Chapter 8

Eight

Rhoswyn

W hen we make it back to the clearing, the camp is in chaos, and the snarling wolf in the centre is mostly to blame—though I wouldn’t be surprised to find the smirking, blue-skinned Fomorian said something to set him off. Neither of them can score a hit, thanks to the charm I put on them, but I don’t think that matters to the beast with its fur on end. It certainly hasn’t spared the camp from their destruction.

There are claw marks gouged into the dirt everywhere, and I swear that tree wasn’t uprooted earlier.

Prae is sitting to one side, ignoring them, and Drystan is trying his best to reason with the wolf while Lore goads them both on.

Swallowing, I take a deep breath through my nose and let it out slowly.

Time to act like a Nicnevin.

“Enough!” I snarl, stepping between them as I draw sharply on Danu’s power, reaching for Mab as I do so.

My grandmother appears without me even needing to ask, her hand clasping my shoulder. Sparks of lightning fly from my fingers, zapping both of the culprits so hard that they’re forced backwards.

“Don’t get between fighting males!” Drystan snarls, but I level him with a look that pins him in place.

“Shift back,” I tell the wolf, not bothering to layer my voice with charm. “We are having a talk—no. I am going to talk, and you five are going to listen to me.”

Goddess, I don’t need this right now. My eyes are burning, but I tell myself that the smoke from the fire is to blame.

The wolf shakes its head, stunned, then meets my eyes with a whine. I sense Drystan tensing behind me, but the wolf shocks us both when he rolls onto his back and bares his neck.

Melting just a fraction, I bend down and pet the soft fur of his belly. “I need Jaro back.”

He yips, rolling onto his front and shaking out his fur. His bones crunch as they break and reform, the furry face of the wolf retreating to present my mate, who pushes to his knees with shaky limbs.

“Caed is travelling with us,” I declare. “I won’t hear any arguments against it. The Goddess gave him until Beltaine to convince you to trust him, and I think he’s earned a fair chance by rescuing your asses from Siabetha and saving me from iron poisoning.” I pin the Fomorian in question with a look that halts the grin creeping across his cheeks in its tracks. “This is the last time I’ll interfere. Danu made it clear; this isn’t for me to decide.”

“I understand.” Caed dips his head, surprisingly solemn. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. Truly. I regret everything that happened in Fellgotha. I thought about what you said in Pavellen, and I understand why you won’t trust me, but I swear on my mother’s soul, I’ll prove myself.”

Sighing, I let my defensive posture slip the barest fraction.

“I am not in the right place to have this discussion,” I admit, releasing Mab and my hold on the Goddess’s magic. “I am tired, scared, aching, and my brother is dead .” I feel more than see each of them flinch with every blow. “And my Guard is behaving like a bunch of angry teenagers.” I meet all of them in the eyes, letting them see the naked pain there before settling on Jaro, who looks away.

I flinch, taking his rejection like a physical blow.

“You may not want to talk about it,” I begin, approaching him slowly. “But I need you.” I hate the way my voice wobbles. “I know I’m responsible for whatever you’re going through right now, and I’m sorry that I let Aiyana get away with everything she did. I’m sorry she hurt your wolf, and you’re right to resent me for it. But I can’t do this without you.”

I pause, stopping when I’m close enough to breathe in the scent of woodsmoke, leather, and wildness that’s uniquely his. He’s turned so his back is to me, and I raise a hand, needing to turn him, to see his face.

He growls, and the sub-vocal sound makes the hairs on my arms rise. My hand hovers an inch from his shoulder, and when I make contact, he jerks like a current has passed through him.

“My lady.”

The official address cuts, and I bite my lip, dropping my hand and breaking the contact.

“Sir Jaromir.” Two can play this game. “You don’t have to talk to me about whatever is bothering you if you don’t want to, but there will be no more fighting in my Guard. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” he grunts out.

Spinning on my heel, I head blindly for the other side of the fire and the log there. It doesn’t feel like I’ve put enough space between us, but I meant it when I said I was hungry. I’ve been through a lot, and my stomach hasn’t exactly been at the forefront of my concerns until now.

Whatever spell kept everyone from moving while I spoke is broken the second I sit down on the torn up grass and help myself to a skewered fish that survived the ruckus. Lore blinks to my side, plopping his hat onto my wet hair before he tugs me into his lap and snuggles me.

“Pretty pet,” he croons. “Cages are no fun without you. Did any of these idiots congratulate you for flying yet?” His eyes fix on the necklace at my throat. “Oooh, where did you get the shiny? It looks awfully like part of a famous set?—”

“I gave it to her.” Drystan’s voice is dark. “Stop trying to rile me, redcap. Did you not hear our mate ask us to stop fighting?”

Lore’s red eyes narrow, but his lips tilt up in a grin. His silence is almost more terrifying than if he had leapt to his feet and gone for the kill.

“Eat,” Bree prompts, crouching beside us. “After that, we’ll rest. In the morning, we’ll come up with a plan.”

“I have a plan,” I say. “We’re going to finish this pilgrimage, then we’re going to free Elfhame. Once all of that is done, we’ll deal with Eero.”

“The Summer Court being in league with the Fomorians changes things,” Drystan argues. “They could join forces. It’s too risky to leave Eero to his own devices.”

They’ve been talking, I realise. Caed must’ve filled them in on Eero’s plans while I was bathing.

“What else can we do, right now, to solve that?” I ask, honestly. “The Autumn Court is battling the invasion, the Spring Court has sent their best knights to Elfhame, the Winter Court is too far away, and Eero is apparently invulnerable. We were lucky enough to get in and out of Siabetha to rescue you. They’ll have doubled the guard by now, so if you have a plan, please tell me now, because I am out of ideas.”

His head drops. “The redcap is the assassin?—”

“I will not watch Eero snap his neck again,” I hiss, my fingers fisting in Lore’s shirt.

“Aww,” Lore groans. “Did you have to tell them about that part?”

“There’s a chance Cressida might refuse to swear her vow because of this.” Drystan sits opposite the fire. “It makes no sense for her to allow herself to be drawn into civil war on top of the one she’s already fighting.”

“Then I’ll make her swear it.” I’m done playing nice. “I don’t care if I have to charm her and Cedwyn. I’ve had enough. Pandering to the minor royals is what led to this.” I pause, my eyes straying back to Jaro’s back before I snap them to the fire. “I’m happy for you to choose the safest route to the Autumn Court, and I’m not some dictator who won’t listen to your suggestions, but my gut says this is the right thing to do.”

Drystan jerks his head down once, acknowledging what I’ve said, and doesn’t argue any more.

I finish my food, then snuggle deeper into Lore’s lap. I could find my bedroll, but I don’t want to be alone just yet. The redcap is tracing spiral designs across my shoulder with his thumb as he holds me close and finishes his own meal, and I listen to the quiet conversation of the others.

After a while, Bree takes out the flute he was granted and starts to fiddle with it, playing a few notes here and there, learning the instrument. The tone it makes is haunting, ethereal in a way that makes me shiver.

Perhaps it’s a reflection of my current mood, but it almost sounds mournful.

“Bree,” Drystan snaps, cutting my thoughts short. “We need an eye on the Fomorians.”

I hadn’t even noticed that Prae and Caed had left, but Bree obliges. His valravn bursts free with a soft caw, erupting into the skies and leaving a trail of ink behind.

“And what were you thinking?” Drystan hisses, this time directing his comment at Lore. “Forgiving him? When did that happen?”

His voice is soft, despite the anger in his words, and I wonder if he thinks I’m asleep.

Lore shrugs around me. “I can still stab him whenever I feel like it.”

“You’ve given him hope.” Drystan sounds like he’s getting farther away. “You’re going to give Rose the wrong idea?—”

“What idea is that, dullahan?” Lore drawls. “The idea that him coming to save her—and rescue our cute wickle bottoms—when we needed it most, might mean something?”

“You’d trust him with her? To be good to her?”

“No, but Lore’s right,” Bree mutters, interrupting before Lore can say anything. “Caed just had the perfect opportunity to take Rose and hand her over to his father. He didn’t take it.”

Drystan must be pacing, because he’s getting closer again. “He chose to save his own skin.”

“I’m not saying that his motives were pure,” Bree agrees. “But it’s a start. We can at least trust him to work in his own self-interest.”

“Goddess save me from the whims of the under fae,” Drystan snarls. “He dies at Beltaine. Or have you forgotten that she still can’t have her wings touched without flinching?”

Lore pipes up, “You may not have noticed, given your stunted emotional range, but wolfie has done more damage to Rose in the last twenty-four hours than the Fomorian has.”

Jaro snarls, his only contribution to the conversation so far, but otherwise, no one says anything.

The silence stretches, becoming the companionable quiet of a group of people lost in thought.

“They’re talking about us,” Bree murmurs, interrupting the argument before it can get any worse. “But it’s nothing malicious. They also have no idea why Lore has decided to trust Caed—although they’re putting it down to his madness.”

“Madness is such a strong word,” Lore muses. “I prefer to think of myself as morally uninhibited.”

Bree actually snorts a little at that one. “Come on. We should all get some rest. It’s a long journey tomorrow, and Lox has the watch.”

“I have the watch,” Jaro corrects. “I won’t sleep much, anyway.”

“You were just in an iron cage,” Drystan reminds him. “Sleep. Being tired won’t help you resist the wolf.”

Resist the wolf?

Questions I can’t ask swirl in my mind as Lore carries me over to a bedroll and tucks us both in. There’s something poking at my side, and I squirm slightly to get comfortable as I ponder whether it’s an erection or a dagger. Knowing Lore, it could be either.