Page 34 of Atop the Faerie Throne
“No.” Caed interrupts, hand falling to the sword at his side.
Elatha raises a brow, eyes narrowing.
“You think you can protect her, boy?” He stands, and the movement jangles the heavy metal medallion on a chain around his neck. “You’re forgetting who owns you.”
Keep him talking, I think to myself, as the tension in the room flares brighter. We need to give Prae and Gryffin time to creep across to the throne and distract the Fomorians enough that they don’t notice Florian being freed.
Even once he’s safe, we’re still facing worse odds than we could’ve imagined. It’s looking less and less like we’ll be able to battle our way to victory. Which means we need to out-think the enemy.
Easier said than done.
Placing my shackled hands on Caed’s back, I lightly move him to one side and step forward.
“I will give you one chance,” I bluff, “to get out of my city and return to your mountains. Live peacefully there, with the bounty that Danu has granted you.”
Elatha snorts. “I have no intention of going?—”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” I interrupt. “I was speaking to your warriors.”
Elatha throws his head back and laughs.
The move releases me from the prison of his eerie gaze, and I cast around, begging Danu for a plan, an idea, anything that might help us.
Come on, think.
The area around the throne has been swept free of dust, likely to stop it from getting trapped in the king’s ornate armour. The marble gleams and the moss on the arms of the hawthorn throne still retains a glimmer of its former green.
Green means life. It means that tiny patch of moss might still be receiving energy from Danu. If I can connect to her and funnel it to my mates…
It’s risky. I’ll have to get within touching distance of him if I want to try.
But if it works, we can still keep to the plan.
Elatha strides towards me, his boots crunching in the iron powder, and I swallow, resisting the urge to flinch as he draws closer. When those long, creepy fingers come up to pinch my chin and tilt my head up, I feel my mates’ anger down the bond.
They won’t hang back and allow this for long. My own fear is riling them as surely as his actions are, and it’s a fifty-fifty chance that either Lore or Jaro’s wolf will put a stop to this sooner rather than later.
“Once again, you fail to understand your place, Nicnevin.” Elatha smiles, and it’s a terrifying expression. “Your palace is mine, your knights are dead, and your minor royals have already begun to bend the knee.”
The mention of Eero’s and Hawkith’s betrayal stings, but I force myself to shrug. “Funny, I don’t see them here.”
Behind the Fomorian king, one of Florian’s bonds starts to loosen. If I stare, I can just make out two shadows working hard at the ropes.
Prae and Gryffin made it. The iron is probably interfering with their ability to glamour properly, and if any of the Fomorians notice them, they’re dead.
I have to keep the terrifying monster in front of me talking, and his soldiers distracted.
“They’ll learn the consequences of disobedience,” Elatha dismisses, grabbing the medallion of Balor where it rests around his neck. “I may have promised that no Fomorian would set foot in their courts if they bent the knee, but with this, I’ll unleash something a hundred times worse on their pathetic fairy castles.”
My eyes widen. “The bàsron? That’s insane.”
Elatha laughs again, pinning Caed with a derisive look. “So you’ve been telling her bedtime stories?”
Caed says nothing, his eyes on the place where Elathastillhasn’t released me, and his father’s grin turns vicious.
“Did he tell you that Balor and his warriors were sealed beneath the mountain by their masters and that they fled like cowards?” Elatha scoffs. “Fomorians are better than that. Stronger than that! I’ll prove as much when I march into the Deep Caves myself and undo our Ancestors’ mistakes.”
One of Florian’s arms falls to his side, and he groans low under his breath. Thankfully, the sound is camouflaged by the murmurs of confusion coming from the Fomorians.
