Page 76 of Let Slip the Dogs of War

Not until this one.

Fae may not deal in regrets, but I am beginning to think that I do.

I draw him close just before we leave, even though I am certain I shouldn’t, that I should lead him out and fetch his friends and make this as clean a break as possible. Dante says nothing. He holds me against him like he did earlier in the night, and I love the sturdiness of him.

“I wish—” I fight the words and Dante rubs a hand down my back.

“Yeah, me too.”

We part. I want to take his hand, but I do not. “Drew should have the café,” I say instead, and Dante blinks in surprise. “I… I will not be back for it. Iagan had someone help me with the paperwork. He can—I would like Drew to have it. If he wants.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dante says. He looks for a moment as though he would like to cry, but when he blinks again, the expression vanishes. “Come on. If Grant and Ophelia go off on their own, it’ll only lead to trouble.”

The levity of his words is not present in his voice, and I trail him out of the room and down the way to Ronan’s. It is not a part of the corridor I used to regularly traverse, but for a moment I feel as though Ronan is here somewhere with us.

I would like to think he would not want me in this position. I would like to think that, after the disastrous end his soulbond led him to, he would have some sympathy for me. Once, he would have. He was not always what he became.

I cannot allow that same bitterness to overtake me, too. Iagan has channelled the fact that his soulbond does not want him into his work with the Hunt. And I have… all of this. All of this possibility. It need not be meaningless.

Grant opens the door before Dante can knock and does not look at all surprised to see me standing there with him. He ushers Ophelia out ahead of him and they close the door quietly.

“You said you found some ways out?” I ask. I do not want any of the servants to see us. Not that there are many about at this hour, most likely, but I want no one to know that my soulbond is gone before they can discover it at tomorrow’s coronation.

Today’s. My stomach clenches.

“Yeah, sure. This way.”

Grant takes the lead, and I rely on his speed and senses rather than listening out for threats myself. I follow Dante instead, eyes fixed on him, and he does not look back, but I believe he is aware of where I am looking all the same.

Grant’s route takes us to the library—of course—which makes Dante let out a faint gasp. I wish I could have brought him here myself. What if Ronan had ascended the throne? What if his soulbond had been another fae? I could have had Dante for my own then. I could have convinced the Guardians to let us split our time between this realm and his. Brought him here to visit, perhaps. Spent hours in this room with him in my arms.

Magic pulses around the windows and Grant presses his against it with far more subtlety than I expect. I must make a sound because he glances back with a grin. “You think I’ve never managed to sneak through a ward before?” he whispers, and Ophelia stifles a laugh of her own as Grant turns back to his work. It is a scant few minutes before he pushes through the wards, and then he climbs up to open the window, throwing it open to the cool night air.

“Be careful,” I murmur. Grant has already settled himself into the window frame, reaching to help Ophelia up and out. “There are plenty of fae still awake at this hour. Keep your wits about you.”

“We will,” Dante says. “I—”

He cuts himself off. I desperately want to kiss him, but I cannot. Every minute here is one fewer where they can get away, and if other fae discover them, they may wish to do what they believe Oisin has done.

“Go,” I say instead. Ophelia gives me a sympathetic look before she jumps down to the ground below. “I am sorry.”

Dante sets his jaw. “Don’t be,” he says, then lets Grant help him up into the window, too. He looks back once before he, too, drops out of sight.

Grant studies me for a second too long. The moon is high, shadows playing across his face, and he looks somehow older than even his true age. “We’ll fix it,” he whispers but then leaps away before I can protest.

I wait for a moment or two—I do not believe I can truly watch them all walk away—and then, eyes down, I close the window and coax the wards back into their former positions. The magic shivers as though it does not like my touch.

What’s done is done. Getting back safe is in their hands now.

The coronation takes place just after midday. The moon is at its zenith, despite the suns being high, and I have spent much of the morning fretting, not getting a wink of sleep at all. Not that I tried. I spent a few hours in the greenhouse, and all I managed to do in there was to move the pot of lavender back to its position in the centre of the workbench. The plants will thrive without my touch. Dante’s magic is still within them.

Oisin looks no better than I do. He is subdued, shoulders rigid when we meet in the castle in preparation to make the walk down to the oak tree, where we will bond. Veles will be waiting with the crowns; of that I have no doubt. Whether Aodhan will be there is another matter, but I find I do not care.

All I can think about is Dante. They should have made it to the woods by now, and if the witch is feeling generous—which she may well be, as she seemed to like Dante and Grant well enough—then she will have conjured them a shortcut that will lead them directly back to the place we all crossed through. They may even be home already. The thought makes my heart ache, even as it lessens the tension in my shoulders. If they are home, then they are safe. None of the fae should come after them again. Once Oisin and I are wearing the crowns, there is only one way a threat like that will end, but even should we not hear of it, Dante’s pack will not take such an action well.

“We should get this done,” Oisin says. When I look at him, he is staring off into the distance.

“We will talk after.”