Page 103 of The Filigree Key

“This should’ve been your first order of business last night, Meadow,” the caliby chastised. “Don’t you remember what I told you when we first met?”

I was only half listening—my focus was on the grizzly bear. I stroked his fur, each caress soaking healing magic into his battered body. “Remind me,” I snarked.

The cage door was open now, and Ame fished Dart, Flit, and Zip out into the open air with a few quick jabs of her paw. The pixies wasted no time on farewells but streaked away like little silver hummingbirds.

“The problem with pixies is that they talk,” the cat said, dropping down from the sill and giving Sawyer a headbutt in greeting. “And lucky for you, Meadow Hawthorne, they’ll tell everyone what’s been really going on here. The truth about the Stag Man, what you’ve been forced to do to keep them safe, and that rebellion you’ve been fomenting? They’ll kick it into overdrive.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

“Now I haven’t got much time,” Ame began as our friends crowded around her. Emmett had pitched his coffee and filled the mug with milk. He wiped the spills from the rim with his ever-present handkerchief and set it down in front of her paws. I stayed by the bear, examining Faebane. “That wasn’t my finest illusion,” she continued, “and the Stag Man only saw what he wanted to see. He’ll realize his mistake soon enough.”

Yet she still paused, albeit briefly, to arch her spine under Shari’s fingers. The porcupine knew exactly where to scratch and stroke, and the caliby’s yellow eyes shuttered with a purr of contentment. They both needed this. Before she fully succumbed, Ame wiggled away. She inspected Sawyer next, tsking at the silver-and-moonstone collar. Unlike Lewellyn, she didn’t try to remove it.

“That collar is a nasty piece of work,” she muttered, her gaze flicking to Faebane and the grizzly bear. “That sword too.” She smacked her lips in distaste and focused her attention on me. “Seems my rescue mission went a little awry. I didn’t know about the sword, Meadow. I’m sorry. Where’s Lewellyn?”

“Alive, in the dungeon,” I answered quickly, my attention split between her and the rapier. “They’re healing him so Wystan can steal his magic for the Brotherhood.”

“They’ll do no such thing,” Daphne said, stomping her hoof.

“Of course they won’t. I left him a knife, just in case, and gave him the rest of Rose’s glitter. He’ll make sure to get the prisoners out.”

Thistle thorns, this sword. Even without an Illuminate match, I’d been able to determine that Ossian had anchored a spell to each of the crystals I had powered. The spells wove together in some kind of net that also sustained the copper smoke ring. But tampering with just one spell could set the whole thing off, and it wasn’t clear if annulling one would actually compromise the whole. I needed more time!

“Thanks for taking one for the team, Stripes,” Flora told Sawyer, giving him a firm pat. “Couldn’t have smuggled that vial into Meadow’s bra without your help.”

The tabby tomcat accepted her praise grimly. In sacrificing himself to save her, he’d been cut off from his magic, his voice, and from me. From his surly expression, he still wasn’t convinced it was all worth giving up just so he wouldn’t be locked away in a cage, especially since the collar he wore could kill Arthur at any time.

“You can congratulate yourselves later,” Ame interrupted firmly, wiping the milk from her whiskers with a paw. “Meadow, about your family.”

That wrenched my attention away from the bear. “Alec said they’re not in the farmhouse. Oh my Green Mother, are—”

“They’re still there, actually, and against my instructions too.” Ame gave her tail an irritable flick. “Hiding in what I’m told is Grandpappy’s secret whiskey cellar and living off hob grog and pickled beets and eggs, much to your foodie of an aunt’s chagrin. When you woke up the farmhouse ember and recharged the Hawthorne ember, they were going to use that power to break the wards around the house and get clear. Regroup back at the manor. But you had Sawyer dissolve the wards around the house, so there was no need. It only looks like they left. But they’re ready to support you however you need.”

Supporting me meant coming out of hiding to keep that summoning mirror safe when I went to Elfame. I told the caliby cat as much, but amended it with, “If they leave that cellar too soon, all those faelight animals will spot them in seconds.”

Flora cast a glance outside, marking the position of the sun. It was still morning, but it only seemed to be getting darker as the first winter storm of the year continued to manifest overhead. “There’s no telling how long you’ll be in Elfame, either. That gives all his spies time to spread out; time still for him to enchant more. Why, they’ll be as thick as fleas on a stray dog’s back.”

“Yes,” the cat growled. “There’s nothing for it. The Coalition did not make it out before he fortified the shield, either, so they all have to keep moving or find the perfect place to hide. But where do you hide bears the size of SUVs and wolves as big as ponies? Even when in human form, they’re still too big for a hobs’ cellar.”

“They can hole up in my workshop,” Cody said. “Chest freezer’s full of beef too.”

“And my flea market,” Emmett said. “Lots of places to hide in there. Monkfoot’s evaded capture all this time—he can keep watch and let them know if anyone comes snooping around.”

Ame nodded. “I’ll tell them. Meadow, what else?”

For the first time since I’d known her, the caliby wasn’t barking out orders. She was asking for them.

“Hold on.” I’d turned my attention back to the bear and that frustrating sword. Flora’s analogy had sparked a thought.

Thick. Thickening.

If I couldn’t remove the sword, could I thicken the flesh surrounding it? Turn it into a callus? In effect, it would be the same difference between stepping on a thorn versus grabbing it with your hand. The hard soles of your feet turned the point away whereas the soft flesh between your fingers easily parted for the barb.

The oak tree released a dazzling opalescent glow as I pressed my hands against the bear’s fur on either side of the rapier. There was no spell for this, just intent, and I thought back to the day I’d changed the elm tree.

I’d been overcome with the (perceived) loss of my nephew Stoat, my own inability to help, and so much shame. Back then, I hadn’t known the words to describe my purpose—to protect and treasure life—but my magic had known. That primal magic that had been dormant in me, suppressed and curbed, knew.

My father said I had rejuvenating magic. But that wasn’t the whole of it. Primal magic, the way of Nature itself, was restorative. A turning back of the clock, if your will was strong enough.