Page 150 of Atop the Faerie Throne
“I went to seek Archie’s counsel, and then I tried to force my way into the Otherworld to seek an audience with the Goddess.”
Jaro sits up straighter on the chair opposite, and Bree’s wings rustle nervously.
“That’s got to be some kind of blasphemy,” the púca murmurs.
“Danu was… unimpressed,” Drystan admits. “But she agreed to bargain. My head would remain in her keeping for all eternity, and in exchange, she’d restore Caed’s bond to Rose, at first only partially. If he killed Elatha, he’d be granted a place in her Guard again, but the curse would be restored as well. I have until next Beltaine to trust the Fomorian.”
My fingers trail up the knotwork on Caed’s arm, sighing in relief to find all four frames full and darker than ever.
The only thing holding my dullahan back was that Elatha held Caed’s name. Now that’s no longer an issue, the curse should be lifted. The rose on his pectoral is in full bloom, the petals vibrant and alive across his blue skin, defended by the six swords surrounding it.
I send the question to Danu, searching for reassurance, and receive another smug, happy burst of power in answer.
Caed is free.
“That doesn’t explain how you got your head back,” Jaro says gruffly.
Drystan shrugs. “It was a condition of the bargain. Should Caed die before his immortality was restored, my head would be returned.”
And because both happened simultaneously, the Goddess chose to be merciful. My eyes burn, and I squirm, trying to bury myself inside his rib cage, checking on our bond compulsively at the same time.
Caed’s feelings of gratitude and unworthiness hit first, followed by his confusion and relief. The overwhelming combination tightens my chest.
“You lucky fucking bastard,” he mutters under his breath, and I don’t think I’m imagining the tiny hitch in his voice.
“Danu didn’t have to honour both,” Bree agrees. “You must not have pissed her off too badly.”
“It took balls to bargain with the Goddess herself.” Jaro is shaking his head like he can’t believe what he’s heard. “Even the redcap isn’t that mad.”
“It’s not a competition,” Lore whines. “Hey, dullahan, let me play with the whip? Just one time?”
“Absolutely not.” Drystan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Look, I don’t think we should tell anyone about this. Let the people believe Caed’s resurrection is a sign of favour from the Goddess—which itis—rather than telling them that the Lord of the Wild Hunt has the power to petition Danu.”
I nod, seeing the wisdom in that. “We’ll tell Kitarni and Prae, but that’s all.”
Caed runs his fingers down my spine. “I’m still so sorry for what I did,” he repeats, for what must be the third time. “Do they hurt?”
The damp filaments of my regrown wings twitch. They’re shorter on my right-hand side, but the healers promise thatthey’ll be as good as new in the next few days. My mates have been ridiculously careful not to touch them, and even now Caed’s fingers skirt the new panels.
“They itch,” I eventually answer. “But they’re healing.”
“You were not to blame,” Drystan tells my Fomorian, surprising me. “It was a risk we all took bringing you with us.”
Caed isn’t done. “You shouldn’t have bargained for me.”
“I didn’t do it for you,” my dullahan’s rebuke is instant, but his face softens. “Although, I’ve come to realise I don’t actively despise you as much as I once did.”
“I think he’s been head-swapped,” Lore whispers conspiratorially to me. “That’s three emotions and a declaration of love to the Fomorian. Danu either rattled his brains or sent you an upgrade.”
Of course, a second after he finishes speaking, his eyebrows catch fire.
I leave him to blink away—likely in search of something to put the flames out—then push out of Caed’s arms, taking shaky steps until I’m wrapped in Drystan’s.
“Thank you,” I murmur into his shirt.
He stiffens, hand coming up to cup my nape in a move that’s all scorching dominance. “Stop. Thanking. Fae.”
Beneath his irritation, the bond between us smoulders with love and heat.
