Chapter 44

Forty-Four

Rhoswyn

T he roads of Calimnel are full of people walking a little too slowly to disguise their gawping. Inside Calimnel is a warren of tall, intricately carved ice buildings, each one home to hundreds of fae, with snow-covered cobbled streets connecting them all.

“Praedra, if you and your mate would like a place to yourselves while we’re here, my apartment in the noble district is big enough for two people.”

I look up at Drystan in shock, but he merely shrugs. “It’s only for a few days.”

It is? I bite my lip, suddenly very unsure. I’m not sure we ever discussed what comes now. I have all the vows of allegiance—well, aside from Eero’s—so what’s next?

Do we blink back to Elfhame? Accompany the Winter Army to the city?

I’m still musing about it when Prae and Gryffin split off to find Drystan’s old rooms, taking with them their quiet banter. My Guard and I leave the more populated streets in favour of ascending a hundred stairs. This isn’t the place to ask my mates, not when I get the feeling a hundred ears are just around every corner listening for gossip.

It’s only when a door a few paces away swings open and a familiar face smiles warmly from within that I start to relax.

Roark is much the same as the glamoured fae made him out to be, but there are tiny differences. Laugh lines and longer lashes—the sort of thing someone would never notice unless they were wrapped up in a bone-crushing hug from him, as I swiftly am.

“Welcome, Nicnevin. This is my mate, Rowena.”

The female beside him looks as exhausted as I feel. Her hair has been swept up into a hasty braid, and there are damp stains on her clothing that remind me a little too much of my mortal sister-in-law, Clair.

“Forgive my appearance,” she sighs. “We only just got word that you’d arrived, and the twins are?—”

As if on cue, a wail sounds from behind her, and a second later, a second joins in.

The female before me flinches, and her mate grasps her shoulders, massaging them.

“Why don’t you go and clean up,” he suggests softly. “I’ve got our little warriors.”

“I swear to the Goddess,” Rowena mutters, leaning up to kiss him. “Withstanding the forty-eight-day siege of Saradil’s Plateau wasn’t this much work. Please, excuse me, my lady.”

“Just Rose,” I say, crossing the threshold so the rest of my mates can enter. “Infants are a lot of work. I’d be happy to help, if you’ll let me.”

Rowena bites her lip. “I couldn’t ask?—”

“We can make supper,” I suggest, following them into the spacious living area. “Or watch them while you two get some rest.”

Which is exactly how, two hours later, I find myself sitting on a plump sofa, burping a tiny fae infant with my brother’s dark hair and his mother’s dark eyes.

“You’re good with children,” Bree notes from beside me.

He’s not touched either of the twins, but he did just finish clearing up after the dinner Jaro whipped up for their exhausted parents. His ears have been flat on his head almost the entire time, partly to defend them from the shrieking of hungry children, but also because the news of his father being imprisoned has started to sink in.

“I used to help my human brother’s wife with their brood.” I smile, pressing my finger gently to the nose of the tiny fae child in front of me. “She was addicted to being pregnant, I swear.”

“Well, I, for one, am glad I waited until I was a few millennia old before starting this.” Rowena collapses onto the sofa on my other side, and I relinquish my little charge to her care. “I can’t imagine doing this at… how old was the mortal?”

I grimace. “When she had her first? About eighteen summers. Quite old for a human, really. Most girls in the village were married by fifteen and with child months later.”

The fae around me are silent, blinking in shock.

“They only live a few decades,” Jaro reminds them, coughing. “And, from what I observed, they have twisted ideas about their females’ worth and how it’s tied up with their patriarchal society’s desire for them to be breedable but not sexual.”

Not exactly how I would’ve put it, but I suppose there’s a point to be had there.

“How does that even…” Caed is frowning, but I wave the point away.

“Regardless, I’ve had lots of experience with young ones, and fae babies don’t seem much different.”

“That’s because they haven’t shifted on you yet,” Rowena tells me, sighing. “If I’d known I’d have babies that would shift and start squawking at me, I would’ve waited another century.”

“I did apologise for that,” Roark shifts uncomfortably. “And they’ll stop when they get older.”

“They’re hawks, like their father and grandfather,” Rowena tells me, a hint of exhausted pride in her voice. “But since they’re still so young, they’ll be eyasses for a while yet.”

“Thank the Goddess,” Roark adds. “If they could fly on top of everything else, we’d be outmatched.”

That sounds adorable, but wolf pups would be cuter. Wait. My cheeks catch fire as my eyes lift to meet Jaro’s. Can he tell what thoughts just went through my mind?

That tiny smirk and the lick of heat in his eyes tells me he absolutely can.

“Believe me, pet, redcap babies are cuter,” Lore whispers from behind me, having blinked until he’s leaning over the back of the sofa. “Want to practise making some?”

His breath tickles the sensitive point of my ear, making me shiver as I lean back and press a kiss to his jaw. “All babies are precious, no matter what species they are.”

“Ones with built-in baby bonnets are cutest,” he insists. “Mine was bright red from birth. My mother swears it was because I tried to rip my way out of her?—”

Drystan must sense the way that everything below my navel just shrivelled up and cringed, because he drags Lore away. “Enough, Redcap. There are children present.”

“What? At least being born with a hat is better than being born headless and snuggling a horse or however you came into the world.”

“I was not born with a horse, and this is not the time for this conversation. Now that the pilgrimage is over, we need to discuss strategy. Fomorian, piss off.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” Caed stretches and shoves away from the wall. “See you later, if I don’t freeze my balls off.”

I reach for him as he passes me, snagging his hand, and he freezes in place like a deer caught in a hunter’s sights.

“Take Wraith with you?” I request.

Drystan’s warnings are still fresh in my mind, and I don’t want a repeat of what happened in the Summer Court. Eero picked my Guard off one by one, and it was easy for him because we kept splitting up. At least, with the barghest, Caed won’t be alone.

“Fine.” He shrugs like it doesn’t matter to him, but his thumb caresses the inside of my wrist before he tugs his hand back and heads for the door. “Come on, soul-eating-fluffball. Let’s find a stick or something.”

The barghest lets out a whine as he stretches out on my brother’s rug, then follows my Fomorian with a last longing look at the cheery fire.

“He doesn’t fetch sticks, but he’s particularly fond of a nice juicy femur!” Lore calls after him, even though the door has closed.

A long sigh escapes before I can quell it, and without meaning to, my eyes fall on Drystan.

Predictably, that sets him on the defensive. “If you think I’m discussing our battle plans with him?—”

“He’s on our side,” I protest.

“He’s Elatha’s property,” Drystan snarls. “It would be stupid?—”

“Caed is no one’s property,” I hiss, only to wince as the venom in my tone starts one of the twins crying again. “Sorry.”

Rowena shrugs my apology off and starts to pace, trying to rock the little one back to sleep. A minute later, the boy shifts, and only his mother’s fae reflexes catch him before his tiny, fluffy bird body falls to the ground. It feels wrong to discuss war with infants present, but Jaro continues anyway.

“Caed isn’t relevant to this,” he says, smoothing through the tension. “We need to decide where we go from here. You wanted to focus on Elfhame; that means we need to gather the Spring, Autumn, and Winter armies all in one place, which is a massive feat in and of itself.”

“Don’t forget the Temple Guard,” Bree adds. “Kitarni will have them ready.”

“But Spring and Autumn will be less than happy to leave their border with Summer unprotected, so we can expect they’ll send fewer troops than we need.” Drystan pinches the bridge of his nose, and I check my aura to make sure it’s not leaking free.

Nope. Whatever migraine he’s suffering is entirely the war’s fault, not mine.

“Having Caed here would give us an insight into how Elatha would react to—'' I cut off, breath catching as a familiar fox slinks around the corner of the sofa and presses its body against my leg.

“Rosie?” Jaro asks, but Drystan holds out a hand to silence him.

All of the aggravation is gone from my dullahan’s voice as he explains: “Bram is here.”

Sadness collars me, taking my throat and squeezing until it hurts to swallow. Bram’s silver-and-black fox slips around the legs of the table in front of us like smoke, stopping when he’s directly in front of Roark’s boots before looking back at me.

My power slips forth without a thought, solidifying him until the rest of the room can see him. Roark’s eyes cloud, and he looks away.

“Brother. I got Uther’s message. I’ll be there, as I promised.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, confused. “Uther said the same thing, and I get that it’s something?—”

Bram’s fox jumps, landing on my lap and pinning me with dark eyes full of knowledge. Rising onto his hindquarters, he presses a single paw to my lips.

“I deserve to know.” My words should be muffled, but I’ve lost the hold that kept him physical.

The fox shakes his head. Briefly, I debate ordering him to tell me, but I dismiss it as soon as the thought comes.

Bram is a spirit now, subject to my whim, but he was my brother first. I want to respect that.

It’s why I haven’t summoned him since he died, and why, even though it will kill me, I’ll let him go on Samhain. There’s a line there I don’t want to cross. Cressida’s mother did, keeping her lost loves close throughout her life. It didn’t end well for her.

Plus, I’ve seen the Otherworld. If I fall into the trap of keeping Bram here when he’s not meant to be, I’ll deprive him of the peace he’s earned.

Roark clears his throat, and the fox disappears, fading as it leaps away from me. “I’ll get Rowena and the twins safely secured in our estate to the north, and then?—”

“I’m coming too.” His mate stands, frowning. “Being a mother hasn’t robbed me of the ability to shoot?—”

“My darling,” Roark begins, holding his hands up in a pacifying gesture. “I really think?—”

“If you’re about to tell me that our children can’t lose their mother, I’ll remind you that a father is just as important!” Rowena growls. “And should the Goddess take us both, so be it. They will know that their parents died for the freedom of the realm.”

Jaro’s mouth twists, and I find myself unable to raise my gaze from my lap as my heart gives a solemn, painful thump. “I wouldn’t ask either of you to fight for me.”

I’ve been orphaned twice. First by the mortals I thought were my parents, and then again when I gained and lost fae parents in the space of a few minutes. I don’t wish that on anyone, especially a child.

“I gave our mother our word that I would remain loyal to my sister’s throne before all others.” Roark gentles his tone. “But my mate didn’t, and she’s still recovering from a difficult birth.”

Rowena grimaces, and I wince on her behalf. “The healers?—”

“Said you were to rest.” Roark takes her hand, stroking the lines of their matching marks. “No one needs you to prove what a warrior you are, my love. You’ve done that a hundred times over, and you did it again when you brought our sons into the world.”

Rowena folds. I don’t even blame her. I’m melting a little watching them, even as my chest twangs with envy. Their blue mating marks are like iridescent swirls of wind across their arms. It’s a struggle to keep my mind focused on the logistics of getting the armies to Elfhame, and I find myself tracing the patterns instead.

Rowena’s stems from a silvery scar shaped like a diamond on her hand and I smile as I realise it must be the shape of Roark’s beak in his animal form. Mating might require a blood exchange, but Kitarni explained that shifters tend to bite to mark rather than using a knife.

Would Jaro do the same?

Longing, the likes of which I’ve never experienced, stabs at me until I can’t breathe. Hot on its heels is misery that drags my eyes away from the couple and their beautiful babies, and back down to where my hands are fisted loosely on my lap.

There are a million reasons why I don’t have those marks. I know that. There are a million more why watching Bree or Drystan cradle our child isn’t in the cards for us right now, either.

Goddess, I’m heartsick for what I can’t have, and it’s pathetic.

As quickly as it hits, Jaro is there. He scoops me up without breaking the conversation he’s having with Drystan about the Knights of Elfhame, cradling me gently in his arms with the gold of his wolf in his arms.

“What’s wrong?” he asks quietly as soon as the topic changes.

“I’m tired,” I whisper, avoiding the question. “I think I’ll head to bed for the night.”

“I’ll go with you,” Bree murmurs, standing and offering me his hand.

I’d rather not have company right now, but I recognise why he might not want to be alone. After all, his father is currently in the dungeons. What thoughts must be running around in his head? How much of him is caught up in the fact that Torrance is so close?

So, ignoring the wound that’s quietly haemorrhaging inside my chest, I take his offered hand and allow him to pull me up.

“There are plenty of guest rooms down the hall,” Roark says. “It’s the opposite direction to the nursery, so you should be able to sleep undisturbed.”

As if on cue, the twins start crying again, and Bree hurriedly leads us away before I can offer to help.

Bree doesn’t bother checking out the rooms, simply picks the one at the farthest end of the hall and tugs me inside, locking the door behind us.

I doubt that will keep the others out, but I get the feeling it’s more for his peace of mind. I undress in silence, stripping off layer after layer of clothing until all that’s left is skin, then bury myself beneath the thick quilts and furs that cover the bed with a groan.

My púca joins me, taking the spot against my back but not meeting me skin to skin. Still, he’s close enough that I can feel his warmth and the lithe planes of his body.

A ghost of a touch brushes against my shoulder, and I lean back into it affectionately.

“I just want to hold you,” Bree promises. “I can’t… I don’t think I can sleep or let myself get distracted right now. Not when he’s so close.”

Another whisper-soft touch against my nape, followed by a kiss. “It’s been a hard few weeks for you as well, dragonfly. You haven’t had time to grieve properly. Now that the pilgrimage is over…”

“The war begins,” I finish for him, my hands fisting by my sides as I turn to meet those pitying green eyes before looking away. “You don’t need to worry about me. I did my grieving. You were there, remember?”

Strong fingers caress my chin, making me look at him. His sympathy twists at my insides, making them burn.

“Bree, don’t.” I’m not above begging. “I just… I have to live with it now.”

I learned long ago that this is what dying does; it forces those who are left behind to adjust. Even when we wish we didn’t have to. Even when doing so successfully, and finding joy again, brings with it its own share of guilt and bitterness.

He opens his mouth like he might continue to press the issue, so I interrupt before he can say anything.

“Besides, I need to know what you need me to do with your father. He’s imprisoned, but?—”

“But with his gift, and Eero’s backing, there’s no guarantee that he’ll stay that way.” His eyes turn hard as emeralds. “I know, dragonfly. Do whatever you want with him. You’re the Nicnevin, and he came here trying to destabilise your realm on the orders of a traitor.”

Yes, but the harm he’s done to Bree is far deeper, and far more personal.

“I would rather have your input,” I answer, moving incrementally towards him until our chests are touching.

For half a second, he freezes, then his arm loops around my waist, pulling me closer.

“I want him dead.” Bree’s voice is flat and lifeless. “I want to wake up knowing I can look into the eyes of strangers and not find him hidden among them, waiting to charm me back into slavery. I want the name Lyarthorn torn down and buried so I can play an instrument without being reminded of him. I want to peel off every single knife tattooed on my body, even though I know I need them to protect you.”

It's a lot of admissions in one go for my quietest Guard, and I’m careful when I respond, aware that one wrong word will only make things worse.

“That sounds less like you want him dead, and more like you want to undo what he did to you.”

He huffs out a breath. “Stupid, I know, but killing Máel didn’t fix anything. It didn’t make me any more comfortable with being in a crowd, or magically fix how my skin feels wrong whenever a female looks at me a little too long. Killing her wasn’t enough and… I’m afraid killing him won’t be enough either.”

He takes a huge breath, letting it out slowly.

I trail a single finger along Naris’s head where it’s inked on his abdomen, heart melting as the ink rises up to meet my touch.

“You’re censoring yourself,” Bree accuses, breaking the quiet. “What are you thinking, dragonfly?”

“You won’t like it.”

His fingers tilt my chin back to look at him again. “Let me decide that.”

“I think you want closure, and you’re scared because you know killing him won’t grant you that. I think you want to heal.”

“You think I should talk to my father?” He releases my chin, letting the eye contact drop.

“I don’t know him well enough to judge the wisdom of the decision,” I concede. “But I wonder if talking to him might bring some sort of closure that you didn’t find with Máel.”

And perhaps he needs that more with his father, given the huge betrayal that Torrance committed. After all, Máel never pretended to be anything she wasn’t, but Bree trusted his father, depended on him for decades. He was charmed into accepting his debt as a result of that familial bond. Everything that happened to him in the Toxic Orchid was because of that one backstabbing moment.

And ever since he was freed, he’s bottled up all of those feelings. Hiding.

“If not him, then someone ,” I insist.

He’s silent for long enough that I don’t think he’s going to answer. When he does, it’s so quiet I barely catch it.

“I told Drystan I’d see a mind-healer. I just… I suppose I’ve been avoiding it.” Then, a little louder, “Go to sleep, dragonfly. We’ll deal with my father in the morning.”

His fingers trail through my hair, playing in the strands until I succumb to exhaustion.