Page 32 of A House of Cloaks & Daggers

He gave no indication of whether he realised that I knew who he was—that I knew he tortured people, though if it was for his own depraved pleasure or by the order of the High King of Faerie, I wasn’t yet sure.

The only thing he said to me was that if I was going to scream like I was being murdered again, I should at least have the decency not to shatter his eardrums a second time when he comes in to shut me up.

Very faintly, I remembered fighting free of his arms and yelling at the top of my lungs for him to let me go. Even less clearly, I had a memory of his face being flattened by complete and utter shock for a brief moment before he obeyed and abruptly dropped me onto the floor with a thud.

The bruise forming on my hip served as confirmation that my recollections were accurate.

Any remnants of trust I felt for Wren from the previous day were long gone, but I made an effort to conceal that truth from him. I didn’t know who the man in my dreams really was, but Wren was my best option for finding him—and finding out his identity.

It was the most bizarre notion, but something told me that the prisoner was my friend.Wouldbe my friend. More than that, even. Perhaps the only person I could trust in Faerie.

So, I trailed along behind Wren as I had done the day before and as I would continue to do until he brought me before the High King.

When he made his first stop, I noticed that the cottage was no longer visible behind us.

We were travelling along the same dirt road lined with fruitful trees, cutting through a vast expanse of sloping, golden-grassed hills. Wren looked towards a small thicket to one side of the road and whistled with his fingers.

Moments later, a beautiful dappled mare trotted out from behind one of those trees, whinnying softly as she broke into a canter towards him. I had to do a double-take because she had three pearlescent, twisted horns descending down her snout from the top of her head, gradually shrinking in size.

I couldn’t believe it.Even the fucking horses are faeries.

She was without a saddle or reins, but she was unmistakablyhisas she nudged her muzzle into his open hand and snorted in greeting.

“Elera,” Wren crooned, stroking her mane. “I’ve brought you some lunch. She’s got plenty of meat on her bones, just as you like them.”

If I hadn’t been in Faerie, I would have thought his words to be ludicrous. Insult aside, the implication should have sounded impossible.

But Iwasin Faerie, so I took a measured step backwards as the creature looked up at me with wide, depthless eyes and arguable weapons growing out of her face. Wren gave her a soft pat on the shoulder, and she lurched for me, swiping her slippery tongue right up the side of my face from my jawline to my temple before I had a chance to duck and roll away.

And then she smiled at me.

The horse—or maybe she preferred the word unicorn—smiledat me.

Wren burst out laughing, clutching his stomach. “You should have seen the look on your face!”

Elera seemed to laugh too, letting out a high-pitched whinny as she turned and trotted back to him, long silver tail swishing back and forth with glee.

“Bastard,” I muttered, wiping away his beast’s slobber with the sleeve of my favourite cardigan. I pointed at Elera, cheeks flaming red, and glared at the golden-eyed fiend beside her. “Do you want me to think thateverythingin this bloody place plans to devour me?”

His broad grin of amusement simmered down into a suggestive smirk, and he trailed his fiery eyes from the top of my head down to my boots with deliberate slowness. “Yes,” he answered, meeting my furious stare. He winked. “Better keep your wits about you, bookworm.”

And with those parting words, Wren promptly mounted his unicorn-horse, hands knitting in her ashy-grey mane. Theybroke into a gallop down the lane, leaving me to be swallowed by the cloud of dust they left in their wake.

Chapter fourteen

Get Your Own Horse

Iwas going tokill him.

If I ever saw Wren’s smug, beautiful face again, I was going to kill him in some creative way that would leave him speechless and awestruck before he met his end.

And then I might very well have gone into hiding for the rest of my life out of shame for allowing him to trick meagain.

As I traipsed down the road with absolutely no idea where I was going or how long it would take me to get there, I went over and over the exchange in my head.

Wren offered to take me into Faerie. He never said anything about escorting me to see the High King. Foolishly, I’d assumed that all on my own. I thought that he would take me to some medieval castle where the High King would ask me to swear allegiance to him in exchange for information about my bloodline and heritage—which I would gladly do in order to render myself and my scent useless to the Malum. And then Iwould figure out my next move: either find a way to free the prisoner from his dungeon, and free myself forever from the nightmares at the same time, or steal some fancy faerie weapons and go back home.

The latter option required Wren’s assistance because I hadn’t worked up the courage to ask himwhathe’d made my mother and sister believe about my existence before he’d abandoned me. So, I amended my plans.

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