Page 55 of Beneath a Shattered Sky
Goddess. Everyone knew that Autumn had been hit hardest by the invasion, but I had no idea the situation here was so bad. News that Rose’s brother hasn’t reported in is particularly concerning. Uther and his mate are formidable warriors, and if Rose hears of it, she’ll want answers.
“Training her is pointless. Rose isn’t a killer, let alone a warrior,” I argue. “She doesn’t have the instincts?—”
“Oh, I suppose watching her slaughter the fae in Siabetha was just a figment of my imagination?” The damned Fomorian apparently can’t keep his mouth shut any longer. “She’s a glaring fucking vulnerability with a bleeding heart who needs to learn some kind of self-defence before she gets us all killed. You’d rather lock her in a tower than risk her breaking a fingernail, but that’s exactly how she ends up?—”
“You don’t have the right to talk about how we treat our Nicnevin,” I retort. “Your own behaviour?—”
Caed pins me with a glare. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see any of you rescuing her ass from fae trying to kill her on a regular basis.”
“No, we just had to watch her get slaughtered by Fomorians multiple times!”
“Rose has always been clear,” Prae adds, stepping between us before our argument can escalate further. “She wants to learn to defend herself and protect her loved ones. Any other Nicnevin would’ve received at least basic sword training, surely?”
“She doesn’t even know that much?” Cressida’s palm scrubs down her face. “And what use is ‘defending herself’ to me and my court? We need a lethal Nicnevin with the power and viciousness necessary to turn the tide of battle before every tree in the Forest of Whispers is felled and used as fuel for Elatha’s war machine. Not someone only interested in self-defence.” She scoffs the last word.
“She doesn’t need to be lethal,” I retort. “Her Guard are all warriors. If you need more males on the battlefield?—”
“You really think the four of you can make a difference?” Caed says. “There are thousands of Fomorians throwing themselves at this court, and more will be coming with the armada. Sure, they’re headed for Elfhame, but you really think they won’t turn on Illidwen and the other capitals next?”
Maeve turns to the three of us and pins us with a look. “Shut up, all of you. Cress and I are going to figure this out.”
Without waiting for our agreement, she turns back. “She doesn’t need to learn to use a sword. She needs to learn to use her gift.”
“And you think I’m the one to teach her.”
“We both know your mother?—”
“Was insane.” Cressida stands, spine stiffening. “She was ostracised so thoroughly by the court that, in the end, she preferred the company of spirits to the living. Do you not remember us waking up in the night to find her hosting a masked ball for the dead in the grand ballroom?”
Maeve shrugs. “It was fun. We got to try liquor for the first time that night. Why are you complaining? Besides, Rose doesn’t have the… history your mother did.”
Cressida isn’t finished ranting. “Or perhaps you’ll recall that I came to live with you in the Temple once she decided to take a ‘trip’ to the Otherworld to see her mother, just before Samhain.” She strides towards Maeve until they’re toe-to-toe. “Are youready to watch your granddaughter follow in your footsteps and fall on her own?—”
The slap that echoes off the walls is deafening. “You got a free pass the first time,” Maeve snarls. “But you don’t know Rose well enough to judge her. Your mother’s death was the result of her tattered self-esteem after decades of bullying. Mine was achoicethat hurt you, and I’m sorry for that, okay? Rose has grown up without any of the stigma your mother was subjected to, and she’s protected by her status as Danu’s chosen Nicnevin. She’s also… less rash than me. Give her a chance, Cress. I’m begging you.”
The autumn queen looks away, then takes a deep breath before pinning her old friend with a look. “If I do this, you owe me a drink when I join you in the Otherworld.”
Maeve nods solemnly. “I figured I already did.”
Cressida turns her head towards the door. “Naeven!”
One of her mates pops his head through the flap, his eyes lingering on us before turning to his queen. “Yes, love?”
“I’m staying in the capital for a few weeks with the Nicnevin.”
“You’re abandoning the front line?” He gapes at her. “Cress, the warriors?—”
“Will know no difference,” the autumn queen snaps. “General Reyni will remain there, wearing my glamour, for morale.”
Beside me, Caed stiffens, but I ignore him, watching Cressida’s male instead. The autumn queen has three knight-consorts—her mates—though Naeven is often considered her right hand. His magic allows him to send thoughts to whomever he wishes, across vast distances, an invaluable skill for someone planning a war.
He pins us with a furious glare, then bows. “Yes, my queen. Would you like me to remain with her for updates?”
“Yes.” Cressida waves him away, waiting until the flap closes to continue. “You better be right about this, Maeve. If she doesn’t show up, or?—”
“She will.”
“If she doesn’t,” Cressida continues. “I’m dumping her ass at the Winter Court border and coming right back here to continue fighting. I don’t care that she’s your granddaughter.”
