Page 95 of Beneath a Shattered Sky
The púca sighs. “After a while, redcaps get kind of immune to pain. Torturing them is fairly pointless. Hitting him wouldn’t even register as a punishment, so it appears Lore has gotten creative.”
“A’ight, a’ight,” Finch says, his hat retreating, forming a tiny flat cap that reveals the soft planes of his face. “I’ll stop. Enough, damn you.”
Lore, not content to win so easily, bends down and bops Finch on the nose. “Aww, your hat is practically cerise, no wonder you’re losing.”
The other redcap pushes up, groaning. Like Lore, he’s got chalky white skin and bright red eyes, but his hair is a slightly more silver shade to it and his jawline is harsher, almost as strong as Caed’s.
“Like you can talk. Yours is salmon.”
Lore looks at him, aghast. “Well, there’s only one solution, then.”
A second later, they’re both gone.
“Great,” Drystan snarls. “We’ve lost our guide. You’d think as the mate of a legendary general, he’d have a little more self-control.”
“Have you ever met a redcap who did?” Bree asks pointedly. “Because I haven’t.”
“Come on,” Jaro says, moving past him. “I’m sure Reyni is down here somewhere.”
“Does she have any children?” Caed asks, butting into the conversation. “Her and the redcap.”
Bree looks at him, frowning. “They had a daughter. Liana. She was lost to a raid on the northern forts a half century ago. I’d stay back and let the others do the talking. She has no love for Fomorians.”
Caed jerks, but none of the others catch it.
“Did you know her?” I ask, pulling free of Bree’s arms to fall into step beside him.
My púca doesn’t protest, but takes my hand instead, helping me down the steps carved into the flesh of the mushrooms and into an adjoining open cave.
I doubt he did. Caed didn’t talk to fae in Fellgotha. He only knew Bram because they were both in the Deep caves.
So when his turquoise eyes flash with pain, I frown. “You did. Who was she?”
A servant? A friend? Something more? My jealousy, already riled by the mental image of Lore and Cressida fucking in front of an army of redcaps, flares again, and I fight to tamp it down.
Goddess, I am not this person. Fae instincts may be wild, but I know my mates had lives before me.
“My mother,” Caed murmurs, and Bree’s head snaps up.
“That’s not possible.” My púca looks sick. “Fae are only fertile?—”
“During their fevers, yes. But what do you think a bunch of warriors do when a pretty young fairy has the misfortune to go through her fever under the mountain?” Caed looks away sharply. “She was gifted to my father ‘for the experience’. She died when I was so young that I didn’t even know her name until Danu told me.”
That quickly, a fae I don’t recognise is in front of him. Her hair is a wild mess of black strands, whipped up by the agitated flapping of her round bumble bee wings.
“General Reyni—” Jaro begins, but her eyes—bright, turquoise gems—are fixed on Caed.
She was here all along, I realise, likely wearing a glamour to disguise herself. Was she spying on us?
“How did she die?” Caed flinches at the harshness in her tone, and the general advances. “How did my daughter die?”
“Elatha was pleased with her, so he chained her in a cell and bound her with iron while he waited for her next fever.” Caed’s throat bobs as he swallows, and I can see the haunting fog of remembered horror creeping into his eyes. “He… forgot about her. She was so weakened by the metal that she starved to death. He only realised when he took me to visit her, and we found her corpse.”
I cannot imagine how awful that must have been, to die chained and forgotten in the darkness. And Caed… How old was he when he found his mother dead and forgotten in a cell?
I look to Drystan, a horrified certainty hitting me. The Wild Hunt never collects the souls of the dead from Fellgotha. For all we know, Caed’s mother’s ghost has been stuck in the dark all this time.
Reyni looks like she might be sick, but her next words are barbed with cruelty. “Get out of my camp, Fomorian.”
