Page 53 of Beneath a Shattered Sky
I choke. “Saving—what?”
I came here to demand her army to saveElfhame.
“As per the terms of the treaty of Marlen, a Nicnevin vows to defend and protect the courts when called upon.” Cressida is smiling like a cat who’s got the cream, purple painted lips stretched wide around rows of pearly teeth, and I blink in disbelief. “So, when can we expect the reinforcements I’ve beenasking your seelie twit of a brother for since this invasion began?”
I look back at Jaro beside me, who’s just as stunned as I am, then at the others. None of them were ready for this. We spent so long worrying about how to get the oath out of the minor royals that no one ever anticipated Cressida would give it to me and then use it against us.
“I assume you’ll be using your vast powers of necromancy to annihilate the army currently decimating my own?” Cressida continues. “Or perhaps you’ll persuade the Court of Blades to finally answer my fucking letter?” She shoots Lore a death glare.
“Your war is boring.” He blows a raspberry at her. “Plus, I don’t know if you noticed, but I found a shiny new pet.”
“Lorcan,” she growls in exasperation, and I’m struck by the familiarity of the exchange. “We both know neither of those things is the reason you’ve been ignoring my summons for decades.”
There’s a quiet, intimate accusation there that makes my heart sink. Lore’s hat tightens on my head as if reassuring me, but all it really tells me is that I’m not imagining the way Cressida is looking at him. There’s more there than an assassin who used to work for her, more than a queen ordering one of her lords. There’s history between them that I don’t know about, and I’m not sure I want the details. Yet her expression fades as Lore steps up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist.
“Whose dust is on my skin, pet?” he murmurs in my ear. “Who’s wearing my cap right now?”
It’s true, a satisfied part of my hind brain realises with satisfaction. Even after the ride with the kelpies, a hint of my dust is still glistening in his hair.
I have the oddest, violent urge to tug him down and force him to eat me out until he’s a walking beacon of violet glitter.
Shit.
I pace away, not stopping until Maeve gets in my face.
“Kid, let me talk to her. Make me solid and give me fifteen minutes. I swear, I’ll fix this.”
She stares at Cressida with a look of sadness.
“Spirits don’t make good diplomats,” Drystan advises, visibly grinding his teeth together. “And your grandmother’s memories are of a different person?—”
“Shut the fuck up, bastard,” Cressida orders him. “If that—” she cuts off, searching for the word, before abandoning her point with a huff. “Bring Maeve back, if she’s finally summoned the balls to explain herself.”
I bristle at the insult to my Guard, but Lore’s hands reach my shoulders and rub soothingly, his touch grounding.
“Pretty pet,” he croons. “Want to ditch this bitching competition and go do something fun? We can even take the púca with us.”
“All of you,” I say, before I’m even conscious of opening my mouth.
The redcap has managed to play on the one emotion that’s stronger than my protectiveness. The possessiveness sparked by the realisation that I’m meeting his former lover. Worse, that I have to cooperate and negotiate with her.
“Wolfie as well,” Lore bargains. “But someone has to keep an eye on the stabby prince and the spirits. That seems like a job for a boring winter lord.”
Drystan radiates disapproval as he glowers at Lore, but he agrees, anyway. “The redcap speaks sense. Go.”
Seventeen
Drystan
Rose is the only one in the room who doesn’t know she’s being manipulated. Her shoulders are stiff, and her possessiveness shines darkly in her eyes as they dart between Lore and Cressida. The autumn queen is happily mated, and has been for a long time, so she’s overwhelming Rose’s territorial instincts purposefully. I can’t really complain, because it means our Nicnevin agrees to my suggestion without arguing.
Jaro and Lore each claim one of her hands and lead Rose out of the room, Bricriu right behind. The black-and-silver ghost of a fox, who’s been following us since we left the Summer Court, gives me a silent nod before trailing after them, bushy tail disappearing through the solid wooden door.
Rose’s brother is staying true to the ways of most spirits, keeping close to the people he knew and loved in life. If Rose was actively using the sight, she’d have seen him by now.
It’s probably a good thing she isn’t.
Except for that first day when she wept against Bricriu until she was too exhausted to cry any more, her strategy thus-farseems to be pretending she hasn’t lost a brother. She’s walling off her grief with that doomed combination of denial and distraction. Whenever we try to mention Bram’s death, she shuts us down.
