Forty
Rhoswyn
Iglare into the mirror like my reflection has personally offended me. In a way, it has.
I’m dressed up for yetanotherof these insufferable parties because someone stole my armour after I turned up to the first one wearing it. My hair has been coiffed and braided in the latest Summer Court style. The neckline of the sleeveless dress I’m wearing droops so low that it practically follows the curve of my areolae—and I was only afforded that much coverage after I refused to attend the second ball with my nipples showing—with a slit so far up my thigh that I’m scared to move wrong.
For all that Kitarni urges me to see the endless social events as networking and diplomacy, the truth is I am no closer to extracting Eero’s vow.
It’s been two weeks, and all I’ve accomplished is learning how to read and walk in these ludicrous heels properly.
Two weeks since I last saw Jaro. Two weeks since we arrived at this palace where all anyone seems to do is drink wine and dance. Two weeks of looking around corners for a bard I’m beginning to think Bree might’ve hallucinated.
I bring it up daily, but every time the answer Drystan and Kitarni give is the same: fae aren’t mortal. A fortnight to clear his head is ‘short’ when compared to others.
Bree is the only one who takes my worries seriously, but he’s too distracted to do anything about them.
Eero isn’t coming with us, and when I brought up leaving to bless some more shrines and then returning, the princesses made it clear we’re not allowed to leave.
Which, surely, makes us prisoners.
I thought we were making progress when the palace guards finally allowed Kitarni to leave and visit the city temple yesterday. The high priestess was patiently petitioning everyone with even a speck of power to let her go, and when she was finally successful, I was hopeful that she’d bring back news from outside, but I’ve heard nothing from her since she left. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn they’ve decided she’s too much trouble and won’t let her back in.
The longer we stay here, the more isolated and anxious I become.
Winter in the Summer Court has brought thunderstorms and humidity beyond the norm, and the only good thing about our stay is that I have finally, with Cyreus’s help, learned to read and write the fae language. As much as Lore distrusts the merrow, he’s been true to his word, and his gift is so remarkable I can’t help but feel a little jealous.
I only wish he could teach me to use my magic or my wings with the same efficiency. Perhaps then I’d be distracted from the fact that I’m trapped, with no choice but to wait until Eero returns from this stupid hunt.
Even if I let Danu overtake me and burned the palace to the ground until someone tells me where my wolf and brother are—as I’ve fantasised about doing several times—all I would accomplish is an end to these stupid parties, and Eero would still be no closer to giving me what I came here for.
And the soldiers still claim this is all because of some supposed threat from the Fomorians.
A humourless laugh escapes before I can contain it, causing Wraith to look up from where he’s splayed out on the cool stone of my balcony. The soldiers have no idea that Caed is here. He’s been right under their noses for a week, and in all that time, I still haven’t figured out whether I should tell the others.
“You look beautiful,” Mab murmurs.
I brush off the compliment, stepping away from the mirror. “How goes things in Elfhame?”
“The Hellebore Knights have helped to establish supply lines to get more food into the city,” Mab reports, fiddling with her armour. “Neila made a kelpie bargain to reach the city in record time, and her tactics have bought them a few more weeks…”
“And Florian?” I slip the bracelets that Lore keeps finding for me over my hands, pretending they aren’t shaking as I await her answer.
“Still alive and fighting,” Mab answers, and the tension leaves my shoulders in a rush. “He works well with the selkie, but he got Bram’s hawk today and has been fretting about Dare since he opened it. Bram shouldn’t have sent it.”
I turn from the chest of jewels with a frown. “What do you mean?”
“It’s a distraction,” she says. “A warrior needs to keep his mind in the fight.”
Swallowing, I turn away. “I know. But it is his brother. He should know.”
Florian takes the safety of all his siblings to heart, and Bram isn’t taking Dare’s absence well, either. He’s been shifting and sneaking out of the palace to search for him, enlisting Bree’s help and my guides’ when he can.
Nothing.
My púca currently sits cross-legged on a woven mat in the corner, his cat ears twitching as he uses his gift to listen to sounds across the entire city. He’s been withdrawn since we arrived, avoiding the balls and parties whenever he can, but he looks up as I approach.
“Are you ready?” I ask.
