Page 144 of Beneath a Shattered Sky
Both of which confuse the wolf just enough to allow the prince to retreat.
“Two murder puppies and a murder kitty.” Lore looks around at the beasts with a grin. “Oh, the fun we could have…”
“Get yourselves together,” Drystan snaps, and the vein in his temple pulses.
I don’t blame him for the brusqueness of the command, or the tension running through his body. If I was returning to Calimnel in his place, with his history, I’d feel worse.
“Let Lore and me go first.” He makes a visible effort to soften the next words. “And if you’re able, shield your aura. A lot of fae in the city will be able to read it and use it to their advantage.”
“Oh no, winter fae trying to take advantage of my silly little emotions. However shall I cope?” Lore grins.
My wolf huffs with impatience; but at least the others are moving. I’m sure Calimnel isn’t warm by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s got to be better than this. I’d give my frozen left nut for a nice warm bed where I can lie Rose down and fuck the cold out of our memories, bury myself in her heat and softness and never leave.
Not the time, Jare.Goddess, I can’t go into Calimnel sporting a wolf boner. Lore will never let me live it down.
Drystan takes point, Lore behind him, and Rose behind them. The valley between Mirrwyl and Calimnel is more treacherous than most, with razor sharp rocks waiting to smash open the skulls of anyone unlucky enough to trip and fall. In the distance, the enormous crystal tree towers over the rings of the icy citadel, the translucent branches glowing with a soft golden iridescence that is reflected in the snow.
It’s the closest thing to a living plant I’ve seen in days, and I finally understand how it might’ve comforted a Spring Court princess to see it. The size is simply unbelievable, branches reaching for the summit of the city’s namesake mountain.
The peak has been shaped by ice and Danu’s magic until the cave mouth near the top resembles a skull. It’s partially obscuredby the branches of the crystal tree from this angle, but still the cavern of the Wild Hunt is the stuff of legends. This is the closest most fae will ever get to visiting it.
Rose has already been inside, though it’s been a while since Samhain. Apparently, when the lights of the Otherworld play in the sky at night, the view is ethereal.
Rose is just as captivated by the sight as I am, her mouth gaping open, until she remembers why we’re here and closes it again. I hate that. Cedwyn has already stolen her innocent joy at seeing a marvel of fae magic, and she hasn’t even met him yet.
It’s the same, hours later, when we finally reach the snow-covered threshold beneath the blue-tinged ice gates. She’s awestruck by the fractal swirling patterns that decorate the enormous walls, admiring the turret roofs and the enchanted rings of ice that float around them, refracting rainbows across the mountainside.
But just like before, her excitement vanishes too quickly. Her face settles into a mask of careful determination. All of Rose’s attention is fixed on the imposing gates. She sits straighter in her saddle as she stares them down like they’re Cedwyn himself.
My wolf turns his head, considering the blinking lights behind us. Hundreds of fae who followed the last leg of the pilgrimage. Hundreds waiting to see if Cedwyn will admit her.
“What now?” Caed asks when the gates don’t move.
“We ask them to move nicely with my little knife.” Lore is practically vibrating with eagerness.
Before he can follow through, a second figure appears on the back of the barghest behind our mate. Her mid-length bronze hair flows in the gusty mountain breeze as she grins and clasps her granddaughter’s shoulder in solidarity.
“Now we knock,” Rose mutters.
Nicnevin Maeve slips from the back of the beast, gliding through the snow without disturbing it like the ghost sheis, until she reaches the entryway. Rose’s brows furrow, and her grandmother becomes solid, midway through cracking her knuckles.
“Knock knock, motherfuckers,” Maeve yells.
Then she leans back and punches the gates with a war cry that hasn’t been heard in thousands of years.
Shit.
The massive gates fly inwards with a smash that echoes over the mountainside. The entire Winter Court seems to hold its breath as Maeve flickers out of existence, and Rose urges Wraith forwards, taking point.
“My name is Nicnevin Rhoswyn,” she announces as we pass into the city, practically glowing with the unearthly presence of the Goddess. “Fifth chosen daughter of Danu. I am here to collect the vow I am owed. Any who gets in my way will be subject to the Goddess’s justice.”
My wolf preens, caught between the urge to fuck her and roll over in submission at the dick-hardening display of power that’s emanating from her. I’m pretty sure the others feel the same if the way they’re adjusting themselves is anything to go by.
I’m ready to summon a shield to protect her or tear out the throat of anyone who dares attack, but the fae inside the walls are already on their knees, their heads pressed to the ground.
“Goddess bless the Nicnevin,” they murmur as she passes, Wraith snarling at the slightest movement.
Even Cedwyn’s soldiers are bowing, faces turned down towards the snow in respect, and more than a little fear. Rhoswyn just channelled enough power to allow Maeve to break open a gate that must take half a dozen trolls to move on a good day.
