Page 147 of Beyond the Faerie Gate

Caed

Even the damned dungeon is quiet at Samhain. The guards lit a few candles in each corner, then left to hide like the rest of the fae. Probably shutting themselves in their barracks for fear of the Hunt accidentally carrying them off with the dead.

A night shrouded with so much superstition is the perfect opportunity to sneak into a palace. Something which had been my plan before that pesky Call overrode my common sense.

So when Prae pokes her head around the corner, I’m not really surprised. Even though I’m not afraid to admit that my bloodthirsty cousin is smarter than I am, she always steals my good ideas.

But I’m not quite sure why a wave of disappointment passes through me at the sight of her white braids dangling around the corner.

I’m certainly not going to miss being locked up in the world’s most boring dungeon. But it is closer to her.

Stupid fae instincts.

My cousin, upon seeing the dungeon is empty of guards, skips through the rows of cells towards me. As usual, her teal face is made up with geometric streaks of navy war paint. You’d have thought our upbringing would’ve beaten any vanity out of her, but she’s always loved to play with her appearance. Depending on her mood, she uses the paint to distract from or highlight the scars that spiderweb outward in vicious, jagged lines from the cloudy orb of her left eye.

She’s even more precious about her hair. Today it’s carefully twisted into a line of small buns along the back of her skull, with smaller, beaded braids falling down around her ears.

“Fancy seeing you here,” she says, grinning widely.

Ancestors. She’ll be insufferable after this.

“Shut up and get me out of this cell,” I grumble. “You can gloat later.”

“But you look so good behind bars,” she purrs, skipping forward like the she-demon that she is. The chains that thread through and dangle down from her double-pointed ears jangle as she moves, and I groan.

My favourite relative she might be, but subtle, she most certainly is not.

When she almost trips over a torture rack, I almost groan.

It’s a miracle she hasn’t brought an entire battalion down on our heads.

“At least I know you’re not an imposter.”

Prae levels an unimpressed look at me, but her steely grey good eye twinkles with mirth.

“Did you happen to see what they did with the key?” she asks

“I’m sorry, they must have left that out of the tour,” I retort. “Just use your damned picks, and be quick about it. Did you bring anyone else?”

“Only the good ones,” she replies, pulling the tools out of the pouch at her hip and kneeling by the door to get a good look at the lock. “Ooh, they’ve put enchantments on this one.”

My cousin is pure-blooded Fomorian, but she’s obsessed with fae magics, so the enthusiasm in her tone doesn’t surprise me.

“Can you get it open?”

“Do fairies squeal when you rip their wings off?”

Despite her confidence, it still takes her almost ten minutes of tinkering, cursing, and pouring Ancestors-only-know-what onto the lock before the thing springs open with a hiss and a small bang.

“Great!” she says, coughing from the damn near toxic fumes her efforts have created. “Now, onto the next part of the plan!”

“Next part of the plan?” I demand, heading straight to the box where my armbands were stashed and sliding them back on.

Thank the Ancestors. My arms felt weird without them.

The cocky fairies were so confident in their cells that they left my weapons here too, and I reclaim them as well.

Prae grins. “The one where we kidnap the queen, duh.”

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