Page 35 of A House of Cloaks & Daggers

Like I’d left my body behind.

Panting against the road, still somehow feeling the stones digging into my cheek, I lay there in silence for a few moments to gather my thoughts. I strained to view the sky from the corner of my eye, which was still a glittering rainbow. The field around me remained a landscape of gold.

If I’d died, I’d made my way into hell—because I was still in fucking Faerie.

“That was very nicely done, though perhaps next time you could do thatbeforethe Banshee knocks you to the ground.”

Wren’s voice came from behind me. I flipped onto my back so fast that my spine twinged, and an oversized rock jammed into my shoulder. Sitting on top of Elera, whose furry lips were pulled back in disgust as she surveyed the body in front of her, Wren was grinning down at me.

I had so many things I wanted to say to him—most of them filthy, prolific curses and threats upon his life—but as I sat upright, wincing at the dirt-crusted cuts on my forearm, I could only vocalise one thing.

“Banshee. Not a Witch?”

He eyed the carcass, the corners of his mouth turning down. “No. Similar, but this one’s a Banshee. Witches are much prettier. Less intent on fighting everyone, too. Keep to themselves mostly.”

“What does a Banshee want with the High King?”

Wren’s gaze whipped to my face so quickly that I almost heard a cracking sound slap the air between us. “What?”

Awkwardly climbing to my feet, I brushed as much of the dust off my clothes as I could using the hand on my uninjured arm and then stepped over to examine the creature again. “It was asking me to tell it where the High King is…” I trailed off as my eyes fell upon the cause of the Banshee’s death.

A hole had been blasted right through its abdomen, large and clean-edged as if heat had melded the circumference of its wound back together after blowing out the Banshee’s vital organs. I couldn’t be certain if the same thing that had created the hole had also created the smoky shadows now licking at the remainder of the body, appearing like mist on a lake.

“What else did it tell you about the High King?” he enquired stiffly.

“Nothing.” I raised my eyebrows, sucking in a deep breath through my nose as I nodded in undeniable awe at the killing blow. “Thank you, I suppose,” I said, looking up at him.

Wren fought off a smile. “Bookworm, that wasn’t me.”

“What?” I blinked at him. “Who?”

He shrugged, casting his gaze around the empty fields. “Some annoying little human thing.”

Try as I might, I could not fathom the implication.I did not—

“I knew you could do it,” he went on casually, stroking Elera’s mane. “Apparently, you just needed a rather foul-smelling, homicidal push.”

Any relief or gratitude I had felt for him moments ago winked out of existence. “This was atest? You left me here for some dumb, wicked, godawful faerietest?”

Wren rolled his eyes. “First of all, I did notleaveyou. I simply went quite a long wayaheadof you because, like I told you before, I’m sick of walking. You’re slow and clumsy, and Elera and I needed to feel the wind on our faces,” he declared matter-of-factly, lifting his chin.

The horse nodded in agreement, and I thought about poking my tongue out at her.

“Second of all, I had no idea that you’d take it upon yourself to pick a fight with a Banshee while I was off frolicking ahead of you.” He gestured to the mutilated body on the ground. “Banshees are exiled from the Court of Light—and all of the Faerie Courts under the High King’s command—because they don’t follow the rules, so one shouldn’t have evenbeenhere.”

I was so angry, I couldn’t speak. All I could do was shout wordlessly and stomp my foot on the ground like a child having a tantrum under his smug, feline gaze.

“Your wounds have clotted,” he noted, tilting his head to better examine my arm. “They’ll need to be healed to prevent infection. I dread to think where that Banshee’s hands have been.”

I held my arm up and looked at the cuts, trying not to feel the sting or the way the sight of my own blood made my stomach churn. I also tried not to ponder the seemingly accelerated healing process I was displaying. With the depth of the wounds, I knew I should still be bleeding out and unable to stand.

“Can you…?” I extended my arm towards him, flinching as the cuts stretched open again.

Wren let out a long-suffering sigh. “Must I do everything for you? I’m really not your father.”

My teeth cut into my lower lip to hold back my retort, and the saliva that was pooling in my mouth, ready to aim and fire at him. I held his gaze firmly, a prisoner of my own.

“Fine.”

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