Page 164 of Atop the Faerie Throne
“Comeon, púca,” Lore dismays. “Don’t tell me you’ve not thought of the possibilities.”
Bree’s pupils dilate for a second before he looks away, telling me that hehasconsidered it.
“If it’s something you want,” I whisper, tiptoeing up to kiss his lips. “Then I’d love to try. But it can wait.”
I know he’s still working on getting over the negative way that so many of his previous ‘clients’ spoke about his animal traits, and I’ll spend the rest of our lives reassuring him that I love every single part of him.
He nods, looking past me to the vista below. “We have time.”
I follow his gaze, heart soaring at last as the rising dawn peers through the clouds, glinting off rooftops. It’s been six months since the city fell. Broken buildings have been mended, the people have returned, and my home is finally nearly back to how it was.
Better, even.
Prae’s idea to use rebuilding the wall as an opportunity to extend the inner city and create a Fomorian Quarter worked wonders. Many of the refugees chose to remain, rather than go back to life in Fellgotha. They’ve brought with them their inventions and forges, switching from iron to ‘soft fairy metals’with only minor grumbles. Some of them have found their mates, and while it hasn’t been entirely smooth sailing, every single day brings us closer to harmony.
The rest of my mates make it to the top of the stairs, joining us. Jaro is the first to coax me away from the horizon, towards the soft comfort of bed, and I’m exhausted enough to let him.
I fall asleep surrounded by the five of them, dreaming of peace, or as close to it as Faerie will ever come.
After all, the lives of fae are long and prone to boredom.
Epilogue
Rhoswyn
Five hundred and thirty-four years later…
“Ma! Ma, look!” Cadogan calls, the sounds of metal striking metal filling the courtyard as Jaro humours our youngest son with a sparring match.
“Be careful with your father,” I call back, snuggling deeper into Caed’s arms. “He’s not as fast as you.”
“Hey,” Jaro objects playfully as his shield comes up, blocking an attack.
“Don’t worry! I won’t hurt him!” Caddie’s blue-tinted skin shines with sweat, his wings fluttering in and out of view as he loses control of his glamour while his focus is elsewhere.
Neither of them will take it easy on the other.
On our son’s left arm, a brand new silver band gleams against the pale blue of his skin. It’s his first, and he won’t remove it for anything. Neither he, Lore, nor Caed will tell me how he ‘earned’ it, but I have my suspicions. It appeared a day after the sudden,‘unexplained’ death of the king of spring last week, a mere half a year after he got rather loudly drunk at my winter solstice ball and made a poor attempt at seducing me.
I don’t believe in coincidences anymore, and the fact that my unseelie Guard will redirect any question I ask about the incident is an answer in itself. I thought Lore was happy enough that he’d castrated Aiyana’s idiot son at the time, but apparently that wasn’t the case.
Spring is braced for another war of succession between his illegitimate children and their aunt. Just thinking about it is making me tired, not that it takes much to do that these days.
My eyes flutter closed, basking in the warm summer breeze as the sounds of their sparring washes over me. My fourth-born is only twelve summers old, and yet, there’s no doubt that he’s Caed’s child. Ever since he was able to hold a sword, he’s been running around challenging knights to duels and demanding lessons from anyone who will humour him. Even Neila, who gave up her weapons ages ago to serve as ambassador to the water fae in my court, has been lured in by his infectious enthusiasm. A few days ago, I caught her correcting his form with a spear.
“He’s getting better,” Caed murmurs, his voice reverberating against me, and I feel him reach out for his magic.
I know without looking that he’s summoned one of his ghost blades to ambush Cadogan from behind. Just like I know our son will lean into his gift to predict it.
“Goddess damnit!” he cries, and a clatter of metal on stone flagstones tells me Jaro used the distraction to knock the blunted sword from his hand.
“Language!” my wolf cautions, and I stifle a laugh.
Honestly, if he didn’t learn with Ruaridh and the twins that trying to instil manners into a child influenced by Lore’sparenting antics is a waste of time, he never will. If anything, we’re lucky it isn’t worse.
“Taliesin’s written,” Bree says quietly, landing beside me in a burst of ink and feathers. “He and Tadhg somehow wound up in a strange library by mistake, but they’re on their way. His new portal came out in Fellgotha.”
“Fellgotha?” I frown. “I thought he was supposed to be coming straight home?”
