Page 25 of Beneath a Shattered Sky
“It’s okay, dragonfly,” Bree whispers, uncaring of the blood and gore covering me. “Take your time.”
Someone has found him some clothes, I realise dazedly as I curl my fingers into the soft black wool of his jacket.
“Is she okay?” I mumble against him, rotating my shoulders as I struggle to return some feeling to my limbs.
“She’s alive.”
Alive doesn’t necessarily mean well, but I hesitate to look over because there’s the distinct sound of weeping, and I don’t want to intrude on what must be an emotional moment for Dare and his mate.
“Nicnevin, I…”
My head snaps up and I see Cyreus waiting hesitantly on the beach. His eyes are wide, his green hair slick from the waters of the crystal-clear ocean behind him, and he offers me a respectful bow. “You truly do wield the power of necromancy.”
I nod, softly. “I thought word had gotten around about that already?”
“I thought it was exaggerated,” he confesses. “My lady, did you by any chance see…”
“Eero knows,” I tell him, sadly. “Ciara’s under lock and key in her rooms, and the guards have orders to kill you on sight.”
His mouth tightens, expression morphing into one of distress.
“I asked my mates to try to free her,” I promise.
“Máel is dead,” Bree croaks, as if he still can’t believe the truth. “Eero won’t risk harm to his only living heir.”
Cyreus pales, and I don’t blame him. News of Máel’s death may seem like a good thing, but now that I’ve met Eero, I can only imagine it will enrage him further. I would never have let her leave that room alive, but I know this will come back to haunt us later.
“Nicnevin,” Dare whispers, and I turn my head, meeting his teary blue stare with hesitant warmth.
He could be Florian’s lankier, less scarred twin. Except where Florian seems to carry the weight of the world instinctively, the stress of the last few weeks fits Dare like an ill-made mantle.
There’s no hint of the practical jokester I was told about now. The ghosts of laugh lines are written into the corners of his mouth, but his expression is set into a serious frown. His mate islimp in his arms, and for a second I worry that she’s died despite my efforts, but then her chest rises, and I let out a relieved sigh.
“Please,” I mumble. “You’re my brother. My name is Rose.”
“I owe you a great debt,” he says, still bowing in the sand, holding the unconscious banshee in his arms like she might break at any second. “Yvaine is my everything. I almost lost her, and all because I failed to warn you about what Eero was planning in the first place.”
I struggle out of Bree’s hold and shuffle over to him on my knees. “There is no debt.”
Dare looks away, stroking the mating mark along Yvaine’s arm as his shoulders heave erratically.
“She’s really bad at this,” Lore comments. “Shall we tell her that most royal fae hoard debts like goblins hoard gems?”
“Hush,” Bree mutters. “Let her be her own kind of queen.”
Turning, I behold my full Guard standing on the sand a few feet away, surrounded by packs and provisions I thought we’d left behind. A second later, Lore blinks Prae into the mix too.
They’re all injured, bedraggled, and weary, but they’re alive.
“We need to leave,” Drystan announces, with his customary brusqueness. “They’ll realise what we’ve done soon enough. The redcap killed too many soldiers to go unnoticed.”
“It wasn’t my fault!” Lore cartwheels over to me and presses a kiss to my cheek. “Honestly, Rose, my hat was practicallypastel. It was necessary, right?”
I can practically hear Drystan draw in a breath through gritted teeth, ready to berate the under fae, but he catches himself at the last second, no doubt remembering how pointless arguing with Lore is.
“We need to go,” he repeats, instead. “Merrow, have you?—?”
“My people have left the horses in the cove up ahead,” Cyreus promises. “I must remain close to my mate. Nicnevin, it’s been an honour.”
