Chapter 46

Forty-Six

Drystan

I don’t think Rose understands how much danger she’s in.

She’s sitting in the main hall, surrounded by courtiers watching her every move with an air of practised disinterest. At least Jaro and Bree are on either side of her, quietly and discreetly tasting the food in each dish before they add a portion to her plate.

They listened to me about that, if nothing else.

Opposite her, the two Fomorians are sitting with the Autumn prince, and already drinking and laughing loudly. They’re celebrating, like they think this court is less dangerous just because Torrance is in the cells and Cedwyn swore his vow. Worse, they’re lulling Rose into the same false sense of security. I’d have intervened already, if not for the púca discreetly using his magic to muffle their words, hiding the details of their conversation from prying ears.

“I’m still confused about how my ass didn’t freeze to the ice latrine,” Praedra says, and I resist the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose or give any outward sign of my exasperation. “Or how running water works with pipes made of ice. And how is no one else marvelling at the fact that there’s a fire right there”—she gestures at the huge fireplace that dominates one side of the room—“and the ice mantelpiece hasn’t melted?”

Gryffin shrugs, taking a swig of his ale before fixing her with a look that’s nothing short of pure devotion. “It’s just magic. Illidwen’s plumbing relies on the natural systems of the trees?—”

“Just magic? Just magic? Do you have any idea how frustrating that answer is to someone who has no stupid magic?”

The Fomorian’s war paint crinkles as her brow furrows, and I notice several of the fae nearest to her stiffen.

“It is pretty interesting,” Rose agrees, and I want to curse aloud.

They’re all being so… open. Completely ignorant of the sharks all around them. I’ve been standing a little off to the side, wearing a glamour that renders me invisible, for the last half an hour, and in that time, they’ve displayed more emotion than this entire court does in a year. It’s making them look weak. If the Nicnevin looks weak, the armies won’t follow her.

She needs to leave.

Preferably before my mother or Cedwyn can get their hooks into her and find a way to punish her for talking about the mate-bond-which-does-not-exist. Or worse, she gives herself frostbite trying to cuddle the Fomorian.

My palm itches at the memory. Only curiosity stopped me from hauling Rose back into bed last night and turning her ass red for sleeping on the floor. At least the Fomorian managed to pick her sleeping form up and replace her in bed before she lost any toes to the cold.

Small mercies.

My mind flashes back to the moment his eyes met mine in the darkness, and the nod he offered before returning to his place.

His actions don’t align with what I know of his personality, and that has my hackles rising. Caed is an insolent, disrespectful asshole, whose sole method of communication is sarcasm.

This defeated attitude doesn’t fit with my perception of the male who stalked Rose across two courts. Goddess, he has two-and-a-half marks already, and there’s still time until Beltaine to hope he might attain the rest—unlikely though it is.

Growing up with Ashton taught me more than enough about the unpredictability of those who’ve lost their true names.

As long as Elatha lives, Caed’s actions are not his own. Who knows how many orders are webbed beneath his skin, waiting to catch us unaware? Jaro has lost sight of that because he’s fallen into the trap of caring for Rose’s happiness before her safety, just like a typical idealistic seelie.

Worse, I’m not ignorant of Rose’s growing feelings either. I can’t kill him—as I fervently want to—if it shatters my mate’s heart in the process.

I would rather die than forgive Caed… But I’d rather he prove himself worthy of forgiveness than hurt Rose. He’s just not even trying . His damned pride is as unshakeable as it was the first day we crossed swords, and if he can’t put that aside and?—

The large double doors swing open at the far end of the hall, disrupting my pensive thoughts. In steps a familiar—if unexpected—figure.

Kitarni glides down the space between tables in immaculate robes, and I watch Rose’s face light up at the sight of the High Priestess.

Goddess, her smile is beautiful. Almost enough for me to forget the instant disapproval it’s garnered from the rest of the court. Before I can warn her against doing anything rash, she’s on her feet and sprinting towards the dryad, wrapping the taller female in a warm embrace.

The dryad chuckles—because of course she does—and the court’s interest turns predatory.

The offices of high priestess and Nicnevin are so intertwined that sowing division between the two is impossible, but there are still those who would try.

I move closer instinctively, dropping my glamour in a silent message of my own. Rose is protected, even when they can’t see it.

“I’ve missed you!” Rose murmurs.

“As I have missed you,” Kitarni replies, drawing back to study our Nicnevin. “I never intended to be away from your side this long. It took too long to heal the rifts. I apologise for not seeing the threat sooner or realising its severity.”

“Eero had a large part to play,” Rose says, too damned understanding for her own good. “Besides, you got the Temple back on our side, right?”

“The full force of the Temple’s army is on its way to Elfhame and things are moving apace. Florian will be pleased with the numbers we’ve managed to summon.” Kitarni gives Rose a sly smile. “A certain trail of miracle shrine blessings helped bolster the Temple Guard’s numbers. Fae are lining up to serve the ‘Great Fifth Nicnevin.’”

The two females part, and I want to groan at Rose’s scarlet cheeks and the way they link arms on their way back to the high table. Calimnel is not an easily accessible destination for most fae, making its people famously insular. The otherness with which the Nicnevin’s party are comporting themselves is probably going to be the source of considerable gossip for at least a decade.

“How goes things with your Guard?” Kitarni asks. “And with yourself? All of Faerie has heard how you threatened Cressida and rode into Calimnel on the back of a barghest.”

Rose’s cheeks turn scarlet, and I curse the reaction even as a tiny part of me finds it endearing.

“It wasn’t quite like that,” she mumbles. “And my Guard are…” She glances over her shoulder at me, then purses her lips. “Coexisting.”

It’s perhaps the kindest word she could’ve found to describe the situation, and Kitarni must realise it because she levels her perspicacious gaze on me for an instant before returning it to Rose.

“We should bless the citadel’s shrine while you’re here,” the high priestess suggests, taking a seat opposite Rose. “It’s the final stop on your pilgrimage, though I suppose Siabetha’s Temple remains unblessed.”

At the mention of Siabetha, I have to resist the urge to frown. Strange how remaining unaffected was once so easy. Perhaps Ashton was right; too long away from Calimnel has affected me more than I care to admit. My normal shields have fractured, the sharp edge honed here dulled by the other courts. Even, to a lesser extent, by Rose.

“Did Eero not attempt to prevent you from leaving the city?” I ask the high priestess.

“The King of Summer hasn’t left his palace since the Nicnevin escaped him.” Kitarni twists a branch of her hair around a long, twiggy finger.

All deciduous dryads moult upon entry to Winter, losing their leaves at the border. It’s probably why so few live in the north. Like this, her hair looks like twisted braids. “He’s up to something, and I don’t trust it. No one starts a civil war and then just goes quiet.”

“He sent Torrance and Mervyn out to sully Rose’s good name,” Jaro objects. “And there was the box of nathairs in Illidwen.”

“None of those things can be directly linked back to him,” Kitarni observes. “Mervyn was a temple rogue, dismissed from the court he was assigned to advise. Torrance is a well-known drunkard and cheat, who will claim whatever he can in the hopes of avoiding jail. As for the snakes, they could’ve been sent by anyone with a connection to Rose. Eero is ensuring he has plausible deniability should the matter come to trial.”

“If it comes to trial, he tried to kill the Nicnevin,” I growl, cursing myself for the slip. “Lorcan and I witnessed it. He killed?—”

Rose’s harsh intake of breath silences me faster than a kick to the gut.

“The death of one of Diana’s sons is not something any fae would take lightly,” I finish lamely.

The Fourth Nicnevin was well respected by all fae, especially the seelie. Her reign was one of the longest periods of peace in our history, though arguably a lot of that peace was a result of the Third Nicnevin absolutely trouncing the Fomorians in the last war…

“We will light a candle for him when we visit the shrine,” Kitarni says. “Have you tried summoning him to say your goodbyes?”

Rose shakes her head. “It… didn’t seem right to use my gifts like that. With Mab, Titania, and Maeve, it’s different—they were assigned to me by Danu—but it felt like if I summoned Bram, I was disturbing his afterlife for my own gain.”

“He isn’t in the afterlife,” I remind her, trying to inject some gentleness into my tone, but probably failing. “His spirit is haunting the people he cared about in life while he waits for the Wild Hunt to take him to the Otherworld at Samhain. You’d be giving him something to do.”

How many spirits have I seen carrying out the same routines that governed them in life, over and over, just to stave off the reality of death?

Rose jerks like I’ve struck her, and I grimace as the fir boughs in a vase across the hall ignite and turn to ash in the space of a second.

Goddess damn it.

“If that’s true,” she says, voice hitching. “Then why is he keeping his distance?”

“I assume he’s keeping out of sight so as not to upset your mortal sensibilities.” But it’s much harder for the dead to hide from me. “He hasn’t left you for longer than a day since his death.”

She’s taking this the wrong way. I can see the incorrect leaps in logic her thoughts are taking in the way her violet eyes glimmer with emotion.

“Rhoswyn,” I mutter. “Wherever your mind just went, I assure you, you’re wrong.”

Kitarni is giving me a look over her forkful of vegetables, the kind one gives to an errant child, but my attention is diverted as a familiar silhouette catches the corner of my eye.

Hawkith.

“You should head to the temple,” I blurt, all thoughts of fixing the mess forgotten in the face of the very real danger that is my mother. “Take Bricriu with you. Now.”

The last is a snapped whisper, cutting off her protest before it can begin. Bree sweeps an arm out, ushering her away, and the high priestess abandons her food to follow them. They barely make it from the room before my mother reaches me.

I’m more than aware of the eyes of the rest of our table on our interaction, along with the eyes of everyone else.

No doubt Cedwyn will be informed of this ‘collusion’ in minutes.

It’s hard not to let my aggravation show. She knew this public approach would send waves, just like she knows the clips in her hair are a few gems away from being regarded as a crown.

Once again, she’s trying to pull me into a battle for a throne I don’t want. Worse. This time she’s trying to drag Rose into it too.

“Son, I was hoping to speak to your Nicnevin.”

“She’s occupied. You’ll have to speak with me.”

Lore’s head is bouncing between the two of us, his grin ludicrously wide. No doubt the redcap is getting off on my discomfort.

“I’m hosting a small dinner tonight. I’ve been eager to spend time with my daughter-by-mating.”

The words are warm, but her tone is just as frosty as everything else in this court.

“I’ll inform her.” And at the same time, I’ll tell her she won’t be going.

“Good. Torrance had some interesting claims. It would be a shame if she was unprepared for the allegations she’s facing.”

It’s a ruse. A carefully worded poke designed to get under my skin and play on the protective instincts mates have. I can’t let her win.

But if there is something we need to know…

My spine stiffens infinitesimally. “If there’s a threat to the Nicnevin, you’d do well to inform her Guard.”

I can’t let my own history with the woman who birthed me blind me to anything that might put Rose in danger.

“So we can peel their eyeballs,” Lore pipes up, unhelpfully.

Jaromir’s palm comes up to smack his forehead in an unnecessary display of exasperation.

Hawkith offers Lore a small smile. “I’ll discuss it with Nicnevin Rhoswyn. Oh, and, Redcap? My offer still stands.”

“Not interested.” Lore’s hat turns into a spiky mass that resembles a scarlet hedgehog. “I don’t want anything to do with the toxic cunt that spawned this grumpy asshole.”

All the training in the realm couldn’t stop my eyebrows from rising into my hairline at that pronouncement.

I know she’s offered herself to others to get Cedwyn killed, but did my mother really offer to sleep with Lorcan , of all people?

Thank the Goddess he had the sense to turn her down. It was probably way before Rose was born, but still… Even the mere idea makes me nauseous.

“Besides,” Lore continues, blithely. “It’s not like Cedwyn’s the only royal who needs murdering. I’m going to earn the title ‘king killer’ by collecting Eero’s head, and then maybe Rose will let me?—”

Jaromir elbows the redcap in the gut before he can complete the sentence. Lore bends double, gasping for breath, and I send up a silent prayer that’s equal parts gratitude and a plea for patience. I don’t need a visual of Lore’s murderous fantasies on top of everything else.

“Dinner,” Hawkith repeats, her eyes hard and disapproving as she looks over the two of them. “I’ll see you both then. Leave the Fomorians and these two behind. They’re hardly fit for polite company.”

Her tone is final, and resignation hits me as I realise there’s no escaping this. She wants my mate in her clutches, which means I’m going to have to find a way to keep Rose safe from my own mother.