Page 4 of The Filigree Key

All sacrificed when they failed to anchor it.

The portal bombarded me with failure after failure, of each witch collapsing onto her knees in a semi-mummified husk. How they declared their love for the unfeeling fae king with their dying breath. How he siphoned away the dregs of their magic and the scraps of their life essences into the gemstones that ringed his—

“What are you doing? Get away from that portal!”

A hand clamped down onto my shoulder and ripped me back a step. The horse reared, jerking back on the reins and burning my fingers.

I yelped first from surprise, cursed second at the pain in my hand that my magic was already healing, then screamed at the sight of a bronze throat encircled by a multi-stranded necklace of rough-cut jewels.

“Meadow!” the Stag Man chastised.

I gulped down a breath, tore my gaze from all that stolen magic, those stolen lives, that glittered beautifully against his skin, and squeezed down in a burst of fear on the little body that huddled hidden in my foraging bag. Sawyer, to his credit, didn’t squeak.

“What were you doing?” the fae king demanded.

I risked a brief but defiant glare up at him. And brief was truly all I could manage. His glamour had no effect on me anymore, though I could see it working as the golden aura on his skin, and I saw the Stag Man for what he truly was, antlers and all.

“Beware the Stag Man who hunts in the forest deep.

His arrows never miss a maiden’s heart to keep.”

The villain of Grandmother’s old nursery rhyme had stolen more than my heart. He’d taken my memories, my truth, and I was going to take them back.

If I could keep it together.

You’re up, Misty Fields.

The innocent and semi-coy attitude Misty Fields had sometimes adopted to throw others off her trail manifested easily, and I replied, “Ever ask why a moth is attracted to a porch light? It’s like that.”

Before the Stag Man could reply, I turned away, sucked in a shuddering breath, and swung up into the saddle of my frightened horse. “And it’s cold out. Coming?”

Then I wheeled the horse around, jabbed it in the ribs, and rode off across the frozen ground at a crazed sprint. I wasn’t a good rider, and this horse was no fluid-gaited Arabian like Daphne, so I had to abandon the hand clamped onto Sawyer’s scruff for the saddle horn to keep my seat.

It was only when I was at the front of the procession that I eased the horse into a steady walk to begin the long and torturous journey back to the castle. Torturous, not because I was afraid of my horse twisting a leg, but because I had to play enthralled and naïve when I had finally become what Violet had always intended me to be. Her heir.

Her vengeance.

I fought for calm once more, breathing in deep and relishing the clarity provided by the night air’s cold sting.

Upon its chill was the faint perfume of rotting apples and sweet hay, enticing me to swivel around in the saddle and look to the cider farm on the other side of the road. Towards home. And in the forest beyond, the summoning mirror and the gateway to my brother’s prison.

But first things first.

The portal to Elfame had to be unlocked, and while the key was in the Stag Man’s possession, only I could activate it.

And, according to him, he was the only one who could teach me how.

Movement dragged me from my thoughts—the Stag Man galloping on his own horse up the procession line to join me at its head. Behind him, the light of the portal shone as strongly as ever, even as it slipped out of sight from a curve in the road, and I doubted even the daytime sun would dim it. Two Brothers—magic hunters—standing sentry spoiled what otherwise would’ve been an ethereal scene, but I was glad for it.

I was done with illusion and glamour.

Yet the further we traveled into the heart of Redbud, the more my heart shriveled like a peach left out in the sun too long. The resulting pit sank into the hollow of my stomach as I witnessed the extent of the Stag Man’s magic. It permeated everything, right down to the saddle and bridle of the horse I rode. In reality, the brittle leather was cracking from neglect, but the glamour overlay made it gleam as if freshly polished.

The town square wasn’t lit by lanterns, but lightbulbs; its storefronts made of brick and not Tudoresque half-timbering and stucco; the cobblestone streets were actually pavement.

And the castle estate I’d known as home since I’d made that bargain with Ossian? It was nothing but the town courthouse, albeit the most elaborate building and campus in Redbud. And the waterfall ravine beside it? A wide stream with a quaint three-foot drop.

It was dizzying, witnessing the lie and the truth overlapping. For the sake of my sanity, I chose the lie. My double-vision cleared as I accepted the glamour without being swindled by it. Under lowered lashes, I watched as the Stag Man became Ossian once more, his antlers vanishing, his tipped ears rounding, his stag legs bending at the knee like a man’s.