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“I named you as such. I do not see why I should not. Fine, if you wish not to find Mabh’s anam and give it over to the Fómhar, you will gather every single daora bone in the kennels and bring them to me. And I will answer your questions.”

“You will answer them before I do this. Melty knows me to be a Fae who does not break his word, oathbound or nay.” The blade slipped unwatched between her ribs.

“I accept this.”

“As do I.”

The vicious knife of her smile held no vestiges of the honey-sweet smile Melty doled out so easily. It was barbed, fang-toothed, hungry. “The answers to your question are no and yes.”

“Yes? Is she protected by the new Ard Tiarna of the Fómhar? He will continue to protect her?”

She clucked in the back of her throat and let the unnatural thin length of her tongue snake out to caress the wings of one of her bees. “But two questions were bartered for. If you wish for another, you will have to barter for another of your things you have but do not have.”

“Fine. But I don’t want the answer. I wish for you to carry a message to your Ard Tiarna—nay, a personal plea on my anam cara’s behalf. I wish him to keep her safe until I can come for her. Until I can rescue her. Will you do that?” I hadn’t expected either of those answers. I expected that she hadn’t reached the manor of nightmares and that she was not under protection. It would have been the worst scenario and one I would have been able to press to my advantage to search for and rescue her, bringing her back into my orbit and forcing her to submit to my attentions again.

But the purple haze growing at the edges of my vision had other ideas. It wanted what my heart wanted and what my head said was a sloppy request. And Emberlight saw it. She leapt at it.

“I will do this. For your hammer.”

“Again, you ask for something I do not have. A thing that has been destroyed and cannot be returned.”

A sly grin cut its way across the steady pulse of light beneath her waxen face. “Will you bargain with it if I assure you I will take it from you?”

“I do not have my hammer. The Ard Rí destroyed it. But yes, sure, take it from the air if you can.” I scoffed as her skin took on an amethyst tint.

“The bargain has been struck. I will do this.” There was no pause, no moment for me to process her agreement before a swarm of bees pressed me down into the grass, taking the rough outline of a Fae—head, shoulders, arms that held mine down, legs that pinned my own. The weight and heat were almost unbearable.

The distraction was too efficient; I didn’t notice Emberlight’s hand pierce the chest of the bee-Fae holding the same knife Melty had cut her pear with. My shirt was sliced open with an expert flick of the wrist.

“Let me free, Emberlight! This was not our agreement!” I roared, pressing with all my significant strength against the creature atop me. When I thrashed, the wings of the bees that made up the creature buzzed viciously as if using them to press down harder.

“Oh, but it was, silly Raven of the Dawn.” Her waxy fingers dragged along my chest hair, leaving a stiff trail in their wake until she found the tattoos across my chest and hissed. “Iron in tattoos. Vicious things. What strength must you have to bear such a punishment in your own body? Do you know, Ard Tiarna . . .” Her voice was a lover’s hum as she pressed the knife to the tattoo of her choice. “When Mabh reigned, such tattoos were so rare that even the whisper of them as punishment was enough to set the most hardened to the task of traitors back on the path of righteousness. She meted out but three of them, performing every one with her own hand. No sadhbh gloves between her and the iron needle. She would paint the iron oxide design on her own body with her finger before as part of the ritual. So that she, too, felt the pain of the punishment and the anguish of each prick of the needle. Mabh was exquisite in her brutality. Elegant. Just. Fair.”

The blade slipped into my flesh with no pain at first, just a little pressure. It was only when she began sawing through the skin and muscle that the torture began. Every slice of the blade released pockets of iron oxide into my body, burning and corroding the muscle beneath.

I thrashed under the weight of my two assailants again, even daring to reach for the boiling acid that was my magic to try to gain enough strength to break free. But I couldn’t. All I could do was howl in desperation for it to stop. Emberlight of the Crypts did not heed my screaming pleas, though. Unbothered and unfazed by my yelling, she kept sawing at the tattoo.

“You and your ilk took that from us.” She clucked a gentle tsk tsk of a reproach. “Have no fear, though, Raven of the Dawn, I hold no grudges for that. Her kin, though . . . that is another blood debt you will have to pay before the storm collapses. Ah . . . there we are. My fee is paid.”

She pulled away the flap of skin she had carved free. The broken hammer. The broken hammer that had been carved into me as a symbol of my dishonor as a warrior. She flapped the skin like wet leather and pressed a delicate kiss to it, her lips coming away bloody and blistered.

“I will make the plea myself.” She grinned down at me. “Now run back to the arms of your resinous lover, and bother my beloved Melty no more.”

The bee creature exploded into the millions of insects it had been made of, forming into a cloak around the crouching body of Emberlight, making it very clear that should I make a move to exact some misplaced revenge for this, they would answer it with their lives.

I stumbled as I rose, blood pouring from my chest. Emberlight’s cackling laughter mixed with the purring laugh and delicate summoning coo of the dark sister.

I ran. Back to my rooms. Back to the safety of my resins. Back to my needles to stitch up my wound. Back to the safety of the palace, where I knew the Fae well and true.

Away from the creature of ethereal beauty and hideous violence. I had paid for two questions and the assurance that my little bug would be protected. And I knew where she was now. Or at least who she was with.

Chapter 29

Cricket

Ascout returned to the caravan and pulled his horse next to Brittle Spear, her chest rising and falling raggedly beneath her simple linen shirt. The scouts didn’t wear armor; it was too flashy, too heavy, too much an announcement of their purpose. Even in the wilds of his own kingdom, Brittle Spear was careful to ensure the safety of his people. He had filled the time by giving me lessons on statecraft; why he bothered, I didn’t know. I was not a ruler, and I never would be, unless dirty stains and bugs counted. He could call me a Banfhlaith all he liked but I could not imagine myself as anything more than the bony-kneed, starving, failed gas station attendant, cast-aside orphan.

“The outpost is clear, my Ard Tiarna. We should approach by day.”