Page 39 of Atop the Faerie Throne
“Got it!” he says. “Jaromir, you take her left. Redcap, my horse?—”
A growl of affirmation and a whinny of alarm sound as Wraith rears back on his hindlegs, paws crashing down powerfully to crush the Fomorian who managed to get in front of us.
I’m still clinging to my barghest for dear life, my thighs clamped so tightly around his ribs that I know he must hate me for it. Still, he doesn’t make a noise of complaint as he bolts through the trees.
One second Lore is nowhere to be seen, the next he’s right behind me, his dick pressing against my ass as he whoops loudly right by my ear. The pain in my head splinters in answer.
“Lore!” I complain, and he presses an apologetic kiss to my shoulder.
“You can’t tell me you’re not having a little bit of fun,” he protests. “The blood is so pretty, pet. You wear it so well.”
Another kiss.
“You’d wear it even better if you were naked.”
Is he really propositioning me right now?
“Later,” I promise.
“After?” he pleads.
“After.” I have to yell to be heard over the war cry that bursts from the bushes to our left.
His grin is so bright that it distracts me from the dozens of Fomorians trying to kill us. Blinking away with a final kiss, he descends on the mob with a kind of renewed brutality that tickles the back of my brain. I think I might have just accidentally…
Wraith comes to a skidding stop, derailing my thoughts.
The wall looms over us, the grey stone coated in a fine film of iron dust.
But there’s less of it than there was in the palace. Wherever Prae’s weapon was deployed—however it worked—it was clearly centred there, not here.
Is the top of the wall clear?
Only one way to find out, I suppose.
I just need to get up there. I dismount, iron and dead grass crunching underfoot as Wraith leaps back into the fray. The stairs are to my left, crawling with Formorians, and I take a step in that direction, but my dizziness worsens until Drystan is forced to steady me.
“Lore, blink her up there. Jaro and I will meet you at the top.”
Lore is already atop the wall, a scarlet blur of blades and death, still whooping and cackling with glee as he takes out the soldiers.
They weren’t expecting an attack from inside the palace, and I’m momentarily grateful for that. By the time he blinks me up to the smooth, worn stone parapet, every single Fomorian within shouting distance is dead.
“What do you think?” Lore asks, peeking over the rampart at the moat and the city below. “I give us five minutes tops before they get here.”
He pauses, then whoops. “Actually, they might be a little busy. Look! Reinforcements have arrived.”
Before I can follow his finger to the faint smudge on the horizon, I’m distracted by Titania appearing on my right. She opens her mouth, but her words are silent, and I seethe in frustration.
“There’s still too much metal,” I mutter, scanning the stone and groaning at the sight of yet more black dust. “I can see them, but…”
Reaching them might be impossible.
I try my best to scrape it out of the way with one foot, but it does little. Short of someone finding me a broom, I don’t know what else I can do.
Frustrated tears prickle at the corners of my eyes as I begin to wonder if leaving the throne room was a mistake. At least while we were there, I could channel Danu to my Guard. Now…
No. I refuse to be the reason that we fail.
