Chapter Twenty-Two #3
They don’t care about us because they know we won’t run. I try to make out the environment around us. I think there are trees, but beyond the courtyard, everything is deep shadow.
“This way,” the fae still standing with us says. The other two are carrying Grant relatively gently, all things considered, and they lead us away from the wagon and over to a house. It looks more like a villa, spread low and sprawling like the town we’ve left behind.
“Where are you taking us?” I ask.
The fae dismisses me with a glance and a curl of his lip. Ophelia grabs my arm and holds on tight. Maybe she could run? I try to pass her the mirror, but she pushes my hand away and shakes her head.
Yeah, she’s not going to leave me either. And at least she might know some of the layout of this place, if we get the chance to escape.
They take us inside and walk speedily to a staircase that leads below, to a place that makes the fae wince and move slower. Iron. Like Lark said, it must be in the earth around us.
There is one cell, and the fae carrying Grant set him on the ground inside. When Ophelia and I pause, the sharp-eyed fae who’s been walking with us gestures at the cell. “Get in.”
One of them is still lingering next to Grant. They bare their teeth and I swallow hard. They’ll kill him, I realise, because he’s the biggest threat and because they’re not certain what he is and…
They need us. Me and Ophelia. They don’t need him.
“Yeah, okay.”
We walk into the cell and the final fae exits, pulling it shut by means of a cloth wrapped around his hand. The other fae holds something up. Candles sit in the walls, their light flickering and not chasing back much of the gloom.
It’s a key. He pushes it into the lock and turns it, then fixes Ophelia with a glare. “You will remain here. All of you. His life will be forfeited if you disobey.”
He looks meaningfully at Grant, who still hasn’t stirred. I think it’s only a matter of time, though. The third fae, the one who’s less powerful, has her head ducked, her shoulders tight and tense. The iron in here should undo any spell they’ve put on him.
“Where’s Aodhan?” I ask.
“Here.”
The three fae all jump back when Aodhan enters the room, then scurry out when he waves an imperious hand.
Ophelia takes a step back too, but I stay at the bars, curling my fingers around them.
I’m exhausted. And annoyed. I don’t have the mouth on me that Sam does—and I certainly don’t have the power to back that up—but I’m not going to take this lying down.
“It will be over for you soon,” Aodhan says, “and if you behave, then there is no reason for all three of you to remain here. I will be more than happy to return you to your realm.”
“Why not let us go now?”
Aodhan clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Leverage. I should have known that little bitch Oisin would go running to the next powerful fae he saw, but I did not expect Lark to accept him so easily. My nephew has… changed.”
Because he doesn’t want to be here. “You brought him here.” I shake my head. “I don’t—I don’t understand why. If he hadn’t come, you and Oisin could have ruled.”
“No, no,” Aodhan says. He moves closer, and though he doesn’t touch the bars, he is only a breath away from them. “Veles would not allow me to try the crowns, not when my nephews were running around out there. But should one of the kings fall, then they must be replaced. Quickly.”
Ophelia makes a strangled sound. I should be scared, and I am, but I’m angry. It’s one thing for Lark to have trapped himself here because desperate fae wanted to save their realm. This is different. Aodhan doesn’t seem to care about the fate of the Otherworld at all.
“Why keep us, then?”
“Whoever remains must be kept in line. At least at first. After that, you may leave.”
“If Veles wouldn’t let you try the crowns, how do you even know you could wear them?” God, I want to sleep, even as angry and scared as I am. I feel… drained. I tighten my hand around the bar I’m holding, cold iron stiff against my palm. The feeling passes. “They’ll drain you, won’t they?”
Aodhan snarls. “He can’t know that.”
Which Aodhan believes, but Lark seemed to believe the opposite. He showed more respect to Veles than any other fae we met here—including his own kin.
“And how long will you last?” I ask.
“Does it matter? Longer than you will live, witch.” Aodhan snarls again and turns for the door.
A question strikes me. Something that has been niggling at me for the past two days.
“Wait! Who ruled before the last king and queen?”
Aodhan pauses mid-step. “What?”
“Who ruled before them? Seelie or Unseelie? Who were they?”
He peers back at me. “I—” Aodhan frowns. Does he not know? “It does not matter,” he says finally and sweeps out of the room.
I stumble back from the bars, my legs as weak as they were when I climbed from the wagon a few minutes ago.
“What was that?” Ophelia asks.
I shake my head. I don’t know. I don’t know. But something isn’t right here, and it looks like I might have some time to figure out how to fix it.