Chapter 36

Thirty-Six

Rhoswyn

I recognise the priest, though I’m amazed that it’s possible, given the state that he’s in. Lore has cut off both his arms, and old blood from the scabbed-over wounds has turned his temple robes brown.

My redcap has been gone nearly a week, and while I assumed that meant Mervyn was hard to find, it turns out Lore was just getting a head start on the torture. Just looking at the butchered fae in front of me makes me feel a little sick.

This is the male who gave Eero the excuse he needed to start a civil war. Without his interference, perhaps I’d have the Summer Court’s army on its way to Elfhame City. Instead, I have an enemy with impenetrable skin and a bard with charm powers to deal with.

So while I might be disgusted and more than a little squeamish about the brutality of Lore’s actions, I don’t disapprove of them.

“You forgot to kill it,” Jaro snarls. “Rose doesn’t need to see his death.”

“See it?” Lore’s eyes go round with honest confusion. “I thought she’d want to deliver it.”

Execute the priest? Me?

“You’re insane.” Jaro takes a spot on Drystan’s other side, forcing me to crane my neck to see past them both.

“No, he’s just offering her something that any unseelie would take in a heartbeat,” Drystan corrects, pinching the bridge of his nose. “To the redcap, this is the equivalent of a bunch of flowers.”

“Rude to talk about me like I’m not here.” Lore’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. “Now, get out of the way, Wolfie; you’re ruining Rose’s present.”

Blue eyes full of hatred stare up at me from the floor, and I have to take a deep breath and force myself not to flinch away. Mervyn’s body may be trembling, but that look is pure vitriol.

This male would kill me in a heartbeat. He wants my Guard dead. Leaving him alive is out of the question, and handing off his death to someone else is cowardly.

If I want him murdered, I should have the guts to do it myself, right? No matter how much the idea turns my stomach.

Lore’s face is falling, his red eyes widening with the realisation that perhaps this isn’t the fantastic gift he thought it was, and fear of disappointing him spurs me to move faster.

Before I can do more than drop one hand to the pommel of the small dagger I’ve started wearing at my waist, Caed steps from his usual place on the other side of the fire. The move breaks the invisible boundary that’s been silently enforced since we left Siabetha, and Drystan bristles like an angry hedgehog.

“If she won’t, I will. This fuckwad and I have unfinished business.”

Mervyn’s eyes roll back, terror winning at last, and he slumps to the floor, out cold.

“I would think you’ve had quite enough experience torturing fae,” Drystan snarls. “Or are you just feeling nostalgic?”

Lore gasps, cutting off whatever retort Caed is poised to deliver. “You don’t think he has more experience than me, do you? I’d hate to be second best!”

That’s a completely valid point. How many fae has Lore tortured over millennia of life, compared to Caed’s thirty-five years? Surely, even with him being a sworn enemy of the fae, Caed’s total has to be far lower.

“We can swap tips,” Caed says. “But dismemberment is such a rookie technique, I doubt there’s much you can teach me.”

Lore looks at Caed, then down at Mervyn, then back at the Fomorian again, a nerve twitching above his eye.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing!” he snarls, then rolls his eyes and turns to me. “We’ll be back at dawn to cross the river, after I’ve proven I can’t be out-tortured by a blue idiot!”

Just like that, the redcap and the Fomorian disappear, removing a pressure I wasn’t even aware I was feeling from my shoulders. Mervyn is still here, but at least Lore isn’t looking at me like I’m refusing a priceless gift.

“Is it stupid that I don’t want to kill him?” I whisper, not expecting the rest of my Guard to answer.

“Taking a life with your own hands is different from ordering others to do it for you,” Jaro acknowledges. “It’s different from doing it under the influence of the Goddess’s rage or in a situation where your life or the lives of people you care about are on the line.” A long pause. “I’ll do it. You don’t have to tell Lore.”

He’s too perceptive, and my heart gives a sad little thud in my chest. He’s also right. This is definitely different from the guard I killed in Siabetha and the fae I killed when Danu was using me.

This is intentional. It’s execution.

“No. I was happy to order his death when I wasn’t the one doing it.” I look down at Mervyn, then away quickly when I see the mocking that’s replaced the rage in his gaze. “Backing out now would be hypocritical and cowardly, wouldn’t it?”

“Dear heart,” Titania appears beside us, making Drystan stiffen. “There is nothing wrong with being hesitant to take a life. Too many view murder as an easy solution to their problems.”

That wasn’t what I asked, and we both know it. Which means she doesn’t have a real answer for me.

Drawing the dagger, I swallow back the lump in my throat and reach out to rip the gag from Mervyn’s mouth.

“Do you have any last words?” I ask. “Anyone you’d like me to deliver a message to?”

It’s the decent thing to do. He must have a family, right? Or a lover. Goddess, I need to stop thinking like that. This male was directly responsible for starting a civil war that will claim countless lives, creating a standoff that led to my brother’s death, and imprisoning my Guard. My mates would kill him to protect me without a second thought. I owe them the same loyalty.

My grip tightens on the cold metal hilt.

“When I reach the Otherworld, I will beg Danu herself to rid the realm of such a weak, useless Nicnevin.” Mervyn delivers each word with a vehemence that makes me flinch, and his mouth curls in a satisfied grin. “It’s a miracle we haven’t fallen to the Fomorian King already. You were certainly fast enough to fall to your knees and suck his?—”

It takes a lot of force to stab a person. More than I expected, despite Maeve’s repeated drills. I’ve been taught many times to aim low but shove the blade up to avoid getting caught on the ribs. Weirdly, she’s taught me so well that I don’t even think about it until after wet, warm blood spurts to cover my fingers. His breath is a rattle in my ears, and his stink and the metallic smell of his life force sticks in my nostrils.

I stagger away and vomit into the fire. The resulting burn in my throat is as much from shame as from stomach acid. Then Bree is there, pulling me against his chest, and Jaro cradles me on the other side. I’m surrounded by the scents of leather and honey. I turn my head, forcing myself to watch Mervyn collapse, and because I’m actively keeping one eye on the spirit realm, I watch his ghost detach, striding away from his body…

And into Drystan’s grip.

The dullahan’s head is missing—set gently on the leaves behind him—and the fiery orbs contained within his shadows narrow as he beholds the struggling priest’s soul.

“There is no Otherworld for those who would speak thus to my mate.”

His tone is arctic as his free hand reaches out, summoning the whip of bone and fire that he used to corral difficult souls on the night of the Wild Hunt. It wraps around Mervyn’s torso like a snake, tightening until he can’t move an inch.

Those amber flames flare, and a second later Mervyn screams as his spectral skin cracks and glows like embers.

I’ve never seen anything affect the dead before, so I can only gape in horrified wonder as his spirit burns from the inside out, finally flaking away like ash in the chill autumn breeze.

The Lord of the Wild Hunt stares back at me, waiting for me to say something, but there are no words that can describe how I’m feeling right now. Am I grateful for his protectiveness? Yes. But I’m also battling a heap of self-loathing and disgust at my own actions.

And thrown into my toxic emotional cocktail is grief for Bram all over again, and disappointment that killing one of the fae responsible for his death didn’t bring any of the closure I’d hoped for.

“I think I need to rest,” I murmur, waving at the corpse. “I’m sorry to ask, but…”

The body vanishes in a plume of fire, becoming ash in seconds.

“You never need to think of him again,” Bree whispers.

Pretty words. I wish I could believe them. Unfortunately, I’m fairly certain my actions just granted Mervyn’s malignant glare an eternal place in my memories and my nightmares.