Chapter 3

Three

Rhoswyn

“ I ’ve found them,” Maeve sings, right in my ear.

Her voice jolts me out of a restless sleep, and I jackknife upright, wondering how long it’s been. Sunlight slips through the cracks in the shack, and my companions are nowhere to be found. At least that means there’s no one to witness me wincing as my wings protest painfully at my sudden movement.

There’s a pouch of berries and jerky where Drystan’s head was, and I grab it, perching on a crate to nibble the food as I take in all three of my guides.

“ We found them,” Mab corrects.

“The high priestess is being held in the temple,” Titania begins. “But she’s being treated well, and she still has allies, which is something. The grand clerics are torn about what to do with her. For the moment, she’s safe.”

“And the others?” I ask around a mouthful.

“Your púca is chained up in Máel’s bed.” Mab won’t look at me as she delivers the news. “Physically, he’s… in a bad way. From what I overheard… I think she was one of his patrons at the whorehouse.”

What?!

Checking the bond, I’m not surprised to find it locked down. Bree is a master of keeping himself from draining me until it becomes unavoidable. Physically, Titania can heal anything he might have suffered. Mentally…

My fists clench.

“The six in the dungeon are not much better,” Maeve adds. “The iron is getting to them. The redcap’s neck is fixed, but the rest of his wounds are slow to heal and the separation from his cap isn’t helping. Jaro has managed to stop his beast from taking over, but he’s been trying to break the bars since Lore and Drystan were confined, as has your barghest. Your brother, Dare, is busy trying to keep his mate alive.”

Goddess, Dare and his mate have been there the whole time?

“What’s wrong with her?”

“Imprisonment for the better part of a month has done her no favours, and she lacks the strength of Danu’s blood.” Maeve pauses. “She also… screamed before Bram?—”

I shove to my feet, cutting her off. “I need clothes. Something more suitable than…” I gesture at the remains of the ballgown. “And better shoes. Did you manage to find the way into the dungeons?”

The three of them exchange a look.

“The palace is well guarded,” Mab replies.

“There must be a way.”

“There are several,” Titania cuts in, smoothing her hands down the front of her brightly coloured dress. “But they’re all too dangerous.”

Meeting all three of their worried gazes, I frown. “I need you three on my side,” I say honestly. “When I go out there, I’m going to have to persuade Drystan and Caed that I know what I’m doing. I can’t do that if you don’t believe in me.”

“We’re always with you,” Mab promises. “But I would hesitate at charging the palace when faced with these odds.”

And she was an experienced and trained Nicnevin. A warrior so skilled she became legend.

“I can’t leave them there,” I hiss. “Not like this. They have Bree chained to a bed . Even if nothing sexual has happened, you know what that has to be doing to him!”

She nods, solemnly. “As long as you’re prepared for the potential cost.”

I’ve already paid it. I want to retort, but I can’t say the words.

I can’t lose anyone else.

My breath hitches, and I swiftly shove that thought back into the void that’s been slowly but inexorably growing in my chest.

After . I promise myself. After they’re all back with me, I can face the darkness and the truths lurking there. I’ll let myself fall apart and trust my Guards to catch my pieces. There will be time to grieve when we’re all safe.

Until then, compartmentalising is a necessary survival mechanism. A weak Nicnevin right now will only cause more deaths.

“Let’s do this,” Maeve says, ghosting through the door.

Gritting my teeth against the ache in my back that springs to life when I stand, I follow after her.

Then I immediately wish I hadn’t. Caed is dangling Drystan’s head by his braids so that the dullahan is at eye level. The Fomorian’s lips are quirked in a vicious smirk as the dangling skull curses. My charm must have worn off, because they’re definitely arguing again.

“Over my dead body!” The tips of his ears have caught fire again.

Caed is completely unfazed. “You seem to have misplaced that, Head.”

Where is Prae? She had to have known that leaving these two alone for any period of time was a stupid move.

“Rose—”

“I’m standing right here,” I say, keeping my voice soft so as not to escalate this further. “And I’m fed up with being talked about behind my back. Now, sit down. It’s time we planned.”

Caed loses his smirk immediately. “We?”

I nod. “I’m going to help. I have a fae general right here.” Although he can’t see Maeve, he knows what I can do. “And I’ve had my guides scouring Siabetha through the night.”

I tug Lore’s cap from my head. “I need a knife.”

To his credit, he doesn’t even ask why. The blade is in my outstretched palm before Drystan can even object.

But when I flip it and press it to my arm, his calloused blue hand grabs my wrist, stopping me. The buzz of the call erupts where we touch, and I look away before Drystan can see how it affects me.

“No fucking way.”

I wave Lore’s hat at him. “It’s his soul, Caed. And it’s already five shades paler than it was a few hours ago. What happens if the colour fades?”

“He dies,” Drystan says evenly. “Except, as your Guard, he can’t. So refrain from weakening yourself pointlessly on his behalf. He wouldn’t want it.”

Snorting, I yank my arm free. “I’m pretty sure Lore would just get aroused if he saw me smearing my blood all over his cap, no matter the circumstances.”

“Fomorian, fetch her a dead body,” Drystan snaps. “Before she weakens herself unnecessarily.”

Caed rolls his eyes and deftly disarms me, pressing the knife to the inside of his own elbow. “No time. Besides, I owe the mad fucker.”

The blade slices clean through the inside of his elbow on his untattooed side, and blood wells instantly. The red is a shocking contrast to the blue of his skin as he extends the wound towards me.

“Is this enough?”

I have no idea. Swiping the fabric through the mess, my shoulders slump slightly as the colour begins to return. It takes two more cuts—Caed’s healing slowing the bleeding each time—but soon it’s a pale crimson.

“Enough?” he asks again, hovering the dagger in place like he’ll cut again if I ask him.

“Enough,” I confirm, pulling the dry cap over my head, where it morphs into a leather helmet. “Now, as far as rescuing him goes, the majority of our people are in the dungeon.”

“Hold on, little queen.” Caed crosses to the smouldering remains of a fire on the dawn-kissed beach and kicks it awake, adding a new stick from a pile of driftwood. “If we don’t have Prae here for this, she’ll kick both of our asses and the plan will suck.”

I look at Maeve, who shrugs, so I give in and take a seat on the sand. “What did you mean when you said you owed Lore?”

He freezes, setting Drystan’s head down on the sand so it’s propped up.

“He’s…” He sighs, then turns, exposing his tattooed arm. “I noticed this just before I found you.”

His forefinger taps at the third frame down. The only one which isn’t empty.

Inside, bold slashing black lines form the silhouette of a top hat. It’s not quite as dark as the tattoo around it, but it’s only lighter by a shade or two. The meaning is clear: for whatever reason, Lore has almost completely forgiven the Fomorian.

“The redcap is mad,” Drystan grouches.

“Or he sees something you won’t,” Caed argues. “I’m on your side. Do you think I’d be putting up with your bossy ass if I wasn’t?”

It’s not the only change either. One of the chained swords around his heart looks less tightly bound than the other five.

Drystan says nothing, so I change the subject. “Bree is strapped to Máel’s bed, and Kitarni is being held in the temple.”

“If our people are separated, that makes the task infinitely harder,” Drystan argues. “All the more reason you should return to the?—”

“Finish that sentence,” I snarl, shocked at my own vehemence. “I dare you.”

“Okay, I’ve got breakfast—” Prae crests a nearby dune, then stops and takes in the three of us. “You’re up.”

Clearing my throat, I look her straight in her good eye, grateful that she’s not wearing that glamour so that I can finally guess what she’s really thinking.

“Yes. And we have a plan to make.”

Reaching along my connection to Danu, I take just enough power to make my three guides visible. I’ve not done it before—not purposefully—so I’m surprised when it works. My own startled excitement makes their images wobble slightly until I can stabilise them again.

“These are my grandmothers. They’re going to help us.” I wave Mab forward. “Tell them what you saw.”

“Hang on,” Maeve says, patting her now-solid body with a grin. “I have something to do first.”

She exchanges a glance with Titania, who sighs, then nods.

In a move so swift I never saw it coming, the warrior queen strides forwards and drives her armoured knee straight into the delicate spot between Caed’s legs. The Fomorian wheezes, dropping to the sand like a stone.

“Fuck!”

“That’s for how you let them treat her under that mountain,” she says, then moves over to Drystan, who’s smirking at the Fomorian rolling with his legs tucked up in pain.

The dullahan raises an eyebrow, as if daring her, and I roll my eyes. He should really know better than to test Maeve.

Maeve picks him up by his hair and shakes him like a rag doll. “And that is for the condescending, stuck up, winter fae attitude. Your mate deserves better than a prick who can’t even deal with his own emotional baggage.”

I’m sure, if Drystan had a stomach, its contents would be scattered everywhere right now. He spits out sand as Maeve drops him to the beach without care, and I can’t help my small smile as I carefully pick him up and right him, so he’s propped up on a piece of driftwood beside the fire.

“Are you finished?” I ask her, amused despite myself.

How long has she been waiting to do that?

“Not quite,” Maeve says, motioning Titania forward.

My eyebrows rise as the Second Nicnevin takes her turn at assaulting Caed’s manhood just as he staggers to his feet, sending him back to the sand with a litany of curses that turns the air blue.

“Never, ever, abandon your duty to my daughter again,” she threatens, then blushes as Maeve raises her eyebrows at her.

“Daughter?”

“Granddaughter,” the ghost corrects, waving away the slip like it meant nothing.

My heart swells in my chest, and I grab them both, pulling them into a big hug. Mab watches in amusement, only to let out a little ooompf as Maeve reaches out and drags her into the huddle.

“We’re with you, kid,” Maeve mumbles, as we break apart and Titania kisses my forehead. “Now. Let’s kick seelie ass.”

Titania sighs and shakes her head. “Not all seelie?—”

“Yes, yes…” Maeve waves her off. “But these ones deserve it.”

“Anyone else?” Caed asks, groaning as he struggles to right himself. “Fuck. I think you broke something.”

“We should be so lucky,” Drystan snaps, spitting out sand.

“Ahem.” Mab coughs, brushing back her long red braids. “As I was saying, the palace is guarded, but a good portion of their warriors are currently searching the eastward road and along the coast.”

“They expect her to flee to the Spring Court,” Maeve adds, giving Drystan an ‘I told you so’ look. “The obvious route for her to take would be straight east.”

“What about Eero and his daughters?” I ask.

They’re powerful fae, and I’d like to avoid crossing paths with them if we can.

“The Summer King spends a lot of time in his throne room,” Mab says slowly, looking at Drystan.

I follow her gaze, and find him grimacing, the lines around his eyes tense. He may not be able to shake his head, but I’m willing to bet he’s telling her not to say whatever she wants to.

“I need to know,” I snap. “And you need to stop hiding things from me. That’s what got us into this mess.”

“It’s irrelevant,” he argues.

Mab shakes her head and tells me, anyway. “Eero’s alternating between your males, torturing them in an attempt to get them to reveal your whereabouts. The king and Máel both hope that, with enough persuasion, your Guard will begin to drain you, making your capture easier.”

And none of them have. My heart breaks a little.

My breath hisses between my teeth. “And how is that not relevant?” I demand. “I’d say knowing if you’re all too weak to walk out of the dungeons of your own accord is pretty essential information. Why are none of you drawing from me? I’m safe now. I could heal you.”

Drystan scoffs. “You don’t get it, do you? It doesn’t matter if they’ve broken every bone in our bodies. If you need us to move, we’ll crawl.”

The word conjures memories of the night when he made me crawl for him, and the dark gleam in his eyes makes me wonder if he’s remembering the same thing.

“Good,” Mab interrupts, dousing my heated thoughts in cold water. “Because you might have to.”

“No, they won’t.” I pace the length of the fire. “I’m going to charm us into the temple. Once we’ve got Kitarni, we’ll head to the palace. Kitarni will be?—”

Maeve shakes her head. “The high priestess is in no danger.”

Aghast, I turn to her. “I’m not leaving her behind.”

I can’t. For all that her faith sometimes intimidates me, she’s my rock.

“The temple is on the other side of the city,” Mab reminds me diplomatically. “Your chance of discovery goes up exponentially if you try to stage two rescues. Better to free your redcap, and then have him blink her out of the city later.”

Her words make sense, but that doesn’t mean I have to like them. “Fine. I’ll charm us past the palace gates.”

Drystan sighs. “Given your flaky mastery of that ability, I would like to request a different plan.”

“It appeared to work well enough last night.” I gesture to the Fomorian who’s slouched on the sand, balls safely hidden behind crossed ankles as he rests his elbows on his knees. Prae is reclining next to him, popping summer berries into her mouth one by one.

“Nice to see you’re both so invested.”

Prae snorts. “When you decide to host a war meeting and not a lovers’ tiff, I’ll contribute.”

My shoulders slump. She’s right. “I’ve not done this before.”

“Are you a Nicnevin?” she asks, meeting my gaze. “Act like one. If you were a Fomorian general, you’d have flogged both of them for speaking out of turn and the spirits for derailing the meeting.”

My mouth twitches. “I think I’d like to rule with less corporal punishment, if it’s all the same to you.”

It doesn’t earn me a smile. “The principle is the same. You’re in command. Act like it.”

Goddess, I wish it were that simple. Maybe it would be if I knew what I was doing.

Sighing, I shove my fingers through my hair. “An all-out assault is impossible with just the four of us, so we’re going to have to sneak inside. Once we’re there, we can glamour ourselves and split up. I’ll be useless in the dungeon with all that iron, so it makes sense for me to find Bree and regroup with you later.”

“What’s our escape route?” Caed asks.

“Jump?” Maeve suggests dryly.

“They’d break every bone in their bodies.” Mab shakes her head. “But I suppose as a last resort, it did work quite well…”

“You have to assume that they’ll discover missing prisoners fast,” Titania counsels. “Flying worked all right the first time, but they’ll have learned from their mistakes. At the very least, Eero will have the beaches guarded.”

Guarded or not, it doesn’t matter. The way my wings are still aching means flying is out of the question, and the Fomorians couldn’t do it, anyway.

Scrubbing a hand down my face, I look at the others. “Lore will blink us out.”

“If he’s conscious,” Drystan reminds me. “He’s still healing, and his aura is dim. What’s the backup plan?”

I grind my teeth together, but I refuse to let him see how much he’s making me doubt myself. If he suggested something rather than shutting all my ideas down, this would probably go a lot faster.

“Fight our way out,” Maeve grins.

“That would be suicide,” Caed mutters, and Drystan actually hums his agreement. “Climbing is out of the question. We already considered that when we were trying to get into the city.”

I scrub my hand down my face. “What about?—”

“Company,” Mab snaps, staring beyond me. “Coming from the sea.”

The group snaps to attention so fast I get whiplash. They flip to their feet, all pretence of idleness abandoned, and the air rings with the sound of blades being drawn by both the living and the dead.

A ghostly white sword appears in the air before me, tip pointed skyward like a silent sentinel.

I didn’t imagine it earlier. Caed has his powers back.

But the Fomorian prince looks just as shocked as I do. He stares at it like he’s never seen it before. I don’t have time to puzzle out his reaction before a splashing sound breaks the serene atmosphere. The noise is at odds with the rhythmic rush of the waves, and it takes me a while to pinpoint the source further up the beach.

Three green-haired fae smash onto the shore like whales beaching themselves. They flop for a second, struggling to right themselves as the slick fish tails that cover their lower halves blister and shrink into legs. The fins that run down their spines and forearms melt away shortly afterwards, turning to sea foam.

It’s the most painful looking transformation I could imagine, and I find myself wondering if it’s worth it.

All three of them wobble their first steps, before collapsing onto one knee at the sight of me.

Merrows , I realise. They’re merrows . All three of them have hats in varying shades of red at their hips, tied on with rope.

That’s when I recognise their leader.

“Cyreus.” My hackles rise.

What is Ciara’s mate doing here? Is he tracking us for Eero? The merrow in question bows his head even lower.

“My lady Nicnevin, I’ve come to beg your forgiveness.”

“Ciara took my head,” Drystan snarls.

“To spare me,” the merrow objects. “Máel has been blackmailing her sister ever since she discovered our relationship. If King Eero ever found out she mated an under fae, I would be executed.”

“You expect me to believe that?” Drystan demands. “If you were in such danger, why not leave? You’re both strong fae.”

The merrow’s hair drips water into his face, and he pauses to wipe it with a sigh. “You honestly think there’s a place in all the realm where he wouldn’t have hunted us? He has spies everywhere, and he can’t be killed. We wouldn’t have lasted a week.”

“His skin is invulnerable,” Mab mutters. “But he can still be killed. It’s just a little trickier.”

“Why would Danu give someone like him such a gift?” Titania mutters.

Maeve shrugs. “So we can make him swallow shards of iron until he dies and enjoy the satisfaction of a slow death?”

We all look at her, and she backs up, holding her hands up. “In my defence, the fae I did that to really deserved it.”

“We’re not going up against Eero,” I reiterate, trying to get us back on track. “Our people are injured, and we don’t have the numbers. This is a rescue mission, not an assassination. After that, we head for the Autumn Court and focus on Elatha. Once the fae are safe, we can deal with him.”

Cyreus shakes his head. “Eero is not the sort of enemy you turn your back on, my lady.”

I know. But do I really have a choice?

The sigh that leaves my body is long and exhausted. “Do you have any other suggestions? There’s a Fomorian armada being created as we speak. Elfhame won’t last long enough for me to crush Eero, and I won’t make it back without my Guard.”

The merrows share a look between themselves, then nod. “If that is your will, then the merrows will see it done.”

“What do you want in return?” Drystan asks, suspicion dripping from his tone.

“An ambassador for the water-dwelling fae in your court,” Cyreus answers smoothly. “Elfhame is landlocked, and previous Nicnevins have refused our calls for that reason, but we deserve the ear of Danu just as much as the rest of the fae. And also… Ciara and I would like you to bless our mating ceremony once her father has faced the Goddess’s justice.”

I look back at Titania, silently asking her to explain, but Cyreus does before she can.

“Danu’s blessing would legitimise our relationship in the eyes of the Summer Court. Eero is not the only one who believes that under fae and high fae should never mix.”

“And having the blessing of the Nicnevin would line Ciara up nicely to take her father’s place, wouldn’t it?” Drystan adds accusingly.

Better her than Máel, I silently think to myself.

It’s becoming abundantly clear that I don’t need to like the minor royals, but I do need them. Ciara seems the more tolerable of the two, and at least she would dedicate herself to trampling the rampant elitism in her court.

“Done,” I agree, before Drystan or the others can say anything. “But I will choose the ambassador, and your ceremony will take place at a time of my choosing.”

I’ve had enough of being dependent on the whims of the minor royals.