Page 113 of Atop the Faerie Throne
Goddess, it grated to give him that much, not knowing if he’d warn Elatha. What greater trust is there than the lives of the hundreds of fae crossing the Endless Sea?
It’s not enough. The looks they both level at me tell me as much.
“I hate to crash this party,” Lore says, cartwheeling into existence on my bed, stopping by the headboard, then blinking away with my pillow before returning. “But if we’re ganging up on the dullahan, do you not think one of you ought to have brought more knives?”
“We’re not going to torture him into trusting Caed,” Jaro groans, passing me a towel.
I wish they could. That would be simpler. At this point, physical torture would be less agonising than the internal war I’m currently fighting.
“Bring back my pillow.”
The redcap sticks his tongue out. “Make me.”
Deep breaths. His aura is more erratic than usual, spiking past his shield in bursts of chaotic colour. Already I feel a migraine coming on, and I wonder if he’s doing it on purpose.
“Whatever you’ve been doing, it’s not working,” Bree says diplomatically. “Which means you need a different approach.”
“You have a better suggestion?”
Lore pipes up, unhelpfully, “Stabbing you?”
“You don’t trust anyone,” the púca says, ignoring the maniac in the room.
“Not true.” In the months since Rose’s return, I’ve come to trust all three of these males for the exact same reason that they’re all here.
Rose is everything to all of us.
“So you’d trust us with your head?” Bree’s words make me freeze.
“Temporarily,” I grudgingly admit. “I’ve given it to Rose on multiple occasions. Caed and Praedra had access to it after Eero’s betrayal.” Those were the longest hours of my life. I’m never, ever giving my head to the Fomorian again.
The púca gives me a knowing look, and I hate him for the silent point he’s making.
Not trusting Caed enough to give him my head is probably the problem, but the second my head makes it into his hands, I’ll be treated like a football for the redcap and Fomorian to entertain themselves with…
Motion sickness is somehow so much worse when you don’t have a stomach.
“What madeyoutrust him?” I demand, because like it or not, the similarities between myself and the púca can’t be denied.
He thinks for a second, then sighs, ears flattening. “He let me catch him.”
That makes no sense. “What?”
“When I found him about to take Rose, in Calimnel, there was a moment when he could’ve fought back, and he didn’t. I couldn’t see it while I was so angry, but after Rose insisted he was under Elatha’s control, I thought about it a lot. Looking back on it, he must’ve let Espen bite him. Hechosea nathair’s kiss instead of escape.”
Something in my gut tightens, because a person would have to be mad to do that. Mad… or guilty… or…
“He loves her,” Jaro says, confirming my thoughts. “Can you not trust that?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose as I pace. “Do you think I don’t know how bad this is for her? Are you seriously all of the opinion that I am torturing my Goddess-gifted mate for no good reason? If there’s a logical solution, believe me, I’ve tried it.”
Just this afternoon, I deliberately turned my back on the male. That’s as good as a death sentence in Calimnel. What more does Danu want from me?
“We have a suggestion,” Bree says. “And you won’t like it.”
We? They’ve been discussing this without me? My shoulders stiffen, and I turn away rather than face any of them as Jaro continues where the púca broke off.
“What do you care about most in the world?”
