Page 114 of What Fools These Immortals Be
Meilyr is not the only threat to this realm. It is time for these people to be reminded of those who used to live among them because the Hunt can no longer keep them safe alone.
The Huntsman ignores them all and stops before Meilyr, who sneers up at him.
“I should not be surprised to see you, and yet here you are,” the Huntsman says. “The queen will not be surprised at all.”
“Fuck you and fuck her.”
“She will kill you, Meilyr. Well, have you killed. We both know she is still capable, but there is no point in debasing herself to destroy someone who could not even take care of some harmless vampires.”
The vampires surrounding Njáll bristle, but he does not. His gaze slides to me and he looks ever so slightly amused.
“And this one…” The Huntsman turns his attention to Augustine. “The Hunt has no need of you, but I understand we have some obligation in this matter.”
He looks at Njáll then, who stares steadily back. Some of the vampires are wavering under the pressure of the Huntsman’s power, and I feel it too, that desire to give in to a creature so otherworldly warring with my body’s instinctual urge to put as much distance between us as possible.
Njáll does not blink. “He assisted Meilyr in the capture of vampires and many fae. Do with him as you like.”
The Huntsman nods to Njáll and a blade flashes when he turns. Augustine gargles, blood spilling from his throat, pooling across the ground. It will be enough to keep him down, and once drained, he will not rise again.
Grant is the one holding him—Asher and Vlad have Meilyr pinned between them—and he pales, lower lip trembling for a precarious second, but swallows the emotion down. The Huntsman looks at him once Augustine is dead and when he nods, Grant lets go. Augustine’s body topples aside.
Meilyr growls, pointed ears twitching. “My turn now, is it?”
“No.” The Huntsman’s smile is thin and sharp and devoid of any humour at all. “I will accompany you through the veil and present you to our queen. She will decide how you die for this.”
He jerks his chin, and Asher and Vlad drag Meilyr to his feet, wrestling him out of the room. Grant watches them go but stands still, hands clasped behind his back.
“Go with them,” the Huntsman says, and Grant nods quickly before he races out of the room.
I expect the Huntsman to leave. I am still on my knees, and the pressure of his power is beginning to make my head ache, and I want nothing more than to get Njáll alone and makecertainthat he is fully healed.
I should not be surprised when his boots move into my vision, but my heart stutters against my ribs and I frown as I tip my head up.
“You did this.”
“Which part?”
“All of it.” The Huntsman crouches down, bringing our faces level. “You are not a member of the Hunt.”
The back of my neck prickles with heat. “I know that.”
“Would you like to be?”
“I—What?”
The Huntsman’s face—this fae face—does not show embarrassment, but his eyes move past me for a second, then back again. “Do you want it back, Maurice?”
It. My magic. Ido, of course I do, but—
Njáll nods at me. He knows how much I miss my magic, but he doesn’t know all of it; he doesn’t know of the conversation I had with Reijo in that cellar, or the fact that I can never pretend that Njáll means less to me than he does.
“I have some conditions,” I say, my voice as even as it was in that room with Meilyr, and the surprise that ripples through the room is echoed in the Huntsman’s face.
“Conditions?”
I raise my eyebrows. He needs me more than I need my magic, which is—
It is something I never thought I wouldthink. And yet I feel like I can say it now, that I can go on and eventually this loss will still ache, but it will not consume me.
