Page 44 of A Beastly Court

I chewed my bottom lip, racing through my potions education at a maddening speed. “You can reach the jars, yes? Then add four tablespoons of the papaver seeds into this batch and use it to cut the stuff in the jars. Use a ratio of one to three, papaver to original. Got it?”

She nodded quickly. “O-okay.”

“And when he comes down to refill that masala dabba with the tonic ingredients, you give him… this!” I lifted the amber bottle with Tincture of Yarrow written on the paper label. “Add a few drops of this to the ground papaver seeds.”

“A few drops of yarrow tincture to the papaver.” She gulped, taking the amber bottle and setting it beside the green jar of seeds.

I turned back to the inmates. While I had more access to my magic than ever before, it wasn’t enough to break through the wards that guarded the cells, not all of them. And if not all of them could escape, the rest would be interrogated, and I knew the methods the Brotherhood used. “I’m sorry I can’t do more.”

“Just get him out of Redbud, Meadow,” Brandi said, bitterness returning to her tone. It wasn’t directed at me.

With a sharp nod, I turned on my heel and hurried over to the silversmithy, the whole reason I’d come down here in the first place.

Arranged along the shelves nearest the sleeping forge were all manner of tools and utensils, bars of raw silver, molds, jars of solutions, and polishing rags. What looked like a leather harness meant for a small dog was on a shelf all its own, and when I manipulated it with my sleeve-gloves, I realized it was a thigh holster with a knife sheath. Except the knife was missing, and I had a sick feeling that this was where my iron knife had run off to, though I didn’t remember surrendering it at any point. And what would a high fae want with my iron knife?

If he’s drugging you with toirchim tonic and Caer powder, then he’s obviously not above disarming you!

A sideways glance at the forge lent strength to my suspicion: it was probably slag at the bottom of the ashes and forever out of reach from hurting him. He probably would’ve done the same thing with my iron cuffs except those were impossible to remove—only my death would release them.

I replaced the thigh holster and continued my search. On the highest shelf, accessed only by tiptoe, and arranged in a neat little row like individual trophies, were my crystals. All of them, save one, were embedded in what looked like silver diamond-shaped scales.

There was no way I could tap them now—they were fueling some unseen magic I didn’t have the time to examine and tamper with. And was the power of one little crystal even worth the effort? In short, no.

Releasing a frustrated growl, I abandoned the crystals, the forge, and that cursed potions lab/dungeon nightmare and raced up the winding stair back to the castle proper. It had only been a miracle that Ossian or anyone else hadn’t needed to come down here.

With the black door firmly shut and locked, I wiggled my hands free of my sleeves and abandoned the hallway at a barely managed sedate walk. The fae king had exceptional hearing and running steps would surely alert him. Running steps right outside a door that was strictly off-limits even more so. I’d get to the atrium, collect myself, and figure out my next move.

If anyone stopped me along the way… well, according to the Misty Fields written above the farmhouse’s doorbell, I’d been a pretty good actress in a past life. I’d just have to fake it again.

In the meantime… Oh my Green Mother, oh my Green Mother. Fate couldn’t have been so cruel as to bind me forever to a personality-manipulating monster, could it? My heart fluttered, my vision swimming. It was either nerves, the realization that Ossian might just be the worst sort of fae imaginable, or low blood sugar. My growling stomach tried to convince me my weakened state was just from hunger pangs, but I didn’t believe it. However, I was beginning to believe everything else.

What was I going to do? Cut off from my family, the hearth ember gone, my core still cursed, my memory hazy and incomplete, and now there was the debate of who I could trust.

Sawyer. Despite our argument, ever fiber in my being told me I could trust that little cat. I have to get back to Sawyer!

What sounded like something scraping over stone alerted me I wasn’t alone. Thistle thorns, I’d been so lost in my own whirling thoughts I hadn’t thought to check my surroundings. Alright, Misty Fields, suit up! Sucking in a fearful breath, I flattened against the wall of one of the shadowed archways emptying into the atrium in time to witness Ossian confirming my darkest suspicions.

The fae king had his second by the throat with one hand and had him hefted so far into the air that Alec’s feet kicked by Ossian’s upper thighs. “You could have ruined everything.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

My breath became a prison trapped behind my teeth as I attempted to melt into the wall. The truths I’d been naïvely clinging to concerning Ossian—his benevolence, generosity, fair-mindedness—were evaporating. He was never… whatever this was. Vicious? Especially towards Alec. But then again, it was clear I didn’t know the high fae as well as I thought I did. While I held no love for the Brother, I began to pity him.

“That stunt with the bear,” Ossian hissed, his sharp canine teeth glinting in the setting sun. “What were you thinking?”

“My lord, please,” Alec gurgled, his one hand gripping Ossian’s wrist and begging for breath.

The tendons in the fae’s forearm bulged as he shouted, “That’s not an answer!”

Alec was turning purple, and I had half a mind to interfere. I’d told Ossian to question him about the grizzly, not Spanish-Inquisition him. And what if Alec was just like me, beguiled into believing lies?

With a snarl, Ossian released his second. Not lowered him to the ground and freed his neck; Ossian simply flexed his fingers wide and let the man drop. There was thunk, a crunch, and a thud all in quick succession, and then Alec didn’t know whether to massage his bruised throat or paw at his ankle. He certainly couldn’t do both at the same time, not with only one hand, and the fae king was still expecting an explanation.

His icy blue eyes now glassy with restrained tears, Alec looked up at his king with a mixture of fear and horror. Mostly fear. “Y-you said she might benefit from a trial b-by fire, my lord. I was only trying to help.”

“Help?” Ossian stooped, getting right into Alec’s face, his next words accompanied by enraged spittle. “Help? Did it ever occur to that I might lose to the bear? That he might break this?” He thrust his necklace into his second’s face, particularly the large blue gem. It glowed at it always did, but this time, something swirled inside the crystal.

By the Green Mother, was that a cloch instead of a sapphire?