Page 51 of Atop the Faerie Throne
“What? I didn’t say anything.”
“It probably involves blood, sex, or both?—”
“None of the aboveee!” Lore tosses his cap up into the air where it spins as it morphs into a stiff helmet-shaped contraption with bobbles. “I already laid the groundwork—piling up the bodies. All you need to do is set a teeny tiny fire, and they’ll be ashes.”
Drystan scrubs a hand over his face. “And why, pray tell, do you need ashes, redcap?”
Lore’s hat goes up again, this time coming down as a jester hat. “To add to the cannon.”
“No one in Faerie would let the likes of you loose with one of those Fomorian death traps.”
“Prae would. Anyway, you should be focusing on the important stuff. We need the cannon for our mating celebration.”
Drystan doesn’t respond, but his pulse is visibly thudding at his temple.
“I’m going to add the ashes to the cannon and fire them when Kitarni finishes whatever boring speech she has planned. That way, Rose can have the ashes of her enemies as confetti!”
The hat is tossed up again, and this time, Drystan snatches it, thrusting it into the air above his head. Lore blinks onto the dullahan’s shoulders, reaching for it, while his thighs squeeze Drystan’s head until the other fae’s face turns red.
A tiny giggle escapes me before I can contain it. My mad redcap turns his attention to me, but the laziness in his smile and the smugness along the bond tell me he knew I was here all along.
Leaving the two of them to squabble over the hat, without commenting on the dry amusement echoing from Drystan that I know he’ll never admit to, I cross to the edge of the garden.
“It’s not over?” I ask, approaching my púca. He stands and pulls me into his wings’ embrace with a careful kiss to my temple.
“You returned to us much faster than before,” Bree mumbles. “The Fomorians have managed to build up their numbers and reorganise. The bulk of them have engaged the fae armies beyond the outer wall. They’re holding the north gate, and there are pockets of them scattered across the city.”
“Which is why time is of the essence,” Drystan says, with his customary bluntness, as he thrusts the hat into Lore’s chest and comes to stand on my other side.
“How are you feeling?” Bree asks, ignoring my dullahan’s impatience.
“Better,” I whisper. “I think the mating bonds helped me recover quickly.”
Being reborn was just as draining as ever, yet I don’t feel as achy as I did before.
Was this what it was supposed to be like all along? Is that why the Nicnevin traditionally mated her Guard as soon as she turned twenty-five?
“Good.” Bree’s arm tightens around me. “Before they say anything, I want you to know that if I feel even the slightest bit of uncertainty from you, you aren’t going through with it.”
My eyebrows rise. I turn my back on the burnt-out city and pin the two unseelie with a confused look.
“I would like to make it clear,” Drystan begins, “That I only believe this is a good idea because it will distract the minor royals and keep them from suspecting your iron sensitivity.”
What? Why would that matter?
“I thought they already knew?” I say. “Surely it must have come up?”
“There’s a slim chance that Elatha has passed the knowledge on to Eero,” Jaro admits. “But none of the others have tried to use it against you. Most fae wouldn’t, unless there was a certainty that it would grant them a significant advantage.”
I’ve put two of the minor royals in their place with Danu’s help since I came to Faerie. If they knew simply having iron in my vicinity was enough to give them an edge, I wouldn’t put it past Aiyana or Cressida to do so.
Vows of allegiance are good, but I’d be foolish to believe they can protect me from everything. The fae are tricky. If either of them started carrying enough iron, the distraction would easily grant them an advantage in almost any negotiation.
“You don’t want them to know that I died?” I guess my outfit makes a lot more sense now. “So we have to go onto the battlefield.”
“Which brings us to the next part of the plan?—”
“FUCKING!” Lore crows, blinking around me in a tornado of pale skin and exuberant red eyes. “Please! Please, please, please, please, ple?—”
