Rose. Where is Rose?
My head whips up so fast that it makes me dizzy, and I vomit before I can realise where we are.
This is a cage, suspended in the sky. Anironcage. Barely big enough for my wolf to stand in. It’s Fomorian made—and for a second, I have the insane thought that our enemy has somehow set up a prison in the sky. Below, the jewel-bright sea crashes on familiar beaches, and above…
Familiar tan stone. We’re beneath the archway of the sun. How?
Glamour. It must be.
“Sir Jaro—”
I push up onto my elbows, groaning as the iron makes the task more onerous than it should be. “Prince Dare?”
It’s been some time since I last saw Nicnevin Diana’s second youngest son, but there’s no mistaking the silver blond hair he shares with Florian, or his ice-blue eyes. He hangs in a cage that’s a similar size to mine, his clothes dirty and unkempt. A banshee female I vaguely recognise as his mate is curled up in his arms. He’s doing his best to shield her from the impact of the metal, but she’s not coping well. Neither of them are. They’re emaciated, their usually tanned skin is wan and glistening with sweat, and I’m pretty sure those are black lines tracing up his mate’s arm.
Shit. Iron poisoning.
“My sister,” the young prince says. “Has she arrived in Siabetha? Can you use your bond to warn her away?”
Swallowing, because every instinct in me screams that this is a bad omen, I reply, “Even if this iron wasn’t an issue, she’s already here. The princesses welcomed her yesterday.” And without a full mating bond, I can’t warn her of anything.
Dare’s expression crumples. “Then we’re too late.”
Dread hits me. “Too late for what?”
“Eero’s planning a coup.”
“What?” How could he be so stupid? We’re in the middle of a war!
“He’s even got the grand clerics on his side.” Dare’s hold on his mate tightens, and he strokes a greasy lock of her hair out of her face. “We tried to get word out before you came, but we were betrayed.”
What? “Betrayed? By whom?”
Before Dare can answer, his mate jerks in his arms like she’s been struck by lightning. Her back bows, mouth falling wide as her male desperately tries to shield her stiffened limbs from contact with the bars.
Then the banshee screams.
Rose.Her name echoes through my mind in a terrified loop as I clamp my hands over my ears to try to stifle the haunting screech.
Thirty-Eight
Rhoswyn
“This is preposterous,” Kitarni says, the bright green leaves of her hair trembling in the baking summer sun. “What right do you have to prevent the Nicnevin and her high priestess from visiting the city temple?”
Beneath their glamour, my wings flutter, and I do another repetition of the exercises Florian taught me while I wait for the dryad to sort this out. The heat is beginning to make me uncomfortable, and I wonder idly about moving closer to the small strip of shade beside the wall as they continue to argue.
Our first real day here, and we’re already hitting obstacles. Why am I not even surprised?
“Orders, Your Worship.” To his credit, the palace guard does look deeply uncomfortable. “King Eero has ordered the palace sealed due to the reports of Fomorian ships. There are even rumours that the blade prince is headed for Siabetha.”
“It’s our honour to keep you safe, Your Majesty,” the second guard promises, bowing again. “We heard what happened in Pavellen, but rest assured, no Fomorians will breach these walls.”
Great. Caed is part of the reason we’re stuck here. Ignoring the tiny flutter in my chest—which is not eager for news of him, damn it—I massage my temples.
“I’m sure I’ve never felt safer,” Kitarni says, and I may be imagining it, but I think there’s a hint of dry sarcasm in her tone.
“There’s always the palace chapel,” his female counterpart suggests, tugging at the chin strap of her helm. “You’re welcome to pray there, Nicnevin.”
