Page 85 of The Filigree Key

He cocked his head to the side as if amused. “I told you: our relationship goes smoother if there’s no animosity between us.”

I thrust my finger at Faebane. “No animosity? You were saying?”

Ossian shrugged. “Baby steps, then.”

When he didn’t elaborate, I approached the cage. The wards were already adjusting to let me open the latch.

“This is a trap!” Sawyer insisted.

“Of course it is,” I replied, taking my time with the latch. “He wants to catch us breaking the rules. But we still have a better chance of us getting out of this thing in one piece if you’re not locked in a cage.”

“But my magic.”

The cage door clicked against the pedestal as I opened it all the way. “This is your choice, Sawyer. It’s easy for me to say the pros outweigh the cons, but you have to decide for yourself.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, his front paws mincing in place while he considered. With a half-hearted growl, he lowered his head.

Swiftly so as not to prolong this ordeal, I slipped the collar over his neck.

And shuddered as that second heart within me went dark. It was like we’d never bonded.

Sawyer felt it too, shouting my name, but no sound came from his mouth. He touched his lips with a paw and tried again, panicking.

“Ordinary cats don’t speak, remember?” Ossian supplied.

The tabby cat thumped down on his backside and dug both front paws into the silver weave of the collar, preparing to shuck it.

“I wouldn’t do that,” the Stag Man cautioned. “If anyone other than myself removes that collar, Faebane sheaths itself into the bear all the way up to its hilt.”

Green flames burst from my clenched fists. “You bast—”

“That’s enough.” He patted his knee. Summoned me like a dog.

With stiff steps, I climbed the dais and sat back down upon his lap. Sawyer, seeking comfort, hopped out of the cage and slunk over to the grizzly bear. The man inside the beast wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t recognize the cat, and the grizzly allowed Sawyer to snuggle in the crook of his arm.

When Ossian opened his mouth to order them apart, my hand shot out. My fingers firm but gentle against his cheek, I turned his gaze away from them. Towards me.

The soft touch had startled him, but he recovered quickly, jewel-bright eyes searching for the deception in my own.

“Give them this,” I whispered. “Please. If only for today.”

His hand moved to cup my own, fingers curling down, and he pulled my hand away. Down to my lap, but he didn’t let go. “For the hour,” he conceded.

This, too, was a trap. It had to be. But, on the frailest of hopes, perhaps not.

Swallowing, I plucked up the nerve to finally ask the question that had been burning in the back of my brain. “What becomes of us?”

He cocked an eyebrow, encouraging me to elaborate.

“Once the portal is open, our fae bargain is fulfilled. Yet we’ll still be bound together in a marriage neither of us will find joy in. You’ll claim your court and I’ll free my brother. What then?”

“Are you asking for a divorce? And on the eve of our wedding? How crude, Meadow.”

There is no such thing as divorce in Elfame, came Roland’s voice. To divorce, to cleave apart that which has been made one, would kill the weaker spouse, if not both of them.

But Ossian was high fae, an heir of the Court of Beasts. Maybe he knew of a magic that a hob did not.

“I suppose we can come to an arrangement,” the Stag Man mused. “In Elfame, we’ll let bygones be bygones, simple as that. And then I’ll free you of our marriage to go about your life as you wish.”