Page 31 of The Savage Queen

Starn, Iarbonel, and Killian were unfurling from the ground, rubbing their eyes and holding their heads. Fergus and Annind, however, had yet to wake, lips turning blue.

“You’re in Oighir,” a stranger replied.

Dagfin’s skin prickled, spinning on his heel to find several wolves stalking toward their cell. From where Dagfin stood, he estimated there were thirty or so cells, wrapped around the periphery of the courtyard. A flagstone expanse dusted in snow and boasting a large fountain at its center. Its statues depicted a bear and a stag mid-battle, water frozen and glistening in ribbons of ice.

Beyond, sharp towers jutted at the blizzard skies and floating bridges—like blown glass—connected turrets, flying buttresses, and battlements wrapped in thick quilts of skull ivy. Verandas and their staircases braced against the heart of winter, each and everything twinkling with a lustrous glow that emanated from the bulbs of brambles of eyebright, glittering like bundles of stars around the castle.

“Oighir,” Dagfin repeated. He’d heard of this keep before. The druids farther north spoke of such a kingdom, offering sacrifices to both the ruler of this bastion and the forest that encased it to keep from starving or freezing at the cost of the cold. A fae domain, ruled by the son of Winter who sat on a throne of frostbite.

“Where is Aisling?!” he said, louder than he’d intended.

The wolves grinned.

“The bride of the forest is…well taken care of.”

Dagfin’s nostrils flared. “If she’s harmed?—”

“Our lord would never mistreat a fellow sovereign.”

“Yet you dare to imprison mortal princes?!” Starn interjected, reaching for the bars to better glare at the snickering wolves. “This is a direct offense to mankind.”

“Last we heard, theDamh Bánmade it so offenses can be commonplace once more, if not enjoyed,” the nearest wolf said.Damh Bán. They were referring to Lir.

Another wolf nodded, licking its fangs in response.

“Release us!” Starn yelled.

“Or what, mortal prince?” The wolves crept forward till they stood a few paces from their cell.

Killian moved to grab his crossbow only to find it gone from his back. In a panic, theFaeraksearched his bandolier, his belt, his boots, realizing to his own horror all his weapons had been stripped off his person. None of the others were an exception, including Dagfin.

The wolves dissolved into a frenzy of laughter.

“You’ll remain here until our lord summons you,” the first said, coming up for air.

“We won’t survive a summons in this cold,” Iarbonel said, gesturing to Fergus and Annind, still lying unconscious atop the stone, the youngest of the brothers weary after their days journeying in such harsh climates, not to mention Annind’s injuries from the fear gorta. “We need fire and heat.”

The wolves exchanged glances. “So weak, so frail, so ill-equipped for the natural world. You claim us perversities of nature, but it is man that is a blight in both this realm and the next. You weren’t made for this world, unable to withstand even its seasons. You’re a curse to punish a Sidhe queen and nothing more.”

“Even so, I wager your lord won’t be too satisfied with two fewer princes once he summons us,” Dagfin said, focusing on the largest wolf at the front of their pack.

The beast frowned, ears falling flat against his head as he considered.

“My lord would relish a mortal death, especially if said death is reaped from the Neimedh Clann.”

“Even if such a death comes at the cost of any and all leverage?” Dagfin took hold of the prison cell bars. “If your lord wanted us dead, we would’ve been by now.”

At this, the wolf snarled, wrinkling its muzzle.

“Frigg, perhaps the human has a point?—”

“Enough!” the center wolf, Frigg, barked at the canine behind him, silencing any others who considered speaking. “Bring them a handful of torches, whatever scraps from the kitchens, and no more.”

The rest of the wolves bounded for a large wooden threshold, the door groaning open at the sign of their presence and closing behind them as they exited the courtyard. Frigg lingered long enough to snarl and snap at Dagfin before chasing after the others.

“You think they’ll return?” Iarbonel asked, shrugging off his jacket to place over Annind, pale as the blizzard weaving around them.

“If they value self-preservation, then yes,” Dagfin said, scouring the courtyard for a way out, for a weapon, for any and all options. He’d been imprisoned before on hisFaerakmissions—a banshee’s den in the Hills of Hidris, a bocanach’s lair further south, a kelpie’s nest in Aithirn’s shallows—and he’d learned there was always a means of escape no matter how formidable the prison.

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