Page 95 of The Filigree Key

“My lord,” Alec called, hurrying after us. “I need to speak with you.”

“Whatever it is can wait,” the Stag Man snapped. “There is only this.”

“But—”

“Don’t make me repeat myself, Alec. If I must, perhaps I’ll let it slip to our guests who Wystan’s true accomplices are. Can you imagine the bite force a beaver must possess to fell trees?”

Red-faced, Alec let the matter go. This time, when hate consumed his brilliant blue eyes, it wasn’t directed at me.

“Where are we going?” the Stag Man asked when we were alone in the hallway, heading for the foyer.

“You’ll see when we get there.”

In a flash, Ossian hoisted me into his arms. Cradled me like a damsel. Manhandled me.

“Before you make good on your warning from earlier,” he interrupted just as green light emanated from my hands, “I am the fastest mode of transportation and we are under a deadline.”

“Head south,” I growled.

He snorted at the imprecise directions but obeyed. The darkening world blurred by at an incredible rate, the effect so dizzying I had to close my eyes. He barked down landmarks at me over the rush of the wind, and after a few more vague instructions, he finally slowed and stopped.

Black pines towered above us, the trees clustered so thickly it was impossible to see within the woods. The storm clouds shifted above, revealing the crescent moon, but even its light couldn’t penetrate the evergreen spires.

“This is Dunstan Forest.” The Stag Man gave me an accusing look. “The sluagh are said to gather here.”

They didn’t gather anywhere other than where they were ordered. Since regaining my memories, I knew that for a fact. Ossian kept his more vicious servants stabled here until events dictated they be released upon the populace as a reminder to put their faith in their all-powerful fae king.

“Are they?” I quipped. “What a coincidence.”

“Clever, Meadow. First Wystan, now the sluagh. It’s like you’re trying to rid the town of the evils you brought here.”

Already within the first line of trees, I spun around to give him a smile full of saccharine insincerity. “And just think, only one more to go.”

Scowling, the Stag Man plunged into the darkness after me.

The trees creaked and swayed before the coming storm, their branches casting shadows into the gloom. Other things within the forest creaked and groaned, shadows moving on their own accord and resembling fae youth and young adults with long tunics and skirts. Instinct found me shrinking closer to Ossian.

I yelped when the Stag Man slung his arm across my shoulders and drew me in close. “The mallaithe will not harm you while I am near.”

With a twist of my shoulders, I shook him off. “You’re despicable, Ossian, releasing those creatures here.”

“How was I supposed to know this mortal realm would mutate them into something venomous? Hmm, perhaps I’ll take one back and unleash it into Callan’s court.”

Chuckling, he called a ball of copper-colored magic to his finger. He flicked it like he was dislodging something sticky, and the ball arced into the branches ahead of us and detonated with a soundless burst. A flare.

The nearby mallaithe, so much closer than I’d originally thought, threw their hands up to shield their eyes. Their hissing filled the wind as their tentacle roots scuttled them deeper into the pines.

His self-satisfied smirk got no reaction from me.

We traveled further in, Ossian releasing two more flares. One revealed a mallaithe sapling with a recently torn arm and sap leaking from the wound. The Stag Man paused then, scenting the air, before moving on. All the mallaithe we’d seen were young, just a few days old. Where were the formidable adults? Did they instinctively know to stay away from their master?

Soon, the temperature of the air grew unnaturally cold. Even with the oak tree’s fiery heart keeping me warm, I shivered. The memory of the white mist with emaciated limbs stretching out to touch my family with the sluagh’s frostbite kiss was still fresh.

“Careful now.” There was nothing patronizing about the Stag Man’s warning. “Not even the King of Beasts can control every hornet if the nest decides to strike.”

Just a few pines separated us from a clearing, and within, a churning white fog. Horrid faces and hands with overlong fingers could be seen breaking past the fog only to be sucked back in to reappear somewhere else.

My guts knotted in revulsion, my breath frosting in front of my face.