Daigh watched us, his mouth twisted into a strange expression that might have been half terror, half satisfaction. His fae clutched each other, sobbing and keening for the broken earth.
“So you’ll do it, then?” I demanded. “You will accept our deal?”
The fae exchanged glances with Daigh. Their pale skin was even lighter than usual. Their eyes flickered with unease. What they’d seen had horrified them.
Good. It had bloody near broken me.
“We will take this dream back to the fae realm with us,” Daigh said. “We will spread word amongst the fae of the consequences of the Slaugh. As soon as the fae are in my control again, I will send word that we accept the deal. Wait for us at your castle, if it still exists.”
I started at his words. “What do you mean, if it still exists?”
Daigh tilted his gaze up toward Briarwood. I followed his eyes, and my heart leapt in my throat.
A glowing, flickering light moved across the meadow toward the castle. I could just make out the snatches of chanting and shouting on the still air. Angry voices. The light drew closer and I made out the shapes of individual torches held aloft.
Torches. The kind peasants burned witches with.
The villagers. They’d worked themselves into a frenzy over Flynn’s statue and Aline’s presence, and now they were approaching the castle to do what? It couldn’t be good.
But why hadn’t Aline warned us?
Corbin and Arthur burst through the trees and raced toward the castle. Corbin yelled something, but I didn’t catch it. Blake’s face twisted.
“Come on,” he yelled as he bolted toward the house. “The bastards are coming for us!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX: CORBIN
Iraced up the hill after Arthur, blood pounding in my ears. As we pounded across the garden, voices drifted up from the meadow. Angry voices shouting at the top of their lungs. I caught snatches of the words; “...witches…necromancers…cast out the devils…”
We’ve been so busy worrying about the fae, it never occurred to us that we’d have to fight other humans.
But it should have. History has shown us this exact situation time and time again. I should have predicted this the moment we started talking about belief magic.
Yet another way I’d failed the coven.
Arthur was the fittest, so he reached the kitchen garden first, slamming the gate back against the stone wall so hard I heard it splinter. He held it open for me. I skidded into the heavy kitchen door and flung it open.
“Come on!” I yelled, holding the door back as the others raced across the garden. “We’ve got to get inside!”
Flynn was next, slowing his speed as he came through the gate so he could give a Ministry of Silly Walks performance on the way to the kitchen door.
“Get in,” I growled, shoving him through so Rowan could slip in behind him. This was no time for Flynn’s nonsense.
Blake dragged Maeve along by the arm. Even in the gloom of night, I could see how they both staggered with exhaustion, their eyes ringed with red from the huge amount of magic they exerted to pull Daigh and his fae cronies into the dream.
I flicked my eyes toward the meadow. The tall hedge and kitchen garden wall hid it from view, but I could make out the flicker of the torches through the leaves. Loud, angry voices met my ears, still too far away to understand more than a few words, but I could gather the gist of it. No one brought pitchforks along to a peaceful sit-in.
They’re not hurting my coven. I’ll die before I let them into this castle.
Maeve and Blake staggered through the kitchen gate. Arthur moved to bolt it when another voice cried, “Wait, don’t shut the door!”
I turned back to the garden. A figure in white raced from the orchard. Aline. Her skirts flapped around her and her face was drawn with fright. She crashed through the open doors and we slammed and locked them behind her.
“Right,” I hissed, leaning my bulk against the door, and faced the room. “We have a problem.”
“Mary Mother of God, never in my life did I think I’d see a lynch mob,” Flynn whistled, gripping the edge of the counter. “What are the chances they’re here just for you protestant infidels?”
