Wade tried to hand it to him anyway. “Here.”
Patrick shook his head, wincing at the soreness in his body. “No. Keep it until we’re out of here.”
“But—”
“Cairbre promised he’d cut off my hands if I held my dagger while we’re here. Fae don’t make promises lightly. I need you to keep it safe for now.”
Wade scowled stubbornly, still brandishing the dagger at the fae farther down the stairs. Patrick got to his feet slowly, wincing at the bruising he knew was coming up on his body, even if he could barely feel it. Wade steadied him when he was finally upright, the both of them standing behind Patrick’s dagger.
From down below, heavy, thudding footsteps vibrated through the stone. Wade’s hand wavered, but he never dropped the dagger. “Patrick?”
“Don’t fight, no matter what happens,” Patrick said.
The smell of something rotten drifted up the tower stairs. Patrick swallowed against the smell, knowing it had to be bad if it smelled awful through the binding wrapped around him. Wade gagged, sounding as if he was about to puke.
The fae skittered up the wall, its eight legs clinging to the stone. It scuttled back out of sight, laughing at them, strands of spiderweb trailing from its mouth. The creature that took its place blocked the light from below. Being hunched over couldn’t hide the ogre’s height. It was taller than the Red Caps that had brought them to the palace, but that was where the similarities ended.
The ogre’s shoulders were so broad they nearly touched the wall on either side of the tower stairs. It was barefoot, the pants it wore held in place by a thick leather belt that carried two wickedly sharp knives. Barrel-chested, with skin a muddy ochre, its chest was riddled with scars, and its flat, misshapen face wasn’t much better.
Three eyes sat above its squashed nose. Each one sat at a different height on its skull, each a different color and blinking out of sync. Its teeth, when it smiled, were rotten, and its tongue was just as black. Its breath reminded Patrick of decomposing bodies.
“Okay, I’m not hungry anymore,” Wade said.
“The queen wants to see you,” the ogre growled in a deep voice.
Before Patrick could respond, the ogre grabbed him by the arm, moving quicker than he thought something that size could. The grip was like a vise, pressure bruising, and Patrick was yanked down the steps.
“Hey!” Wade shouted. “Let him go!”
Patrick banged his knee against the edge of a step, swearing when skin split and blood started trickling down his shin beneath his torn jeans. The ogre twisted around in the tight space, taking Patrick with him. Patrick managed to get his feet underneath him and staggered after the ogre at a pace he could barely keep up with through the fog in his brain.
When he would’ve lost his balance again, Wade grabbed him by the back of his leather jacket, keeping him upright. The ogre didn’t stop, merely continued down the twisting stairs. Patrick did his best not to fall again and kept shooting Wade warning glances when it looked like the teen was contemplating where best to try to punch the ogre.
“No,” he finally hissed. “Don’t do anything stupid, Wade.”
The stubborn look in Wade’s eyes told Patrick the teen wanted to do exactly that, but he listened, for once, or seemed to.
The spider fae was waiting for them at the bottom of the tower. The ogre shoved open the heavy door, and the other fae skittered out of the way. It clattered down the cavernous hall they’d entered, eight legs clicking against the stone floor. Patrick’s arm felt as if it were going to be wrenched from the socket from the way the ogre held him. Pain seeped through the muffled haze surrounding him, and he grimaced.
Patrick’s gaze darted around the palace halls they were escorted down. Not that he thought they had a chance in hell of getting out on their own.
However long later, the ogre turned a corner and they entered a hallway he remembered from before. The doors at the far end were already open, and beside him, Wade perked up.
“That’sdefinitelyJono,” Wade said.
“Great,” Patrick muttered.
They entered the throne room, the place lit by what looked like ice-white ball lightning that crackled on metal sconces. The glass dome above only showed a cloudy, starless night sky, and Patrick knew that wasn’t good. Too much time they couldn’t afford to lose had passed back on the mortal plane if it was night here already.
“Patrick.”
Jono’s voice cut through the fog in his brain like nothing else could. Patrick tore his gaze away from the glass dome to stare at where Jono, Sage, Gerard, and Keith stood before Medb’s throne. As relieved as he was to see everyone, Patrick really only had eyes for Jono.
Something eased inside him, a tension he’d carried since the Sluagh appeared over Central Park fading away. There was a beat where his heart used to be that grew louder as he met Jono’s gaze. For the first time in hours, it felt as if Patrick could breathe again now that Jono was here.
Jono took a determined step forward. The fae guards moved to block his way, spears crossing in front of him. Jono rocked to a halt, wolf-bright eyes blazing with anger. He looked one thought away from murder, and as much as Patrick wanted Jono by his side, he knew they couldn’t afford to piss off Medb any more than they already had.
“It’s okay. Just stay there, Jono,” Patrick said.
