Page 87 of The Filigree Key

“You fought me tooth and nail to protect this?” He seized the journal, the binding cracking in his fist. “Observations a fae child could make? And these.” The fae king pinched a lump of tiger’s-eye and held it up to squint at. “Poor quality at best.”

I disagreed, but I also kept my mouth shut.

“Where is the rainbow tourmaline?” he growled.

At least he wasn’t asking about the monocle of selenite and tiger’s-eye the Crafting Circle ladies and I had made. The Hunting Spell would be too easily abused in his power.

“Well, um, it’s right there,” I said, pointing to a thumbnail-sized lump in Alec’s palm.

“The bleached tourmaline, Meadow. The spent stones of your parasite jewelry.”

I shot a foul look at Alec. Spiteful snoop. He’d found out a lot about me in the time he and his fellow magic hunters had spent skulking around Redbud, but clearly not everything.

I snorted. “I threw them out. They weren’t absorbing anymore, and the magic inside them is denatured, so—”

“You stupid girl.” The fae king’s hand tightened on my ribs, bruising them. “It’s not denatured. It’s stored just like any other crystal!”

“That’s not what I was taught.” I elbowed his arm to lessen his punishing grip.

He made an impatient sound. “Rainbow tourmaline is like a cloch, Meadow. Capable of storing many times more than what another crystal can because of its structure. And when it’s full, it locks because the stored potential is exponentially greater. One piece like this”—he plucked the gem from Alec’s hand—“when fully saturated holds the magic of your amazonite pendant if it was the size of a watermelon! And you just threw them away?”

“I didn’t know about clochs until I met you,” I said sullenly, looking away.

“Damn your grandmother.”

“Why do you care, anyway?” But of course I already knew the general answer. He was obsessed with having more.

“Because, love, properly unlock a full rainbow tourmaline crystal and you have enough magic to grow an entire year’s worth of crops for a fae village. Crush it, and the results are far more . . . explosive.”

I shuddered, imaging what death and destruction he’d planned to bring to the Court of Beasts with my bleached tourmaline crystals.

“Well, I suppose it’s not a total loss.” He stood without telling me, dumping me out of his lap.

Glowing green vines caught me before I could tumble down the steps, righting me at the foot of the dais.

“I’m off to the elm tree,” he announced, tossing the singular rainbow tourmaline crystal into the air and catching it in his palm. To Alec: “See to it that she and that cat are confined to my bedchamber with Shane—”

“I’m not leaving this hall until I’ve had something to eat and have finished the wedding plans with Mrs. Bilberry.”

They were my last hope to salvage my crumbling plans.

The Stag Man snapped back around, jewel-bright eyes glittering.

I crossed my arms over my chest and lifted my chin. “What? You have your wedding customs and we witches have ours. You’ll get none of my protective influence if the proper rituals aren’t performed.” I ticked them off on my fingers: “Eight witnesses, dress, feast, seeded loaf.”

“I might’ve entertained this absurdity before when I’d been forced to woo you, but no more games, love. After you charge that key, I will wed you, bed you, and we’ll be off to Elfame within the hour.”

“And that portal will knock you right back on your ass.” I lifted an eyebrow, daring him to contradict me. “A witch is not truly married unless by the light of a spring sun or the zenith of the moon with a seeded loaf shared between them. Since it most certainly is not springtime, I guess we’ll have to wait on the moon, and that ceremony requires eight human witnesses, one for each phase of the moon.”

“So the moon ritual needs witnesses but the sun one doesn’t?” he scoffed.

“The sun is constant while the moon has phases,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “The witnesses ensure the moon, for lack of a better word, behaves. Doesn’t get wishy-washy, like someone crossing their fingers behind their back.”

He opened his mouth to scoff again, and I flung up my hand. “Unless I’m wedded properly, that won’t be a marriage we’re consummating.”

“The magic will know,” he growled.

“Whose magic? Yours or mine?”