“Arthur, Flynn,” I hissed. “Get in here.”
Rowan and I dragged Corbin inside, his legs scraping over the rotting wood, pulling up curls of bark that crunched under my shoes. Flynn followed, his arms tight around Blake and his hand clamped hard over his mouth. Arthur crouched on the end, his bone blade raised, ready to make a last stand should this not work.
Please let this work.
The fae host thundered through the forest, flitting between the trees or swinging from the branches like monkeys. Flickers of white sliced through the trees as slivers of moonlight caught their bone blades, and their teeth and claws gnashed and tore at the forest. My whole body shuddered with fear.If they catch us…
I crouched as low as I could in the log, pressing my body into the damp bark and wishing like hell it would swallow us up and take us back to Briarwood.
No. Not until we find what we came for.
I held my breath as the fae passed us by, their grisly host moving deeper into the forest. As soon as we could no longer hear them, Flynn breathed a big, dramatic sigh. “That was close. Good job spotting the log, Maeve.”
“It wasn’t me. Blake was the one who saw it. He sort of…told me about it.”
“What the fuck?” Flynn released his hand from Blake’s mouth.
“I’d be very interested to know how you did that.” Arthur trained his knife on Blake’s chest.
Dried blood splattered Blake’s face and his breath came out in ragged gasps. Flynn’s knife had bit into the flesh of his neck, and Blake winced as he opened his mouth to speak, his hand flying to his throat. He glanced at me, his eyes wide, begging for me to vouch for him.
“Remember how I said he was a spirit user?” I said. “Well, it seems one of our powers – or at least, one of Blake’s powers – is telepathy. I heard his voice inside my head, telling me about the log. He helped us, so maybe we shouldn’t try to stab him. At least, not yet.”
“You sure it was him?” Arthur frowned.
“Oh yeah,” I remembered Blake calling them my ‘Merry Men.’ “It was definitely him.”
“But why is he trying to help us when it’s his fault we’re in this mess in the first place?” Arthur demanded.
“I’d like to know that, too,” I glared at Blake. “You took my voice.”
“Only because you were about to reveal that I’d helped you,” Blake coughed out. “Bloody hell, you’re not very good at this subterfuge thing. Come on, we need to get out of here. They’ll figure out you’re not ahead of them soon enough.”
“Will you take us to the children?” I said.
Blake sighed.
“And we probably all need weapons if we have to get through more of those guards.” I turned to Arthur. “Speaking of weapons, how’d you get your sword back?”
He arched an eyebrow. “You gave it to me.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, Maeve, you did. We were in trouble. I was wishing inside my head that you could find a sword for me. I just had this idea that since you control the dream, if you could hearwhat I needed, you could make it happen. And then the hilt just appeared in my hand.”
I folded my arms. “Arthur, I was a little busy dealing with myfather. I didn’t have anything to do with the sword.”
“But—”
“We don’t have time for this,” Flynn piped up. “We need to go back for the children.”
“You’re in luck, witches. I’m going to make your whole night.” Blake flashes me a weak grin. “I already moved the kids to a safe place. The fae back at the sidhe are guarding two pumpkins charmed with glamour to look like the babies. I’ve got the real tykes here in the forest. But we have to hurry.”
“He’s lying,” Arthur said. “He’ll just lead us back to the king.”
Blake snorted. “After what dear old Dad did, you think I want to go back to that prick? I’ve lived for twenty-one years in this hellhole where everything is literally poison to me. I want you lot to take me back to Briarwood with you.”
“That’s not happening,” Arthur folded his arms.
