Page 43 of The Filigree Key

“My lord,” Alec whined. “If we don’t replenish, we lose—”

“Silence!” Ossian sucked in a calming breath. “You will make an exception for me, love.”

“Perhaps the fire should be the judge of that. Why do you need it, Ossian?” My hand perched on my hip as I looked up at the irate fae male with feigned confusion. “Your power is already the greatest among us.”

“Because I want every advantage fighting Callan!”

“If your intent is to reclaim your birthright and bring peace to the Court of Beasts, then you should have no trouble with the fire.” Stepping to the side, I gestured for the fae king to test his mettle against the wall of green flame.

It was still ten feet high and at least a foot thick, though it consumed none of the leaves and deadwood on the ground. It emitted no heat either, so lower-hanging branches suffered no damage.

He snarled once at me, leaned forward as if bracing into a headwind, and stomped forward. I knew he was leading the charge with his antlers as if the wickedly sharp tines would cut the barrier to ribbons. Perhaps they could—he was one of the strongest fae of Elfame, cursed or not.

The fires shot him back a dozen feet, right on his ass.

“Meadow,” he roared.

“Quick as a rabbit, one, two, three,” I whispered, my magic springing gleefully to life once more, “speed my steps to keep me free.”

And I disappeared.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Sawyer nearly leapt out of his skin as I slammed the bedroom door behind me. He certainly yowled loud enough to wake the dead.

“Shhh,” I hissed, spinning to face the door and uttering the Befuddlement Spell.

“Gah!” the little tomcat yelped. “A little warning next time?”

Without replying, I raced over to the settee only to find my foraging bag on the floor, half its contents strewn across the rug. My knees thudded against the rug’s thick weave and I hastily scooped up my witchy bits and bobs to replace into the bag.

“Hey! That’s my bait!”

“Did they take anything?”

“They tried,” Sawyer said proudly. “But they were unsuccessful.”

Ducking my head, I slipped the strap over my neck and tugged my braid free. Then I surged upright and yanked open the bag for the cat.

“Don’t we need to talk about what I discovered? Why are you acting so crazy?”

“Because I think I really messed up. We need to get to the dungeon. Right now.”

The tabby cat leapt into the bag and I raced out of the room. Then I finally risked it. The weakest ping I could manage with the Scouting Spell, a feather-like brush against only the entities in the castle.

Mrs. Bilberry in the kitchen with a handful of woodchucks. More woodchucks in the passageways. The bear chained in the great hall, his signature flaring like a torch to my inner eye. The wight in the cloch, a strange flickering light.

Innumerable mousey spies in the walls, but no Stag Man. No Brothers, either.

And a dozen entities corralled in a subterranean chamber that shouldn’t exist.

“Meadow, what’s going on?” Sawyer whispered up from his hole in the foraging bag. His large black pupils were dilated, and it wasn’t entirely due to the lack of light from the twilight-darkened hall. His fur stood on end, his body tucked in tight.

“You can still read my lips, right?” I started down the east wing at a brisk trot, my soft leather boots muffling the sound.

“Yeah.”

“Then watch.”