Caed is down to one dagger, and it only takes Bree a practised dodge and an uppercut to remove that, too. The second blade skitters out of the ring and into the crowd, leaving only the first lying in the dirt.
Caed hesitates.
“Pick it up.” I’ve never heard the púca so angry. “You left her afraid to have her wings touched. Pick your fucking blade up.”
Still, the Fomorian does nothing. Can he sense, like I can, that this isn’t really Bree? The púca I know would never have chosen to do something so stupid so close to Rose’s fever. This whole situation reeks of out-of-control instincts, suppressed trauma, and a male desperately trying to run from a reality he’s not prepared to face.
Rose is going into fever. Bree can either help her through it or take the potion Kitarni brewed. This accomplishes nothing.
His earlier request—that we beat him and chain him in iron—rings in my ears.
The púca would rather be put out of commission for a week than sleep soundly in the temple.
Caed’s hands are spread in a gesture of surrender, and the crowd is beginning to boo the two of them for not providing the entertainment they were promised.
“What are you doing, kid! Get the fucking knife! Do you know how much this match is worth?” A faun on the sidelines yells, and I groan.
Of course. Caed would get himself mixed up in an underground fighting ring for money. Whose gold is he betting? Does he even know that technically his debts are Rose’s? If a bunch of Spring Court bookies turn up on the doorstep of Elfhame demanding half of Rose’s treasury, I’ll gut him.
“I see you found him.” A hand slaps my shoulder, and I nearly jump out of my skin.
I’ve never met Madoc, but the familiar black and silver fox wrapped around his shoulders gives his identity away. Bram regards the fight with lazy vulpine eyes while his broad-shouldered brother eyes the place like he’s wondering if they’ll let him join the fight.
“Prince Madoc, I assume?” I incline my head. “I thought Kitarni would’ve ensured Caed was asleep by now.” There’s an edge in my tone, but I can’t tell if it’s due to strain, anger, or some messed up combination of both.
“Caed and Praedra disappeared the instant they had reliable glamours. We only found them yesterday.” Madoc shrugs as if a pair of Fomorians loose on the streets of Pavellen isn’t worth fretting over. “He’s earning money the only way he knows how, and the female is spending it for him.”
“And you thought it was a good idea to let them continue?”
“Hey, the lad promised to take the potion when it was time, and we’re not his jailers.”
Fuck. I shouldn’t even be here. I should be at the temple, tending to my goddess-damned mate, but these two—
Cutting off the thought with savage efficiency, I debate my options.
“I suppose dragging Bree out of there by the scruff of his neck is out of the question?” I ask.
“Only if you want to make an enemy of the entire Pavellen underworld. Some big names have taken to betting on Caed’s fights. He’s good—normally.”
I turn my attention back to the pits as the crowd surges forward like a great wave. A second later, I realise why.
Bree has traded his legs for the coils of his nathair and is currently crushing the life out of the Fomorian with that immense tail. Caed must have picked up the dagger again at some point, because it drops from his hand as he’s squeezed tighter and tighter. Bones crack, the sickening sound filling me with satisfaction.
Rose may have prevented me from harming the asshole, but I’m going to enjoy the second-hand justice.
Until he falls unconscious, and a few seconds later, the glamour he’s been holding drops.
“Shit.” I’m not sure who says it—it could be Madoc, or me, or both of us—but there’s no stopping the disaster now.
“Fucking púca,” Madoc curses. “How is he supposed to keep his identity secret when he’s unconscious?”
“Fomorian!” The whispers have turned to shouts now, and a minute later the situation escalates again.
“Make way! In the name of the Queen!”
Patrons start fleeing as city watch soldiers in full Spring Court armour pour into the basement. I guess the news of a Fomorian spread fast—prompting them to do their Goddess-damned jobs for once.
“Fuck.” I force my way forward, intent on getting to Bree and Caed before they do, but I’m not fast enough.
