Rhoswyn
Ikeep Bree’s hand trapped in a death grip as we journey back to Madoc’s home, but he doesn’t object. Power is still thrumming in my veins, and the second we’re away from prying eyes, I begin to pace along the far wall of Madoc’s parlour.
All I can think about is how badly I want to go back there and deal with Aiyana properly.
I can’t. We need her alive. We can’t afford to wait for the fae to find a successor. Besides, Neila asked me to spare her.
For now.
Some dark part of my brain rumbles that the war will eventually be over. When that time comes…
“Say something,” I mumble. “Distract me.”
Bree’s ears twitch and he takes a seat on the emerald sofa. “You did a good thing—”
“Nothing to do with that!” I cut him off.
I’m too on edge to hear about how leaving Aiyana alive was the right thing to do.
His jaw works, and he glances back at Kitarni uncertainly. The high priestess is talking quietly with one of the servants, having shadowed us back.
“Where’s Jaro?” I ask. “Is he…?”
“Nicnevin, it may be best to give him some time to shift back. Drystan and Wraith are struggling to control his wolf.”
What? “Do they need help? Can I… can I do anything?”
Will he even want to see me? He was just put through all of that, and I… I did nothing. I’m not even sure what I’d say. Rawness prickles at the edges of my chest, and perhaps Kitarni senses how overwhelmed I am because she crosses the space to pull me into a hug.
“It might not be wise for you to show up after his wolf has just seen your death so many times,” Kitarni advises, and I slump slightly at her logic. “We can’t predict how he’ll react.”
“He wouldn’t hurt me.” I’m sure of it.
The long pause reeks of her doubts, and I try not to overthink it. She’s just being cautious.
“Follow me then,” she says. “We’ll go past my quarters. I have a sleeping potion there that should knock him out if he needs it.”
Bree starts to follow, but the high priestess stops him with a wave of her hand. “Rose will be safe in my company, and someone needs to remain here, in case Bram and Madoc return.”
The púca looks unhappy with her order but nods his assent regardless. True to her word, after a brief stop in her room—which looks more like an alchemist’s laboratory than a place to sleep—we head outside.
“Why is he in the stable?” I ask as Kitarni leads me across the courtyard.
“He’s yet to shift back,” Kitarni murmurs, keeping her voice low. “Drystan and Wraith have managed to keep him contained, but…”
“But?”
My question is drowned out by a growl-bark that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
Who made that noise? Wraith or Jaro?
Kitarni hesitates at the wide, imposing door to the stables, so I brush past her, blinking as my eyes try to adjust to the gloomy interior.
“Rhoswyn,” Drystan snaps. “Go back inside.”
His voice draws my attention to a stall on my right, where he’s leaning against a hay bale and… bleeding?
“I want to help,” I press. “I can heal—”
