Page 174 of Beneath a Shattered Sky
I’m free.
Two more words that I never thought I’d hear my uncle say.
Rose has turned the Winter Court upside down. No. My mother did. Now it’s up to me to deal with the fallout. Ashton looks like he’s about to break the throne he’s sitting on. He keeps staring at the blood on his hands like he wants to check that it’s real.
That’s another mess. We don’t need a newly minted king. We need established rulers with strong courts. Some of Cedwyn’s generals are even looking to me first, but I refuse to pick up that poisoned chalice.
Ashton doesn’t know it, but Archie is lingering behind him, waiting for something. I’m not sure what my grandfather wants anymore, given that Cedwyn was the target of most of his ghostly revenge antics, but he touches his collar when he sees me looking at him.
I barely resist the urge to do the same, but there’s no point reminding the court of what I am. It will only add fuel to this burning clusterfuck.
The hastily thrown together war room is brimming with old fae warriors, messengers, and court busybodies who have no business being here. Jaromir is with me, the search for Torrance abandoned, and now he’s bristling with a feral energy that I’m beginning to think might be a symptom of being away from Rose for too long. At least his bulk is giving me space as I stare at the perfect ice-miniature of the queendom.
The one where Elfhame City is currently under a blue and black banner.
“What information do we have on Florian’s forces?” Jaro demands,again.
Nothing more than we knew five minutes ago, I want to growl at him.
“The Knight Commander would rather die than abandon the city,” I reply evenly. “We have to assume he and his knights are dead unless we learn otherwise.”
This entire operation has now become suicidal. When the knights had control of the palace, and the passageway to Orvendel, there was a chance we could fight this battle on two fronts, trapping the Fomorians between two forces. Victory would’ve been a goddess-damned sight easier.
Now we have to assault our own city. A city that was designed to withstand siege from everyone by the greatest fae minds of the second era.
“How in goddess’s name did they build their armada so fast?” General Elvira mutters, throwing her long braid over her shoulder. “We had months…”
“Before Eero allied with him,” Jaro mutters. “The Summer Court’s resources will have helped immeasurably.”
We’ve never fought Fomorians with fae allies before.
And my mother would’ve added winter to that alliance.
Now she’s dead.
And I am an orphan. A bastard orphan lordling.
Shutting that thought down with a viciousness that would probably scare my mate, I turn back to the map.
“What of the passageway?” Elvira asks. “If we can still reach the palace, there’s a chance our plans could still work.”
“It’s possible that it hasn’t been discovered,” I admit, slowly. “But it would be impossible to bring huge numbers of soldiers through there without attracting notice.”
“We wouldn’t need to,” Jaro murmurs.
“You’re not thinking…”
“I’m suggesting we take Rose.” The wolf is glowing in his eyes. “With my shield, she won’t come to harm.”
“Until the first bit of iron bypasses your magic.”
“So we take the Fomorian. His magic is unaffected by it. He keeps them at a distance, while we protect Rose, and the redcap will obviously want to be there too, for the carnage, if nothing else.”
Like Bricriu and I won’t? If he’s talking about taking our Nicnevin into the middle of the enemy stronghold with only a seelie, a psychopath, and a Fomorian, he’s insane.
“Not unless there’s no other choice,” I grate out. “We need more information before we consider anything so rash.”
Kitarni bursts into the room, and I cock my head at her, waiting for news of Bree’s condition. Ever since he told me he was poisoned, tension has been coiling in my gut.
