Page 66 of The Filigree Key

“Ball-less.” The words slipped out of my mouth before my brain had even finished thinking them.

Ossian seized my arm and wrenched me around. “What did you call me?”

Thistle thorns.

“Oh, so that’s what gets under your skin?” I blustered, recovering quickly. “A little muttered insult? Not someone assaulting your future wife?” I rammed my hand into his elbow, buckling the joint, and tore free of him. “Let me go.”

“Love,” he said, visibly controlling his temper, “I said I needed him alive. That doesn’t mean he won’t go unpunished.”

“Words. You said you gave him those markings?” I crossed my arms over my chest and looked up at him with cold ivy-green eyes. “Take them back. Right. Now.”

“My lord,” Alec protested weakly. The magic hunter still hadn’t recovered enough to stand. Shane, the faelight Brother who stood as unmoving as a monolith, did not aid him.

“I’m not living in that castle knowing there’s a magic-sucking predator roaming its halls! How am I supposed to master water or any other element when that one-armed skulker could sabotage me at any moment?”

The golden glamour of Ossian’s skin intensified, the rubies warming at my throat and ears and finger. There was that pull on my heart, that bond he had no right to tug.

The glamour and rubies were nothing, but that bond . . . I had to work to overcome its effects. He hadn’t just tugged on it, he’d released a deluge of sensation that turned my mind to feel-good porridge. I shook my head as if casting aside an invisible noose. “No. That knot—”

The Stag Man sighed again, inconvenienced. Then he shoved his hand into the big pouch on his belt, withdrew a palmful of Caer powder, and blew it into my eyes.

CHAPTER THIRTY

It’s not working.

Weak minds succumbed to the befuddling effects of Caer powder more readily than stronger ones, but I still expected to experience something.

Instead, the flour-like powder incinerated against a film-like barrier erected by the magic oak tree.

Thistle thorns. You gotta fake it!

With a groan, my eyelids fluttered shut and I swayed on my feet, letting one knee buckle.

The fae king caught me and pressed what felt like a burning coal against my forehead.

His magic! He was going to alter my memories!

The magic oak tree was having none of that, either. Once again, the net of interlocking leaves burst from its branches, creating an impenetrable defense. The sinuous copper-colored magic that slithered into my mind was immediately redirected and expelled.

But gently, so as not to raise suspicion.

“You will fear the grizzly,” he intoned. The Stag Man’s voice was as warm and smooth as runny honey. It coaxed me to relax, to submit. “You will forget everything but the memories I leave you. You will love me above all others. You will remember nothing about your fight with Alec. You will forget about his Celtic mark. You will only remember that you had a nice time at your friend’s getting your wedding dress made.”

The sensation of the burning coal was removed from my forehead, and I let my body go slack.

“Now, Alec,” the Stag Man snapped. “While she’s out!”

“Why not him?” From the way he spat out his protest, Alec was obviously asking after Ossian’s pet.

“Don’t be a child, Alec. You know why. Now do it!”

The magic hunter seized the strap of my foraging bag and instantly recoiled.

“It burned me! Son of a— It must be warded. My skin’s already blistering!”

It took more effort than I thought it would to keep the smirk off my (supposedly unconscious) face.

“You have a knife, don’t you?”