proof, but when I do…

He’ll make his move soon. He’ll have to. Beltaine is two scant months away, and self-preservation will spur him to do something.

It’s frustrating that I have to prioritise keeping my eye on Rose. Right now, she needs me more. She’s playing with spirits that the others can’t even see, but if I could follow Caed more closely…

A wave of my hand makes fire leap up in the middle of the glen, and I tether the horses swiftly before taking a seat on a leaf-covered patch of earth. Rose crosses the space to join me, and I frown in confusion. Usually she sits in Jaro’s lap, or beside Bree, where his wings can shelter her from the cold breeze.

She stares at me wordlessly, and I stare back.

She can’t mean to… Well, I suppose there’s only one way to test the theory.

Slowly, I lean back, offering my lap, and the smile she offers as she takes it makes the pale shadow of her aura jump a little. Remembering Bree’s instructions from Siabetha, I close my arms around her, watching as the others finish assembling camp.

“I made a bargain with Ashton,” I murmur, keeping my voice low despite the fact that it will do nothing to stop the sensitive ears around us hearing me. “If he took my hand, I promised to tell you everything about Cedwyn’s court. I’d… appreciate it, if you didn’t interrupt, or react, though I’m sure your mortal predisposition will make that difficult.”

She stiffens, reaffirming my belief that I am terrible at hugging, but doesn’t pull away.

“I’ll try.”

“Has anyone mentioned the Purge of House Iceblyd during your studies?” I ask hopefully.

Perhaps Kitarni might’ve brought it up in her lessons, and I can skip the background.

That hope is dashed when she shakes her head.

“I’ve heard of it,” Jaro mutters, but his tone makes it clear he knows little more than Rose does.

Bree, however, gives me a single, solemn nod. “The Lord of the Wild Hunt tried to murder the Froshtyn family, didn’t he? That was six hundred years ago.”

Rose stiffens, and I know she’s putting this together with what she learned on Samhain.

I nod. “His name was Archibald Iceblyd. He led a small revolutionary coup alongside other members of the Hunt and a few nobles from the court. They believed that the reigning King and Queen of Winter were unfit to rule, because the Queen had been born a princess of the Spring Court, and her mate was softening the laws of Winter to accommodate her.”

My finger hooks beneath the chain of Rose’s necklace, stroking it as I speak. “Archie managed to kill them but failed to murder their three sons before their knights managed to stop him. Cedwyn took the throne after that.”

Back and forth, back and forth. The links of the chain are warm where they’ve been in contact with her skin. Or perhaps that’s my magic.

“He was my grandfather, and the last dullahan before me. His actions led Cedwyn to purge every single member of House Iceblyd, along with every fae who was known to be a member of the Hunt.”

Archie’s spirit has haunted the king ever since, driving Cedwyn deeper and deeper into paranoia. As Lord of the Wild Hunt, I should’ve forced him to move on long ago… but I haven’t.

“If that’s true, how are you alive?” Jaro demands.

“My mother, Hawkith, was a year old at the time of the purge, and some part of Cedwyn’s black heart refused to harm Archibald’s child.”

To this day, most of the court has no idea why. It’s not like the Winter King has ever stayed his blade from anyone else, no matter their age. And those who know, keep their mouths shut.

“He forbade her from continuing her line. Hawkith was raised knowing she was the ward of the male who killed her entire family… As you can guess, it didn’t lend itself to warm fuzzy feelings.”

“But she had a child.” Rose frowns. “She had you. But your name isn’t Iceblyd.”

Her curiosity is natural, I remind myself, even as it snags on the edges of old wounds and draws blood.

“Snowchild is what the Winter Court fae name orphans whose parentage is unknown,” Bree explains softly, sparing me. “There are variations. Seaborn for summer, Bloomwrought for Spring, and I think Autumn’s is something like Boughbairn…”

“My mother was locked into the Temple Cloister every single time she showed so much as a hint of fever.” I take over. “As such, she quickly decided the best way to foil Cedwyn’s edict was to have a child. The only way to guarantee that child’s survival was to ensure that it belonged to Cedwyn himself. It would make an Iceblyd heir to the throne of winter and achieve what her father had set out to.”

The ultimate revenge.

Rose’s hands tighten in her lap, and I drop the necklace.

“It took almost a century, but she was eventually able to convince a trader to sell her a potion designed to bring on early fever, along with others to boost her fertility and conceal the symptoms.” Nausea burns at the back of my throat the way it always does when I dwell too deeply on the manner of my making. “Hawkith concealed her symptoms, feigning a poisoning attempt that excused her absence at court. She had a few loyal maids who helped her to Cedwyn’s chambers.”

“She raped him.” Rose can’t contain her horror, and I look away sharply. “Sorry,” she whispers, realising her error.

Her body snuggles closer to mine, and I frown, wondering if she’s seeking warmth. My magic complies, raising the temperature another degree before I continue.

“She made a miscalculation. Cedwyn’s paranoia is legendary. The Winter King doesn’t sleep unless there’s someone he trusts there to protect him.”

Someone like Ashton, who’d given away his name to his older brother when he was young.

“Cedwyn wasn’t alone. My uncle was caught up in the fever’s grip, too, and so Hawkith’s plan to bear the next heir was only half-successful. There was no way to know who my true father was, and that gave Cedwyn the out he needed. He also… ensured he was present at my birth, so he could ensure that my name wasn’t recorded as Iceblyd in the book of names, as it should’ve been, foiling Hawkith a second time.”

As a grown male, I can see the malice on both sides. Given how much my parents hate each other, and me, I’m lucky to still live.

“He ordered a fae with the magic of withering to work with the palace healers to destroy my mother’s ability to have more children.” Mutilating her internal organs beyond what any magic could fix. “She was permitted to raise me, but only under his careful supervision. When it was discovered I was a dullahan, he hated me even more.”

I wish I didn’t have to elaborate, but the bargain is there, still pushing.

“My mother kept scheming—of course she did. She had a prince. It didn’t matter whether or not Cedwyn would acknowledge me as such. I looked just like the men of his family, and everyone knew it. But whenever she forced the issue, Cedwyn took it out on me.” I suck in a deep breath, loathing my next admission.

“Winter Court males are pierced just before adulthood as a rite of passage. Traditionally, their father takes them to have it done, and they only receive one or two bars. Cedwyn ordered Ashton to take me. You’ve seen the result. ‘That’s the closest you’ll ever get to a crown,’ he told me.”

And it hurt . It hurt so badly that I dropped all semblance of pride, screamed, and begged them to stop.

“Cedwyn knew what he was doing, ensuring I wouldn’t even be able to take a piss without remembering the consequences of playing Hawkith’s games. And when the nobles threw me into a whorehouse with a bag full of gold to celebrate my maturity, I didn’t let any of the females touch me. I just couldn’t, for almost a decade, until I discovered there were fae out there who would give me the control I needed to navigate those waters.”

Rose is clutching at my coat now, her violet eyes red-rimmed and weeping silent tears. I want to stop, to spare her big heart the next blow.

But the bargain says I’m not done.

“When I was made Lord of the Hunt,” I continue, woodenly. “Cedwyn was beyond furious. I was sixty-three, not old enough or strong enough to stop him taking my head. He locked it in a box in the dungeons and refused to return it. I was stuck in shifted form for fifty years before he offered me a quest to reclaim it. Even then, the task was so impossible that it took another hundred and twenty before I won it back.”

And even that was only by sheer luck. He set me the task of bringing back his exiled brother’s hair—a fool’s errand, even when the fool was able to hear and talk. I stumbled across realms for so long, relying only on my ability to see auras to help me find Kieran Froshtyn, and when I did…

Well, it’s a good thing my uncle took pity on me and agreed with his vampire associate’s suggestion to spare my life. He knew who I was—or at least, knew who the last dullahan had been before his banishment—and I managed to convince him to part with his hair. Albeit only after a long and complicated game of charades that would’ve made the redcap howl with laughter.

“Cedwyn was forced to give my head back when I returned,” I finish, sighing. “After that, I fled his court and didn’t return except to do my duty on Samhain. By the time I left, I’d been poisoned, beaten, trained to the point of unconsciousness, and tortured to make sure I wasn’t involved with any of Hawkith’s plans to take the throne. Which brings us to the rules…”

“Rules?” Jaro asks, making a face. “How about we just take a page from the redcap’s book and stab them both, or lock them in their own dungeon? You can pledge the Winter Court’s fealty to Rose, and we’ll march ourselves back to Elfhame.”

That’s the most unseelie thing he’s ever said, and the redcap isn’t even here to congratulate him on it.

I snort. “I’m illegitimate, and my duty is to the Guard first. Even if I wanted anything to do with Calimnel, which I don’t, deposing them would only end up with Ashton taking the throne.” My uncle at the head of the Winter Court would be an unpredictable nightmare. “It would be an even bigger clusterfuck than what happened in Siabetha. No. Leave Hawkith and Cedwyn to jab at one another. It’s practically a hobby for them both at this point. We’re there to collect his vow, nothing more. But we’re going to be stuck in the palace for at least a day while that happens, so you need to know the rules.”

A salty wet scent reaches my nose, and dampness blooms on my shirt, but I choose to ignore it, adjusting my arms tighter and using my magic to evaporate the moisture.

“Firstly, one of us tastes everything Rose is offered. Everything .”

Hawkith’s propensity for potions is well known at this point. She has a maid with the magic of brewing under her thumb, and I wouldn’t put it past her to poison the Nicnevin when it becomes clear Rose is staying well clear of her political machinations. The leaves falling through the air above us catch fire, burning to ashes before they can hit the ground, and my jaw tightens anew at the loss of control.

“Rule number two,” I continue. “Rose never walks into a room first. Two of us in front, two behind. Always.”

That way, there’s a chance of getting her out of there when something goes south.

“Rule three—Hey, get back here!”

Gryffin and Prae are being less than subtle as they sneak off towards the trees, their auras flashing with streaks of pink and red that give away their intentions.

A gentle hand lands on my chest, cutting me off, and giving the two lovebirds time to escape as I look down to see glowing violet eyes watching me carefully. Her aura is spiking in the way I’ve learned it does when the Goddess is close to the surface, and I grimace at the thought. The last thing I need is Danu smashing her way through Calimnel on some revenge quest.

But when she speaks, her voice is even, without a hint of the Goddess’s power. “We’ll be careful. Let them have their fun.”

“Careful isn’t good enough,” I snap, then instantly regret it. “I was careful for two centuries. It didn’t save me.”

And Rose has a mortal heart. If her court is threatened…

“Which is why rule three?—”

Lore blinks into the centre of the camp, perched on the shoulders of a familiar priest. One who’s missing both of his arms and wearing a gag soaked in blood.

“Pretty pet,” he singsongs, dropping to the ground and kicking the trembling high fae to his knees. “I caught you a worm!”

“Danu’s tits, Lorcan!” I jolt to my feet, putting Rose behind my body. “Some warning!”

Mervyn collapses on the leaf-strewn ground, his whole body shaking, and Rose’s fingers dig into my back, clutching onto me like a lifeline.

Goddess, like this day couldn’t get any worse.