“No!” I shriek, as his body is thrown to the floor.
His blades hit the marble with a loudclank, and I have to remind myself that it isn’t a killing blow. Lore will survive.
But he’s definitely out of the fight.
“The gift of unbreakable skin,” Maeve growls, the room finally quiet enough for me to hear her iron-muffled voice. “Fucking hate that one.”
Máel darts forward, grabbing Lore’s hat from his head—a difficult job given that it appears to try to shrink wrap itself onto its true owner—and lifts it high like a trophy. In her other hand, she’s holding Drystan’s head, and my gut sinks.
“Nicnevin Rhoswyn, tell your males to stand down,” the princess orders. “And don’t even think of reaching for Danu. We have all of your poorly chosen Guard, your disgusting pet, the false high priestess, and both of your brothers.”
“Shit.” Maeve voices exactly what I’m thinking. “Fucking shit fuck shit.”
“Back away,” Titania says. “Your Guard will survive everything.”
But my brothers won’t. Wraith won’t.
“What do you want?” I ask, reaching for Mab.
I can’t touch her. Please, Danu. I strain towards my connection to the Goddess, but the cuffs did their job well. Just like in Fellgotha, I can see and hear them—and even that is getting harder by the second—but I can’t touch them.
Mervyn steps forward, clearing his throat as he looks to Eero for permission before beginning to speak.
“After the dryad, Kitarni Dogwood, was defeated in challenge yesterday, the conventicle of Grand Clerics met to discuss the corruption that’s spreading through your court. After much prayer and deliberation, our holy wisdom has led us to believe that Fomorian interference has led to the malformation of your Guard.”
“That’s bullshit.” Drystan’s head sways as Máel lowers it. “Danu chose Rose’s Guard. You’re just elitist pricks who can’t stand that she has under fae in it.”
“It’s not the under fae who are the issue,” Eero booms. “They, at least, are Danu’s creations, even if they are lesser. But you cannot possibly say the same about the blade prince. No true Nicnevin wouldeverCall a Fomorian to her Guard. This is their foul magic at play, and I, for one, willneverbow to a Nicnevin who takes the enemy into her bed.”
My mouth falls open. “I haven’t—”
“Do you deny that Prince Caedmon is a member of your Guard?” Mervyn presses.
“Y—” I can’t finish the lie, and the silence that follows is damning. “Danu chose him. The Goddess—”
“Has been the victim of the Fomorians’ plans to infiltrate the most holy office of Nicnevin and take down our society from the inside.” There’s a feverish light in Mervyn’s eyes, and it scares me almost as much as the sight of Lore’s limp body on the floor does. “I appreciate this might be shocking to you, Rhoswyn, but if you care for Faerie, you will die and you will ask the Goddess to send a new Nicnevin who can be raised by the temple and whose Guard will be properly formed of respectable fae.”
“My Guard are respectable!” I retort, swaying slightly.
“The only respectable member of your Guard is Sir Jaromir,” Mervyn retorts. “King Cedwyn’s unclaimed bastard, a whore, and an assassin are little better than a Fomorian general.”
“I have no desire to hurt any of Diana’s sons,” Eero adds, almost magnanimously. “In fact, his unfortunate mating aside, sometimes I even find Prince Dare’s antics amusing. I swear that they will be released as soon as you and your Guard journey to the Otherworld.”
“The fact that you haven’t done this already shows how committed you truly are to ending this war,” Máel hisses. “You could’ve killed Caedmon and ended the siege of Elfhame before the first wall was even lost.”
“Enough, Máel.” Eero takes a step towards me, dagger outstretched in offering. “I promise, I’ll make it quick. It’s not your fault, after all. You’re an innocent in all this.” He cocks his head to one side, false sympathy shining through his eyes. “You must know, surely, that this is the best option, not just for you, but for everyone. A Nicnevin who can’t even fly…” He shakes his head, piercings glinting in the light from the window behind me.
“Rose, run.” Bram shouts. “Don’t worry about us. I’d rather be—” A soldier kicks him,hard, and whatever he might’ve said is lost to a coughing fit.
I back up a step, tears flowing freely now. Eero presses his advantage, moving closer. “Our people can only survive with the right leader.”
My guides gather close, sticking to my side resolutely, despite the way their outlines are flickering.
“Rose,” Drystan’s voice is calm. “When you die, you come back, you hear me? Get to Florian. To Aiyana. A Temple…ughk.” His words taper off, and a glance reveals it’s because Máel has shoved Lore’s cap into his mouth as a gag.
When you die. He doesn’t see any way out of this.
My terror ratchets up a notch as Eero flips the blade until he’s gripping the handle in a practised hold.
